#and sorry if this is a little late for some of you!

[hangmanwrites]

your personal kryptonite ━ clark kent

dedicated to ━ @frivolousimagination because she’s the one who convinced me to post this ridiculous filthy mess even though i was being a coward about it, love u bestie, this one’s for you!! word count ━ 3.4k words pairing ━ clark kent x fem!reader content warnings ━ smut, mdni, oral (f!receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it irl unless you’re also dating superman), soft dom clark, praise, overstimulation, crying during sex (in a hot way), emotional support himbo vibes, aftercare, romantic filth, gentle but devastating author's note ━ this is only my second time writing smut so please be kind to my fragile little writer brain, i’m still figuring it out one emotionally unhinged paragraph at a time, but i really hope you enjoy it anyway and fall a bit in love with soft filthy clark, too. masterlist read here ━ we have a little discord server if you want to talk about david corenswet, clark kent, or anything in between. it’s a cosy community where we spiral together, share ideas, and help each other out with fic writing too. everyone’s welcome to join as long as you’re over 18. minors are not allowed, sorry loves!! 🩵

Today was a shitty day.

Work treated you like you were some sort of animal, not even a real person, just this empty thing people could toss problems at and expect answers from, like your brain was some kind of machine that didn’t glitch or ache or hit its limit after hours of passive aggression and sugarcoated threats and stupid bloody spreadsheets that kept crashing for no reason. 

You’d barely managed to get through lunch without biting someone’s head off, and you did snap at a printer, which definitely made at least one intern scared of you forever, but honestly, at this point, let them be scared. 

Let them think you’re heartless, because you can’t keep doing this, you can’t keep pretending it’s fine, that you’re fine, not when the train made you late and the rain soaked your socks and some stranger told you to “smile more” like that was going to fix your entire nervous system spiralling into self-destruct mode.

You almost didn’t come, almost got off at your usual stop and went home to cry into the same pillow that’s soaked up too much already this month, but the thought of being alone felt unbearable, like your body might shut down if you didn’t see him.

So now you’re outside his flat, fingers aching from gripping your keys too tight, throat thick with everything you can’t name, and the second he opens the door—

It’s over.

Your whole posture collapses like your spine forgot what holding you up looks like, like his face was the final straw, and suddenly he’s right there, stepping forward like you’re made of something delicate, like he knew before you said a single word that something was wrong, and he doesn’t hesitate and just pulls you into his chest with both arms, firm and warm and steady, and it ruins you completely.

You don’t even get a chance to apologise, because he’s already holding you like you’re not a burden at all, just tired, just human, and your fists are already curling into the front of his jumper like it’s the only thing keeping you standing upright.

And you can feel your breathing hitch against him, feel that awful stutter in your chest like a sob is waiting to break free and you hate it, you hate it so much, but he just keeps whispering, quiet and careful and close to your ear, It’s alright, I’ve got you, love, I’ve got you.

And he does, one arm wrapped firm around your back as though he’s trying to hold you together by force, the other hand steady at the back of your head, fingers tangled in your hair in slow, soothing motions as though he knows exactly where the panic lives and how to quiet it without being told. 

He sways with you gently, barely a movement but enough to keep you present, enough to remind your body that time is still passing, that you’re still here, still held, still safe in his arms even if the rest of the world spent the entire day trying to convince you otherwise.

He doesn’t rush you, doesn’t push or question or try to coax anything out of you, he just stays there with you. He’d done this before, he’d memorised the shape of your silence and knows how to sit inside it without making it about him. 

When you finally manage a full breath, not the shallow, uneven things you’d been taking all day but an actual proper inhale that lifts your chest and makes your shoulders fall, his hand presses gently against your back as if to say I felt that, I see it, you’re doing so well.

“Come here,” he says, soft and certain, and you follow him instantly, still clutching his sleeve, still a little folded into yourself, but he doesn’t seem to mind, just guides you through the flat with both hands at your waist as though you might vanish if he lets go.

He sits you on the edge of the bed and crouches in front of you without hesitation, his hands on your knees, thumbs brushing slowly over your tights in a way that doesn’t ask for anything, and when he looks up, his eyes are so impossibly kind it nearly undoes you again, not because he pities you, but because he doesn’t, because he’s really looking at you.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, gently, carefully, as if the question is something he’s laying at your feet rather than pressing into your hands, “Or do you just want quiet?”

You shake your head, not sure which one you’re saying no to, not sure it even matters, because he nods anyway, as though a quiet understanding in the way he leans forward and presses a kiss to your knee, soft and lingering.

Then he kisses you again, a little higher, just above the edge of your skirt, and his hands slide to your hips, not in a greedy way, not in a way that demands anything, just a presence, just a reassurance, just him reminding you that he’s here.

“Alright,” he murmurs, voice lower now, gentler, as though you might fall apart if he speaks too loud, “Then we’ll just sit. You and me.”

You nod, barely, just once, and maybe he thinks that’s it, that you’ll stay still and let the quiet carry you, but your hands are already reaching for him, moving like they’ve been waiting all day for permission, and the second your fingers thread through his hair, your whole chest twists, as though something in you finally dares to ache now that he’s here to hold it.

He doesn’t pull away, just lets you tug him into the space between your legs where you’re still curled on the bed, and your mouth finds his before you’ve even had time to think, messy and eager and a little too much, as though your body’s just trying to survive through contact.

He kisses you back like he’s been waiting for it, like this is exactly what he hoped would happen the second you walked through the door, and it’s slow at first, careful, as though he doesn’t want to take anything from you that you’re not ready to give, but the way you’re pulling at him makes it impossible to keep it gentle.

You know he feels it too, the way the air thickens around you the second you tilt your head and open your mouth for him, the way his hands tighten on your hips as though he needs something to hold or else he might break apart entirely.

It’s not perfect, not neat or delicate or slow-burn cinematic, it’s messy and damp and hungry, and the exhaustion still clings to your limbs, the rawness of the day still presses at your skin, but none of it matters, not with his mouth on yours like it’s the only place he wants to be, not with that heat building low in your belly every time his thumb finds your waist or his tongue brushes yours just right.

You’re not trying to start anything, but the way he groans when your nails scrape the back of his neck pulls something up from deep in your chest that has nothing to do with sadness and everything to do with want.

You press in closer, tighter, chest flush to his, legs drawing him in, and you don’t stop kissing him because you don’t know how else to ask for more.

“Wait,” he breathes, voice rough now, ragged around the edges like he’s barely holding onto restraint, forehead pressed to yours, “Are you sure? I don’t want to take advantage, I—”

“Please,” you whisper, too fast, too breathless, too much, but you don’t care, you’re already chasing his mouth again before he can finish the sentence, already wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pulling him in, and he lets you, because it’s Clark and he always does, and his lips are back on yours before either of you can think.

He doesn’t rush you, doesn’t push or take more than you’re ready to give, just kisses you with that quiet, steady focus that makes your whole chest tighten, his mouth slow against yours, his hands firm and careful even when they slide under your thighs to lift you into his lap, holding you close like it’s second nature.

You shift slightly, just enough to feel the heat of him pressed between your legs, and the sound he makes is low and helpless, his hands gripping at your hips like he’s trying to keep control, and for a second he pulls back, just enough to look at you again, and there’s no rush in it only that same quiet awe in his expression.

When he leans in again, he doesn’t go for your mouth, not yet, just presses a kiss to your jaw, then your throat, then just under your ear, each one slow and unbearably tender, and when he whispers, “You’ve had such a hard day.”

You don’t get a chance to respond before he kisses you again, quiet and steady, as if he knows you’ll try to brush it off and doesn’t want to let you.

His hands move lower, sure and careful, fingers sliding beneath your underwear like he’s done it a hundred times, not from habit but because he knows you now, knows how to move without asking for more than you’re ready to give, and when he pulls the fabric down your legs, you lift your hips for him without needing to be told.

And when he sees you, really sees you, he exhales like it knocks the breath out of him, low and quiet and almost reverent, like he still can’t believe you’re letting him in.

“God,” he murmurs, barely louder than a breath, hands sliding up your thighs to part them, not rough, not rushed, just steady, grounding, and when he sees how wet you already are, he doesn’t say anything else just leans in and licks into you like it’s all he’s needed all day.

It’s filthy, right from the first slow pass of his tongue, so deliberate it pulls a whimper straight from your throat before you can even think, and you can’t hold it in, not when it’s not just his mouth.

Your thighs twitch, your hips shift, and you’re gripping the duvet in tight fists just to stay grounded, but he just keeps licking into you, slow and deep and steady, as though this is the only thing that matters.

And when you moan his name, helpless and breathless and wrecked, he groans back into you, fingers digging in just a little harder, and it’s not for show, it’s him, it’s real, it’s yes, that’s it, let me have it without saying a word.

Then his hand slides back down, his fingers warm and slick when he pushes two of them inside you, slow but sure, like he’s done this in his head a hundred times, and the stretch is so good it knocks the breath from your lungs, makes your hips jolt into his mouth, and he groans low and keeps going, his fingers working you open as his mouth stays right there.

And you can feel your climax building already, hot and unbearable and close, because it’s him, Clark, on his knees, giving everything, and you’ve never felt more wanted in your life.

You say his name again and it’s not a choice, it just happens, your mouth moving before your brain can catch up, because everything’s gone fuzzy, because your body is too full to hold anything else, and he hums in response, pleased and steady and so full of love it makes your chest ache all over again.

His palm presses firm to your lower stomach, and his voice comes soft and ruined against your cunt as he says, “Let go for me, baby, I’ve got you, it’s okay, just let me have it, come on.”

And you do, God, you do, it hits you hard and fast and so deep you don’t even realise you’ve stopped breathing until it all rushes back at once, and your body’s jolting up into him without warning, a helpless thing. Every muscle snapping tight and letting go all at once, and your thighs are shaking around his shoulders and your fingers are pulling hard in his hair and he just groans, low and hoarse and wrecked.

He slows down, keeps his tongue soft and steady and lets you fall apart in his mouth, lets you ride it out with his hands holding you still, one on your thigh and the other pressing down gently on your stomach.

You’re shaking, breathless, too far gone to speak, not a single thought in your head beyond the crashing release still flooding your chest and hips and thighs, and your hands are still in his hair, and when he finally lifts his head it’s slow.

His mouth is red, his eyes unbearably soft, and he looks at you like you’re the only thing in the room that matters. He’s flushed and wrecked and breathing hard, but he still smiles when he sees you staring at the ceiling like your mind hasn’t caught up yet, and he reaches up with a trembling hand to brush your hair back, voice low and hoarse when he asks, “Are you alright?”

You nod, or something close to it, and he seems to understand. Then he leans down, kisses your hip, your stomach, the centre of your chest, soft and slow and steady, like he’s still trying to take care of you even now. 

Your throat tightens all over again, because it’s him, and he’s still looking at you like you’re a miracle.

His mouth moves higher, kissing along your collarbone and neck, and his hands slide back up your thighs, hot and unshaking, and you know exactly what he’s thinking. 

You can feel it in the way he breathes, in the way his body holds still like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

You feel him now, still hard, still clothed, the shape of him pressed to your thigh, and you can’t help it. Your hips roll, slow and greedy, your body answering before your head can catch up. 

He groans into your skin, low and deep, and you feel him falter, feel him fight not to lose it.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he says, quiet and hoarse and almost dazed, and it’s not a complaint, it’s reverent, it’s full of disbelief that he gets to have you like this, that he gets to stay here, and then he’s sitting up just enough to tug off his shirt and undo his belt, one handed.

And you watch him, still flushed and sensitive, still sore in the best way, but your legs spread for him automatically because your body wants this, wants him, wants to feel him everywhere, and when his trousers hit the floor and you finally get to see the full, desperate shape of him, flushed and thick and twitching with how hard he is. 

You swear under your breath because it’s obscene, it’s not fair, he’s so beautiful, and he just kneels between your legs like he belongs there.

He leans down to kiss you again, mouth still messy from everything he did to you, and you moan into it, half from the taste of yourself on his tongue and half from the way his cock presses right up against you, not pushing in yet, but it’s hot and heavy against your overstimulated cunt.

Your body jolts with it, and you hear yourself whimper, and he shushes you softly, forehead pressed to yours.

“Tell me you want this,” he says, not because he doesn’t know, but because he needs to hear it, needs to be sure, always so careful even when he’s wrecked and seconds from losing it completely.

You nod again, this time more definite, more desperate, and you whisper, “Please,” and that’s all it takes.

He pushes in so slowly you can feel every inch of it, feel every thick, aching stretch of him as he fills you, deeper than you thought anyone ever could, thick and hot and perfect, and you’re already gasping before he’s fully seated, already clutching at his back with both hands as your body adjusts, 

“You feel—” he starts, and then cuts himself off with a soft, broken noise, and presses a kiss to your throat as his hips roll forward, just enough to make you whimper, and he whispers, “So warm, sweetheart, so soft, you feel incredible.”

And then he moves for real, pulls back just enough to drag the whole length of himself out of you before sliding in again slow and deep, and your mouth falls open because it’s filthy, the sound of it, the slick, obscene drag of his cock inside you, your body taking him like it’s what it was made for, and Clark’s still breathing like he’s trying to survive it.

Clark sets a rhythm, gentle but full, grinding deep into you with every stroke, his hips tilting just right to press against that spot inside you that makes your thighs twitch and your stomach clench.

And every time he finds it again, again, he murmurs something soft into your skin, “There you go, That’s it, I’ve got you,” as though he’s guiding you somewhere, as if your body is answering him and he’s proud of it.

And it is so much, the stretch of him, the wet slide of your bodies moving together, the way your slick is dripping down your thighs now, messy and shameless, and Clark can feel it, can hear it, and instead of shying away from it he groans softly into your neck, presses his hand flat against your lower back to keep you right where he wants you, and says, breathless and stunned, “You’re so beautiful like this, I don’t think I’m ever going to forget how this feels.”

His voice is wrecked, soft and rough as he shudders above you, fingers finding your clit with slow, careful circles that make your whole body jerk beneath him. He doesn’t speed up, just keeps fucking you deep and steady, every thrust dragging right through you, and your legs are shaking, your hands clutching at him just to stay grounded.

“You’re doing so well,” he murmurs into your mouth, kissing you slow, “I’ve got you, I promise, just let go for me, sweetheart, please—”

And you do. It hits hard and hot, your body locking tight around him as everything breaks open, and you cry out without words, just Clark, just need, and he holds you through all of it, kissing your face, whispering soft things you can’t even process through the pleasure.

And he’s still inside you when it fades, still thick and hard and throbbing, just watching your face with the kind of awe that makes you ache all over again, and when you finally open your eyes, blinking up at him with wet lashes and parted lips, he leans down and kisses you one more time, deep and slow and full of everything he hasn’t said yet.

“You’re alright?” he asks, and he’s flushed and wrecked and still holding back, and you nod, still breathless, still clenching around him, and his whole body shudders again.

“I’m not gonna last much longer,” he admits, so softly it makes your heart twist, “You feel too good, I can’t— I don’t want to hurt you—”

But you’re already pulling him closer, because he needs it, because he’s holding himself so carefully, still buried in you and barely moving, arms shaking and jaw tight like it’s taking everything not to fall apart.

You press your hands to his face, tilting his head until he looks at you, and the second his eyes meet yours, something in you snaps again, because he’s beautiful and he’s yours and he’s waiting.

You don’t have to speak. He sees it in the way you nod, in the way your hands cradle him, in the way your thighs pull him in.

And he exhales, shaky and wrecked, and leans into your touch like he’s been waiting for it, and he presses his forehead to yours and whispers, barely audible, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” you say, and it’s not breathless anymore, not messy or chaotic, it’s just soft, steady, honest, because you mean it, because you know him, and you know he never could.

He starts to move again, slow and deep and careful, as if he’s trying to memorise how you feel now that he’s allowed to. It’s not rushed anymore, just warm, just full of that unbearable closeness that only he ever gives you, and when your body clenches around him he groans, low and reverent.

Clark kisses you again and again, mouth soft on yours, whispering between breaths, “So good, I’ve got you, I’m right here,” and it’s never really about him, not even now, not even with his hips starting to stutter and his hands gripping tighter like he needs to hold on to something real.

And when it happens, when he finally lets go, you feel all of it; the shake in his thighs, the rough sound in his throat, the way his mouth drops open against your cheek and you hold him through it, hands in his hair, whispering his name just to let him know you’re here.

He groans your name like it’s the only word he knows, and he spills into you with his face tucked into your neck, his entire body trembling as though he’s never felt anything like this before, as though this moment, this warmth, this love, is undoing something in him he never thought could be undone.

When it’s over, his hips still and his breath evens out, and he doesn’t move. He stays close, chest to chest, mouth pressed to your skin like he’s not ready to let go, and you lie there with him in the quiet, holding each other, breathing slow and steady, hearts still racing in sync, and you know you’ve never been loved like this before.

You don’t know how long you stay like that, tangled and quiet, your legs still around his hips, his arms still tight around you like he’s afraid to let go. And maybe he’s right. Maybe you would fall apart if he stopped holding you like this, so gently, so steady, like he’s keeping you from breaking again.

When you finally shift, just enough to breathe deeper, he follows without question, tucks his face into your neck and sighs. Quiet and warm and full of peace, as if something inside him has finally gone still.

It’s a mess, all of it, your bodies sticky, your thighs still shaking, your heart beating too fast to keep up with your thoughts, but you don’t care. Not when his hand keeps stroking slow across your back like he’s soothing something deeper than skin, not when his mouth keeps finding your shoulder in soft kisses that feel more like promises than habit.

You should say something, maybe thank him or laugh or breathe properly, but all you can do is hold him tighter and hope he gets it. Hope he hears it in the way your fingers stay in his hair, in the way your forehead presses into his cheek, in the way your breathing finally begins to settle, not calm, but easier. 

And the thought hits you, not all at once but slowly, creeping in through the quiet like a truth you’d been ignoring until now;

Kryptonite could kill him, sure, it’s the one thing strong enough to bring him down, the one weakness he can’t hide, but Clark Kent on his knees, hands steady and tongue slow and eyes so full of love it breaks you, that might just kill you first.

[guliexe]

━━━RAGE QUIT 18+

Gamer!Lee Heeseung x Gamer!Female!Reader

.ᐟwarnings/tags: slow burn, gaming buddies, video game terms, texting, sexting, soft dom!heeseung, shy!reader, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, pet names (princess, baby), praising, dry humping, oral (f & m rec), cum eating, unprotected sex, p in v, confessing, reader is down bad for heeseung, fluff

♡ you started as friends who played games at night—now he’s the one making you moan into his pillow.

.ᐟwc: 15.9k (no proofread)

It’s been a year since Heeseung joined the friend group. Some random guy Jungwon brought into the server one night for a last-minute League match, and who never really left. Every night like clockwork, your group piles into Discord: Valorant, League of Legends, horror co-ops that get you all screaming in sync. Most nights end in swearing, laughing, or someone rage quitting, usually Heeseung, and sometimes everyone. He’s sharp-tongued, quick-witted, and stupidly good at every game he touches. A little cocky, kind of a menace, and unfortunately for you, exactly your type.

You’ve had a crush on him almost as long as you’ve known him. Actually no, you’ve been in love with him, not that he’d ever guess. Or maybe he would. He teases you like he knows you’ll blush, throws in little pet names and innuendos like he’s testing you for a reaction. But you always brush it off as just another part of the bit. You’re just the girl he likes to mess with during late-night ranked queues. It doesn’t mean anything. Even if your heart does this weird flutter thing whenever he says your name.

“Where’s my duo?” you ask the second you join voice chat, headset sliding over your ears. “You bitches better not have started without me.” A chorus of greetings erupts, Jay, Sunghoon, Jungwon, and two others you recognize from another Discord server. Everyone’s already in the Valorant lobby, bouncing around agents and bantering over voice chat. “Calm down,” Sunghoon laughs. “You’re only, like, twenty minutes late.” You correct him, “Fashionably.” Then his voice comes through. Lazier, deeper, more smug than usual. “Nice of you to show up, princess.” You roll your eyes even as your stomach flutters. “Sorry, didn’t realize I had to run my schedule by you.” you shoot back. Heeseung hums in your ear like he’s unbothered. “You do when you keep dodging games just to avoid being carried.” You scoff. “Carried? Please. You’re always the first to die.” Jay cuts in, laughing. “Here we go again.” It’s always like this, bickering that toes the line between hostile and flirtatious, drawing amused reactions from everyone else in the group. It’s part of the rhythm now. You give Heeseung shit, he throws it right back, and everyone else acts like it’s some kind of soap opera they’ve been watching for seasons. “Bet she top frags this round.” Jungwon says, grinning. “She won’t,” Heeseung says at the exact same time. Then adds, “If she does, it’s because I softened them up first.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, snorting a laugh. “Cope harder.” You lock in Clove. Heeseung picks Jett. Predictable. The match loads in, and everyone starts joking over vc while you check your loadout. Your team takes the first site, and somehow the round is over in seconds, three clean shots from you, one assist, and Heeseung’s kill coming in dead last. “Damn, she’s actually carrying.” Jay says with mock awe. “Say thank you.” you say sweetly. “Thank you, queen.” Then someone else, a guy you vaguely know named Kai, who’s only been playing with the group for a week or two, speaks up. “Carry me again like that and I’ll eat your pussy, mama.” You freeze for half a second, just long enough for your brain to register what he said, and then you giggle. Not because you’re actually into it, but because it’s so fucking unhinged. “Yeah?” you say, leaning into the joke. “Say less.” The whole call erupts in laughter. “Bro.” Jay wheezes.“You’re wild for that.” Sunghoon says.

“Don’t test me.” Kai says again, voice still flirty. And then Heeseung speaks. Calm. Too calm. “Jesus Christ, can you not be a pain in the ass for, like, one game?” The laughter stops for a second. You glance at the chat window instinctively, it’s like the air shifted. He didn’t sound like he was joking. Kai lets out an awkward laugh. “Relax, man. It’s a joke.” Heeseung hums, dry. “Then try making a funny one.” It goes quiet again, not dead silence, but that weird kind of pause where everyone’s pretending not to notice the tension. You hear someone’s keyboard clack in the background. In-game footsteps echo in your ears. “You good, Hee?” You speak up carefully. “I’m great,” he says, “Just bored of hearing you flirt with losers.” Your heart stutters. That one didn’t sound like a joke either. Even Jay seems caught off guard. “Yo, that sounded personal.” “It’s not,” Heeseung says immediately. Too quickly. “Let’s just win the round.”

And he does exactly that, goes full sweat mode for the rest of the match. Dashes into sites solo, gets two aces in a row, doesn’t speak unless it’s a callout. The rest of the group fills the silence with jokes and teasing, but you don’t miss the shift. Heeseung always plays aggressive, but tonight it feels pointed. Like he’s got something to prove. To you. Or to someone else, you’re not sure, but your stomach is buzzing.

The match ends with a win, somehow, Heeseung top frags, of course, and Kai logs off without saying goodbye. The group starts leaving one by one. “Alright, I’m out.” Sunghoon yawns. “GGs.” “Same.” Jay says. “I can’t feel my eyes.” “Goodnight, lovebirds.” Jungwon mutters under his breath before he leaves. You scoff. “Shut up.” Heeseung doesn’t say anything. Eventually, it’s just the two of you. Still in voice chat. The lobby music looping softly in the background. You think about leaving, but your hand hovers over the disconnect button and never quite clicks. Heeseung exhales. You hear the soft creak of his chair. Then, “How come you’re not leaving?” You blink at your screen. His voice is different now, low and quiet, not teasing. “I don’t know,” you say. “Didn’t want to so early.” He hums. “Guess that means I scared everyone off.” You smile faintly, chewing on your lip. “You kinda went off on that guy.”

He doesn’t respond immediately. “Yeah. I didn’t like what he said.” You tilt your head. “Because it was gross or…?” There’s a pause. “Because it was you.” he says.vYour breath catches. You wish you could see his face, but all you have is the green ring around his icon lighting up. “…Oh.” Another pause. It stretches long enough to border on awkward, until he cuts the silence with a sudden, dry little mutter, “God, don’t make me say something corny at 3AM. I’ll literally throw myself out the window.” You laugh, soft and surprised. “There it is,” he says, pleased. “I was waiting for that.” You raise a brow. “For what?” you ask. “You always laugh like that when you’re trying not to.” You protest, “i do not.” But your voice is too light, too amused to sound serious. “You do,” he says, and you can hear the grin behind his words. “It’s cute.” Your stomach flips. “Are you flirting with me, Heeseung?” you ask, trying to make it sound like a joke, but it comes out breathy, shy. He lets out a soft laugh. “I don’t know. Are you gonna flirt back this time or just ignore it like always?” You go quiet. Then, “You notice that?”

“Course I notice that,” he says. “I notice everything when it comes to you.” Your cheeks go warm. You look away from your screen, heart thudding stupidly. “…You’re not as smooth as you think,” you mumble. He yawns, loud, exaggerated. “Mmm. Still made you laugh. Still made you stay in call.” You roll your eyes, “You’re impossible.” and smile. “Yeah, but you like me.” You want to say something back. Something playful or clever. But instead, you just go quiet. He doesn’t push. After a beat, he says, softer this time, “You sound tired.” You lean back on your chair. “Mm. Kinda am,” you admit. “But comfy.” “Yeah?” he says. “Stay a little longer?” You nod, forgetting he can’t see you. “Okay.” There’s a long pause where neither of you talk, just the sound of keyboard clicking as he hovers around his screen, maybe checking stats, maybe just filling the silence. Then, quietly, “You know I wasn’t just teasing, right?” Your eyes flick to your monitor. “About what?”

“Earlier. The guy. The flirting.” His voice drops an octave, a little husky now. “I don’t like hearing other guys talk to you like that. Even if it’s a joke.” You don’t answer right away. You’re too busy staring at your screen like it’s going to tell you what to say. “I didn’t think you cared.” you admit. He laughs again, gentler. “I’ve been caring for a while, princess.” Your heart stumbles. You bite your lip. “…I kinda like when you call me that,” you whisper. He hums, satisfied. “I know.” You giggle, sleepy and flustered and way too warm all of a sudden. He lets out a soft sigh, then mutters, “If we were on cam, you’d be blushing, huh?”

“Shut up.”

“That a yes?”

“Shut up, Heeseung.”

He laughs, warm, lazy. “Sleepy girl.”

You giggle softly, cheeks already warm. “You’re so corny, Hee.” He doesn’t miss a beat. “You love it though.” You pause, just a second too long. “Mmm… kinda.” He chuckles, just this soft, fond sound that sinks right into your skin. “Cute.” Your heart skips. You don’t know what to say to that, so you just smile to yourself, suddenly way too aware of how quiet it is now, just you, him, and that little green ring lighting up every time he speaks. Neither of you says much after that. You just sit there in the silence, not awkward, not heavy, just full of something unspoken. Your eyes start to flutter closed. You think you hear him shift in his chair. Maybe yawn. You don’t log off. Neither does he.

It’s almost midnight by the time everyone’s in the lobby again. League this time, ranked. You’ve got your hoodie on, cup of something warm on your desk, legs curled up in your chair. Your screen lights up with everyone’s icons, voices overlapping in Discord. “Why are we doing this to ourselves.” Jay groans as he hovers over his champion. “Because,” you reply sweetly, “we have no self respect.” Then, “Speak for yourself,” Heeseung mutters. “I’m here to carry.” You roll your eyes, “You wish.” smiling already. “Oh my god,” Sunghoon groans. “You two start the exact same way every game.”

“Wait until she dies in lane,” Heeseung says. “Then she’ll blame me like usual.”

“Because you gank at level six like a coward.”

You hear him snort. “Don’t need to gank when you feed their mid laner for me.”

The game loads in. You settle into your rhythm fast, poking, last-hitting, barely listening to the chaos on comms. But every time Heeseung’s voice filters through your headset, you feel it, that lingering buzz from last night. The way he called you cute. The way you didn’t want to leave the call. You don’t know if it meant something. But you feel different now. Every time he says your name, it lands heavier than before. Fifteen minutes in, you’ve got your third kill, and Heeseung’s still climbing his way up in the jungle. You start pushing your lane harder, greedy. “Damn,” Kai says over comms. “She’s actually carrying again?”

“She does that,” Sunghoon says. “Every once in a while.”

Kai laughs. “Shit. If I play support next round, will you reward me, mama?”

You groan, already bracing yourself. “I mean damn,” he adds, “I’d let you leash me any day.”

The call explodes with groans. You groan too, out of habit, “You’re actually insane, dude.”

“You like it,” he says, clearly proud of himself.

You don’t reply, clicking back to lane. You’re not even thinking about it really. Until you hear…nothing. Heeseung’s gone silent. Not muted. Not disconnected. Just quiet. Then your phone buzzes. You glance at it out of instinct, brows furrowing.

Heeseung [12:16am]

tell your little fanboy to chill lol

You glance at the screen, smirking a little. You don’t reply , just keep farming, like your heart isn’t suddenly going crazy.

Buzz.

Heeseung [12:17am]

kinda annoying hearing him talk to u like that tbh

Buzz.

Heeseung [12:17am]

doesn’t even say it right

if anyone’s gonna call you mama it should be me

You choke on your own breath. Your mouse stutters for a second. One of your minions dies.

Buzz.

Heeseung [12:18am]

jk

Buzz.

Heeseung [12:18am]

unless u like it

Your skin is burning. You tuck your phone away without replying, biting back a smile. Across your headset, the match keeps going—Kai’s talking again, but his voice barely registers. You’re not listening to him anymore. You’re only hearing Heeseung. You don’t reply to his messages. Mostly because you don’t trust yourself to. Your fingers are still shaky on the keyboard as the match rolls on. Heeseung’s acting normal again in vc, throwing out short callouts, occasionally bickering with Sunghoon, playing it cool like he didn’t just imply he wants to call you mama.

Your phone buzzes again once, but you ignore it this time. Your lane’s pushing, and your team is moving toward Baron. You focus. You click fast. And when Kai dies again, whining about being “baited,” you’re already ready to kill. You slide in, ult ready, and drop three of them before they can react, smooth, clean, and so fast that Jay literally yells through his mic. “OH MY GOD—okay, she’s cracked tonight.”

“Bro, what was that?” Sunghoon laughs. “Are you sweating?”

You’re already smiling to yourself when you hear it. Low. Offhanded. Just one beat late.

“Good job, baby.”

Everything stops. No one else reacts. But you hear it. Loud and clear. Your brain scrambles. You don’t know if anyone else caught it, maybe he was leaning too close to his mic, maybe it just blended in with the chaos, but your stomach drops. In a good way. In a terrifying way. You go quiet for a few seconds, and then, “…What’d you just call me?” There’s a beat of silence. Then Heeseung’s voice, smooth as ever, “Hm? I said good job.”

You narrow your eyes. “No, you didn’t.”

“Might’ve added something,” he says casually. “You complaining?”

You hate that your face is hot. You hate it more that you smile.

“…You’re annoying,” you mumble, half-giggling.

“Still blushing though.” he replies, grinning into his mic.

Sunghoon: “What did I miss?”

Jay: “I knew something was going on with you two.”

You groan, tugging your hoodie over your mouth. “Play the damn game,” you mutter, but your voice is way too giddy to be taken seriously. And even though everyone goes back to screaming over objectives and team fights, your head’s somewhere else completely. Still stuck on that word. Baby.

It’s the next night. Everyone’s in voice chat again—same group, same vibe. But now you know what he said last time. He knows you heard it. And he hasn’t brought it up since. He’s acting normal again, but you’re not letting him off the hook that easily. The match is halfway through. You’ve just landed a perfect kill steal on Heeseung’s target, claiming the bounty right out from under him. He groans dramatically. “You seriously just took that?” You smirk, leaning into your mic. “Mhm. Had to show off for you, baby.” Silence. Total, absolute, silence.

Jay wheezes. “Wait.”

Sunghoon: “Did she just—?”

You don’t say anything else.

But you can feel Heeseung scrambling on the other side of his headset. He doesn’t speak for a few seconds, which, for him, is a lot. Then he clears his throat. “You trying to start something, princess?” You smile. “Just matching energy.” He lets out a low laugh, little breathless, a little impressed. “Dangerous game,” he mutters. “Careful or I might start taking you seriously.” You tilt your head, pretending to think. “Maybe I want you to.” He doesn’t respond right away. And when he does, his voice is quieter. “…Noted.”

You’re walking behind Heeseung in-game, flashlight beam jittering as you peek into dark hallways. You are playing Phasmaphobia, already regretting letting the boys talk you into this. “Is that—? No, okay, that’s just a shadow.” you mumble, heart racing. Heeseung laughs softly through the mic. “You alright back there?”

“No,” you whisper, sticking close. “Why do you sound so calm?”

“‘Cause I’m brave,” he says casually, like it’s obvious. “You’re the scaredy cat .”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up.”

“You are,” he continues, voice smooth. “Cute though. I like it.”

Your stomach flips. You keep your eyes on the screen, trying to act unfazed. “Not my fault you’re so bad at protecting me.” you murmur. He pauses for half a second.

Then, “Oh, that’s how we’re playing tonight?”

You smile, shy but satisfied. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Mm. You didn’t have to.”

Jay’s voice cuts in on voice chat, “Guys? Where the hell are you two?”

“Clearing the hallway,” Heeseung answers smoothly. “She’s being brave.”

You don’t say anything, but you know he hears your quiet giggle, even through your mic.

It’s almost 3AM when the final round ends. Everyone’s laughing, still on edge from that last chase. Jay’s cackling over some glitch, Sunghoon’s threatening to uninstall the game, and you’re still trying to slow your heartbeat. Then Heeseung’s voice cuts in, calm and lazy through the mic. “Alright, I’m out. I need to shower before I crash.” You blink at your screen, suddenly still. “Damn, it’s that serious?” Jay says, yawning. “Alright, night bro.”

“Night, losers,” Heeseung says with a smirk in his voice. “Later, princess.”

Your stomach flips, but before you can even think of a reply, his little green Discord ring goes gray. Gone. You try not to pout. The call slowly empties, one by one, goodnights echoing into silence until it’s just you. Alone in the lobby, your fingers hovering over the keyboard, still hoping he’d maybe rejoin. But he doesn’t. So you log off too. Toss your headphones aside, get up and do your skincare, brush your teeth, your hair, fluff your pillows. But you don’t feel sleepy yet. You’re scrolling aimlessly on your phone, tucked under your blanket, when it lights up suddenly.

Incoming call: Heeseung

Your breath catches. He’s calling you. At 3:27AM. You stare at it for half a second, then answer. “Hello?” you say, voice soft and a little surprised. “Hey.” His voice is warm, low, a little rough. You can tell he’s laying down too. “I thought you were going to sleep,” you murmur. “I was,” he says, quieter now. “Shower helped, but… I don’t know. Something felt off.” You wait, heartbeat picking up. “Didn’t get to talk to you.” Your lips curve into the softest smile.

“I was waiting for you to stay.”

“I know,” he says. “I wanted to.”

Then there’s a pause, intimate, quiet. “You comfy now?” he asks. “Mhm. Just got in bed.” Another pause. “Wish I could see you.”

You bite your lip. “You’re sweet tonight.” you whisper. He chuckles. “You make me sweet.”

Heeseung’s quiet for a few seconds. Then, casually, “You played good tonight.” You blink, surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Carried my ass a couple times.”

You let out a soft laugh. “I always do.” He chuckles too, low and warm. “You’re not gonna let me be nice, huh?”

“Mm, maybe not.”

There’s a pause, not awkward, just weighted.

“You ever think about playing just us?” he asks, voice a little softer. Your heart stutters. “Like duo by ourselves?” you say quickly, trying to play it cool. He hums. “Something like that.” You bite your lip, smiling into the darkness. “Maybe.” He doesn’t push it. Just lets the silence stretch again. “You sleepy?” he asks gently. You nod, even though he can’t see. “Yeah. You?”

“Mhm.” A beat. “Didn’t wanna sleep without hearing you again.” You go quiet, your heart going crazy. “…You’re sweet,” you whisper. He breathes a little laugh. “Don’t tell anyone.” You smile. “Secret’s safe with me.” There’s one last pause, so full of things neither of you say. Then finally, he says, “Sleep well, princess.”

“Goodnight, Hee.”

He hangs up. But you don’t sleep for a long time.

Discord is chaotic as always—half the team is yelling over each other mid-match, someone’s mic is echoing, and Sunghoon’s pretending to AFK just to piss people off. You’re trying to focus, but your mind’s a little too full of Heeseung. Ever since that late-night call, everything feels shifted. More intense. Every time he talks in call, your chest gets tight. And when his icon lights up just to say your name, it’s worse. “Okay, Saturday—Heeseung’s place?” Jake says. “Yeah, I’m in,” Sunghoon says. “Someone bring snacks.” Then Heeseung, smooth as ever, “You coming, princess?” You blink. Swallow the flutter in your chest. “Uh…yeah. Sure.” you say quickly, trying to sound casual. But barely a beat later, your screen lights up with a DM.

Heeseung [11:45 pm]

u don’t sound excited

Your lips twitch.

You [11:45 pm]

i am

Heeseung [11:46 pm]

lol?

that’s all i get?

You shake your head, smiling to yourself.

You [11:46 pm]

focus on the game hee

There’s a short pause.

Heeseung [11:47 pm]

not when you say my name like that

You bite your lip.

But before you can answer, Heeseung suddenly says in vc, “Yo—who just stole my red buff? I swear to god.” Everyone starts yelling again. The moment breaks, but not completely. It lingers underneath the noise, quiet and warm.

It’s almost 2:30 a.m. when your phone buzzes. You’re curled up in bed, scrolling aimlessly, already half-asleep. The soft glow of your screen lights up your dark room.

Heeseung [2:28 am]

u still up?

You blink at the message, a tiny smile tugging at your lips.

You [2:28 am]

barely

was abt to sleep

Heeseung [2:28 am]

wait

look at this

A photo comes through. It loads slowly, thanks to your shitty Wi-Fi, but when it does, your breath catches. Heeseung, shirtless. Pyjama pants slung low on his hips, just enough to tease, the band of his boxers peeking out. And right in the center of the frame, curled up perfectly in his lap, his small, fluffy kitty, fast asleep.

Heeseung [2:30 am]

isn’t she cute :)

You swallow, staring at the picture a little too long.

You [2:31 am]

so cute

must be comfy there too

The typing bubble appears almost immediately.

Heeseung [2:31 am]

yeah?

u jealous princess?

You grin at your screen, heart racing.

You [2:31 am]

hmm

maybe a lil :3

He doesn’t respond right away. You wonder if you went too far, until your phone vibrates again.

Heeseung [2:33 am]

could make room for u too

You stare at the words, pulse jumping.

You [2:33 am]

bold

Heeseung [2:34 am]

not bold if it’s true

u always look tired after carrying me anyway

You let out a soft laugh, trying to hide the way your cheeks are burning.

You [2:34 am]

i hate u

Heeseung [2:34 am]

no u don’t

you like me too much

You don’t reply right away. Instead, you bite your lip, heart pounding in the quiet dark.

You [2:35 am]

maybe :>

Heeseung [2:35 am]

see you saturday bby

sleep tight

You set your phone down on your chest and stare at the ceiling, grinning like an idiot. No shot you’re sleeping now.

You hadn’t seen Heeseung in two weeks, not in person, at least, but the late-night texts and flirty voice chats had kept him pressed into your mind like a fingerprint. Every time he called you “princess” every teasing message he sent before bed, made you blush behind your screen like some lovesick idiot. So yeah, now that you were about to see him again, you were nervous. Stupidly nervous. You stood in front of your mirror for way too long that afternoon, picking out something cute but not obvious, landing on a short, flowy dress that made you feel pretty. It felt casual enough not to raise eyebrows, but still, you hoped he’d notice. You wanted him to.

You met up with the others at the corner near Heeseung’s place. Everyone was buzzing with energy, talking about what games they’d play, what movies they’d watch, how long they were gonna stay. You tried to laugh along and act normal, but your heart beat louder with every step closer to his house. And then, you were there. One of the guys knocked on Heeseung’s door, you held your breath. A few seconds later, it swung open. He was standing there in a black hoodie and gray sweats, hair a little messy like he’d just run a hand through it before opening up. His eyes skimmed lazily over the group, and then landed on you. They didn’t move for a moment. Neither did yours. “Yo.” one of the others greeted him. Heeseung smirked. “You guys are late.” Then, to you, voice a little quieter, a little warmer, “You coming in, princess?” Your stomach flipped. “Uh, Yeah.” You tried to play it cool, stepping past him like your skin wasn’t already prickling from just hearing his voice up close.

You walk into the apartment, your eyes adjusting to the soft orange glow spilling across the living room. It was warm in there, literally and figuratively, the kind of cozy that made you want to curl into a blanket and never leave. Lamps instead of overhead lights, a couple of pillows tossed lazily across the couch, the faint scent of something like vanilla and laundry detergent lingering in the air. You quietly took a seat on the couch, smoothing your dress under your thighs. The fabric felt short when you sat, but you kept your expression neutral, pretending like you weren’t already hyper-aware of Heeseung moving around behind you. He dropped down into the armchair across from you, spreading his legs slightly, elbows on his knees. The hoodie he wore was unzipped, the edge of a plain white t-shirt barely clinging to his collarbones. He caught your eye for a second, just a second, and gave you a small smile. You looked away first.

The rest of the group slowly filtered into the living room, loud and casual like always. One of them kicked off their shoes and flopped dramatically onto the rug. “So,” someone said, clapping their hands together. “Are we being normal and playing something like Monopoly, or are we ruining friendships tonight with Uno?”

“Uno,” Heeseung said immediately, leaning back in his chair. “No mercy.”

“I’m voting for Mario Kart,” someone else chimed in from the floor. “Get on later and let me kick your ass, Lee.”

“Bro, last time you said that, I fucking stepped on you.”

Laughter erupted across the room. You giggled quietly, tucking your hands into your lap. It was easy being here. Loud, chaotic, but safe, like always. The way it always had been. Except…Except now Heeseung looked at you differently. They eventually settled on starting with a few board games, pushing aside the clutter on the coffee table and pulling out the boxes. Sunghoon opened the food delivery app and started taking orders—half the group wanted ramen, the other half wanted pizza. You stayed mostly quiet, watching it all unfold with a small smile, your knee gently bouncing on the couch. Every now and then, Heeseung’s eyes flicked toward you. When they did, he didn’t look away. He just watched, like he was content to see you sitting there, finally within reach again.

The living room had grown quieter since earlier, the post-game, post-food lull settling into everyone. Someone had queued up a movie, someone sprawled out across the couch and floor with blankets, while the others argued over what snacks were left and who was going to eat them. You slipped away quietly, rising from your seat and heading into the kitchen with an empty soda can in hand. The orange glow from under the cabinets bathed the room in a soft warmth, the hum of the fridge buzzing steadily behind you. You opened it, pretending to look for something, even though you weren’t really hungry. Your heart was beating too fast anyway. You closed the door and turned around, only to find Heeseung standing in the doorway. He wasn’t looking for snacks.

His hands were stuffed casually into the front pocket of his hoodie, his expression unreadable in the dim light. The laughter from the living room felt distant, muffled by the walls between you. He stepped inside slowly, letting the door swing shut behind him. “Been looking at you all night.” he said, voice low. You blinked, caught off guard. “What?” His eyes dropped, just for a second, to your dress—the way it clung softly to your waist before fluttering down your thighs. “That little dress,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You wore it for me, didn’t you?” You scoffed softly, trying to hide the way your stomach turned. “Shut up.” He tilted his head, amused. “What? I’m wrong?” You didn’t answer. He stepped closer. Not touching you yet, just close enough that you could smell the fabric softener clinging to his hoodie.

“You look so pretty, princess.” he said gently. Your breath hitched. The nickname sounded different when he said it here, alone, with the world gone quiet around you. No Discord call. No other people. Just him—tall and warm and real in front of you. “You’re gonna make me blush.” you whispered, glancing up at him through your lashes. He smiled. “That’s kind of the point.”

His hand rose slowly, like he didn’t want to startle you, and he touched your cheek. Fingers warm against your skin. You leaned into it without thinking, eyes fluttering shut. And then he kissed you. Soft and slow. Just enough pressure to make your knees feel a little unsteady. He kissed you like he’d wanted to for a while. And you kissed him back. Your hand came up to rest against the curve of his chest, clutching the fabric of his hoodie like you were afraid to let go. His thumb brushed your cheek. You sighed into him, and he pressed his forehead to yours for a second before pulling back slightly.

Before either of you could say anything, a voice echoed faintly from the other room, “I’ll go grab a beer, y’all want something?” You both froze, then stifled a laugh. Heeseung’s hand lingered on your face a moment longer before slipping away. “You should go,” he said quietly, eyes locked on yours. “Before someone comes in here and ruins it.” You smiled, breathless. “Yeah…” But neither of you moved.

You were the first to step back into the living room. No one looked up, the movie was too loud, and everyone else was too busy bickering over what just happened in the plot. You sank back into your spot on the couch, heartbeat still trying to even out, trying to act normal. Like Heeseung’s mouth hadn’t just been on yours. A few seconds later, he came in too, casually, like he’d just gone to the bathroom or gotten a drink or something. But instead of dropping into his old seat across the room, he sat beside you.

Right beside you. No one said anything. No one noticed. But you did. You were hyper-aware of every shift—the way the cushion dipped slightly under his weight, the warmth of his thigh brushing yours. You didn’t even dare look at him at first. You just stared ahead, pretending to focus on the screen. Then, his hand landed on your thigh. Your breath caught, but it wasn’t like that. It was soft, subtle. Just a palm resting over the fabric of your dress like it belonged there.

He didn’t move it. Didn’t squeeze, didn’t tease. He just…let it be there. And somehow, that was even worse. Eventually, the others started yelling at the TV again, someone shouting “YOU IDIOT WHY WOULD YOU GO INTO THE BASEMENT ALONE?” and the whole room dissolved into laughter. Heeseung’s hand slid away. But only to settle beside your thigh, knuckles just barely brushing the hem of your dress. You hesitated, heart thudding, before you let your pinky drop, feather-light, against his.

And he hooked it, like it was nothing. Like it was everything. You finally looked up at him, hust briefly. His gaze was already on you. He didn’t smile, not quite. But his expression softened, like he was memorizing this, keeping it tucked away somewhere quiet just for him. Your cheeks burned, you looked away, but you didn’t pull your hand back.

It was late when everyone finally started gathering their things. The movie had long since ended, and the energy in the room was quiet and warm, a buzz of satisfied laughter and sleepy goodbyes. Shoes were slipped on, jackets thrown over shoulders, as one by one, people trickled toward the front door. You were the last to follow. Dragging your steps a little, pretending you were still putting your phone in your bag, but really, you were just hoping he’d say something. Do something. And he did.

As you reached the door, Heeseung caught your wrist gently. Just for a second. Just enough to make you stop and glance back at him. He stepped closer, leaning down just slightly. And before you could even say anything, he pressed a kiss to your cheek. Warm. Quick. So casual, but not casual at all. His lips lingered for just a second before pulling back. “Goodnight, princess.” he murmured. Your chest fluttered. You tried to respond, but your words caught somewhere between your throat and your racing heart. All you could do was smile, cheeks burning, as you stepped out into the night. You didn’t even remember saying goodbye to the others. You just kept touching your cheek where his mouth had been.

Another night, another game. Everyone was online, the Discord call full of laughing and yelling as you all loaded into a League match. But it felt different this time. You could feel it immediately, even before Heeseung joined. Your heart jumped a little when his icon lit up green. “Yo.” he said, like always. “Hi.” you replied softly. He hummed, low and warm. “Miss me already?” Someone snorted in the background, Kai probably, but you didn’t even flinch. “Maybe a little,” you said, light and teasing. “Don’t let it get to your head.” He chuckled. “Too late, princess.” Nobody commented. Nobody knew. But you could hear the grin in his voice, and the sound made something tug low in your stomach. You played League. You laughed with the others. The usual trash talk flew back and forth, but the way Heeseung talked to you now? It wasn’t the same.

When you stole a kill from him, he groaned dramatically. “Wow. Can’t believe my own girlfriend would do me like that.” You choked. “Heeseung—!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “Still pending, I guess.”

Kai laughed. “Damn, she’s got you whipped.”

Heeseung only hummed again. “Can you blame me?”

Your cheeks burned, but you didn’t deny it. You just pushed your mic away a little, smiled at your screen, and kept playing.

You were mid-game, headset on, pretending to be fully focused, but your phone kept lighting up beside you. You shouldn’t have looked.

Heeseung [11:26 pm]

u looked really pretty yesterday btw

Your fingers stuttered on the keyboard.

You [11:26 pm]

heeseung please focus i’m literally dying in mid rn

Heeseung [11:26 pm]

how am i supposed to focus when u looked like that in that dress

unfair tbh

Your face was burning. You typed quickly, glancing at your minimap.

You [11:26 pm]

stop distracting me :(

Heeseung [11:27 pm]

can’t help it

u get all shy when i text u and it’s cute asf

You tried so hard to keep a straight face. Then, right when you were getting pushed under tower, Heeseung’s champion appeared in lane. Ganked clean. You got the kill. “Nice!” you said out loud, a little breathless. And then you heard it through the headset. “That’s my girl,” Heeseung murmured. You giggled. Couldn’t even help it. The call exploded.

“Kill me already,” Sunghoon groaned. “Get a room.”

“I’m gonna uninstall.” someone else muttered.

You pressed a hand over your smile, pretending to focus again, but your phone lit up once more:

Heeseung [11:30 pm]

u liked that baby?

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh again. The match was still going, your screen full of chaos, but all you could think about was the heat spreading over your cheeks.

You [11:30 pm]

maybe i didd

The typing bubble popped up right away.

Heeseung [11:30 pm]

yeah?

bet you’d like it even more if i whispered it in ur ear while u were on my lap

Your stomach flipped, pulse thudding deep in your chest. You squeezed your knees together under your desk and stared at your screen, barely registering the game anymore.

You [11:31 pm]

hee.

stoppp that’s not fair :(

Heeseung [11:31 pm]

aww baby’s getting all shy now?

cute

You didn’t answer right away, and he didn’t need you to. He knew exactly what he was doing to you. And when he pinged on the map again to come help you in lane, you swear your hands were trembling.

It was past 2 a.m. now. The group was deep into another League match, your sixth of the night. And the fourth loss. Everyone was tilted. Half-joking, swearing under their breath. But Heeseung…Heeseung was seething. You could hear it in the way he was clicking. Rapid, furious, sharp. His voice had dropped into this low, tight drawl as he muttered, “This jungler’s a bot. Actually brainless.” You shouldn’t have found it attractive. But the heat in his voice, the frustration curling behind every breath, it made your stomach flutter. But then his mic went quiet. You knew that silence. The kind that was dangerous. “Bro, this is unplayable,” Heeseung muttered suddenly. His voice sounded a bit raspy and tired. “I can’t do this shit anymore. I’m out.” Disconnect.

The call fell into stunned silence for a second. Then Sunghoon sighed. “Yikes.” Your heart dropped. You stared at your screen for a long second, your fingers frozen over your keyboard. You hadn’t even typed “gg.” You stayed quiet. Just tried to blink back the weird sting that hit you way too fast. “I’m gonna switch to Valorant,” Jay said. “Anyone else?”

“I’m in,” you mumbled, a little too quickly. You didn’t want to log off. Not yet. Not if he texted. So you launched the game, joined a party, and tried to laugh along with the others, but every second that passed, your eyes flicked down to your phone. Still nothing.

It was almost 4 a.m. by the time you logged off. You barely said goodbye, too drained from the string of losses, but more so from the ache in your chest that had settled there after Heeseung left the call. He didn’t text. Not once. You went through your usual motions anyway. Washed your face, pulled on an oversized tee, got under the covers with your phone still in hand, brightness low, just mindlessly scrolling. Checking Instagram, discord, his profile—more than once. Still nothing. Your screen dimmed. You stared at the faint glow on your ceiling, curled under your blanket, and tried not to overthink it. You told yourself he was just mad at the game, not at you. Your phone eventually slipped from your hand onto the pillow beside you. And sometime after, you drifted off, eyes closed, heart a little too heavy for sleep to come easy.

Buzz.

Your screen lit up softly in the dark. You squinted one eye open.

Heeseung [4:21 am]

sry abt that

Your heart thumped. You reached for your phone with a sleepy hand, your fingers a little clumsy as you unlocked it.

Buzz.

Heeseung [4:21 am]

wasn’t mad at u or anything

And then, after a moment:

Heeseung [4:23 am]

missed ur voice tbh

Your breath caught. Your thumb hovered over the keyboard, your chest warm, a smile curling on your lips as you looked at the screen.

You [4:24 am]

it was boring without u :(

There was barely a pause before your phone buzzed again.

Heeseung [4:24 am]

yeah baby?

That one made your breath hitch. You turned onto your back, screen hovering above your face now, your lips pressing together to contain the smile threatening to break free.

You [4:24 am]

mhm

wanted u there

The typing bubble appeared again. Stopped. Then came back.

Heeseung [4:25 am]

wanted to be there too

but u know how i get with that game lol

You giggled softly.

You [4:25 am]

i do

but u still sounded hot all pissed off like that

You waited, then cringed a little, your heart racing like ‘shit why did i say that’. A second later:

Heeseung [4:26 am]

oh yeah?

u like when i’m mad baby?

should’ve seen me after i logged off

was thinking abt u

Your heart stilled.

Heeseung [4:26 am]

couldn’t stop thinking abt ur thighs

Your hand went to your chest like you could calm the thunder in your heart.

You [4:26 am]

hee.

you can’t say stuff like that rn

Heeseung [4:27 am]

why not?

no one’s around

just me n my sleepy girl

You [4:27 am]

hmm

u like my thighs? :3

Heeseung [4:27 am]

i love them baby

You stared at his last message, your pulse loud in your ears. You swallowed. Your thumbs hovered over the keyboard for a moment before you typed.

You [4:28 am]

u love them?

Heeseung [4:28 am]

mmhmm

love how soft they looked when u sat next to me

kept thinking abt how warm u’d feel on my lap

Your thighs pressed together instinctively, breath catching. You hesitated. Then, slowly, like some part of you needed him to see, you pushed the blanket down. Your legs were folded up, thighs squished slightly together. Your tiny shorts clung to you, barely covering the top of your legs. With one hand, you tugged your shirt up just enough to show a sliver of your tummy, skin warm and soft under the low light of your phone screen. Your finger trembled as you tapped the shutter. You stared at the photo for a long moment. You didn’t look perfect, not posed like other girls might be. But something about it felt so real. So you sent it anyway.

You [4:30 am]

here :)

Three seconds passed. Then five.

Buzz.

Heeseung [4:30 am]

jesus baby

you’re gonna kill me

so fucking pretty

Buzz.

Heeseung [4:30 am]

can’t stop looking

want u so bad right now

Your body was warm all over. You stared at his words with your bottom lip between your teeth, your legs slowly stretching under the blanket again, your heart racing faster than it had all night. You type with shaky fingers.

You [4:31 am]

want u too :(

miss u

You don’t even care how needy it sounds, because it’s true. You miss the way he looked at you when no one else was watching. You miss the warmth of his hand next to yours. You miss how soft his lips were on yours.

Heeseung [4:31 am]

fuck baby

wish i could sneak into ur bed rn

kiss u slow n make u feel good

You bite your lip hard. Your whole body feels electric , flushed with adrenaline and want. You prop your phone up for a moment, your hand slipping under your oversized shirt. Your palm covers your left tit, squeezing softly. Your thighs shift and spread slightly as you angle the camera, lifting your shirt a little, enough to show a peek of tummy, the curve of your waist, the swell of your thighs pressed together in the low light. You snap the photo, heart hammering. And before you can change your mind, you send it.

Buzz.

Heeseung [4:33 am]

holy fuck

look at u baby…

can’t believe u sent this to me

Buzz.

Heeseung [4:33 am]

ur unreal

my pretty girl

all mine yeah?

Your legs curl up under the blanket again, warmth spreading between your thighs as you try to calm your breathing, but it’s impossible now, he’s everywhere, in your head, under your skin.

You [4:34 am]

mhm! only urs

want u so bad :((

Your pulse thunders in your ears as you shift on the bed, tugging your shirt higher. You take your shorts off, leaving your panties on, the cotton clinging to your pussy, soaked through, and you let your legs fall open. One hand moves to squeeze your tit, fingers covering your nipple, the curve of your breast spilling out just enough. Your shirt’s bunched under your chin, tummy soft and exposed. You lift your phone, and take a picture. You stare at it for a moment. You feel sick with nerves. Then:

You [4:35 am]

see? :(

You send the photo and immediately regret it. Not because you don’t want him to see it—you do, so badly—but because now there’s nothing. No reply. You stare at your screen, chewing your bottom lip. One minute passes. Then two. Then three. Your stomach twists, nerves bubbling up like soda fizz under your skin. Was it too much? Did you freak him out? You reach for your phone again just as the screen lights up.

Heeseung [4:39 am]

….

Your breath catches.

Heeseung [4:39 am]

princess i’m so fucking hard rn…

You bite down on your lip, heart pounding, legs still spread. His message replays in your head again and again. You can’t help yourself.

You [4:40 am]

proof? :3

The typing bubble appears instantly. Then disappears. Then it’s still again for a moment, until your screen lights up with a photo. He’s shirtless, skin flushed, abs tight. His hand is cupping his bulge through soft gray sweats, and the outline is obscene. Big. Thick. Heavy. You swear you let out the softest gasp, your thighs instinctively rubbing together. He’s huge. You press your phone to your chest, eyes wide, heart fluttering out of rhythm.

You [4:40 am]

ugh hee this is so unfair :((

Heeseung [4:41 am]

wanna make it fair baby

want u to touch yourself for me

You don’t even think. Your fingers are already slipping under the waistband of your panties before you start typing, your other hand barely steady.

You [4:41 am]

i’m already touching myself hee :( can’t stop

Your cheeks burn, your breath shaky as you press down, wet, aching, throbbing for him.

Heeseung [4:42 am]

fuck princess

wish i was there

i’d take care of u so good

you’d be shaking on my fingers

Your head falls back against your pillow as you whimper, reading and rereading his messages. He’s so good with his words, you feel them in your chest, between your legs, everywhere.

Heeseung [4:42 am]

how are u touching yourself baby?

You can’t even think straight anymore. His messages have your body burning, soaked and aching, and your fingers are moving slow, desperate circles over your clit, and all you can think about is him. The weight of his hand. The sound of his voice. His lips saying “that’s my girl.” You need him to see you like this. You pull the covers back just a little, breathing shaky as you lift your phone. One hand slips back under the waistband of your panties, your fingers teasing just enough to make your thighs twitch. You snap a photo. Your hand between your legs. Your panties slightly tugged down. Your thighs soft and parted. You’re trembling when you hit send.

You [4:43 am]

…

Seconds feel like hours.

Heeseung [4:43 am]

jesus fucking christ

look at you

fuck

keep touching yourself just like that

pretend it’s me

Your thumb hovers over the keyboard, the other hand still moving—slow, desperate circles on your clit, slick and messy. You’re so close already it’s dizzying.

You [4:43 am]

i always pretend it’s u hee :(

You hit send, barely able to see straight. It takes him a moment.

Heeseung [4:44 am]

fuck baby

you’re driving me insane

wish i could hear u right now

whimpering all soft and needy

Another sharp flick of your wrist and you gasp, eyes fluttering shut. You are whimpering, broken, breathy sounds you try to muffle into your pillow.

Heeseung [4:44 am]

keep rubbing that pretty little pussy for me

slow circles baby just like i’d do it

make yourself cum for me yeah?

You [4:44 am]

mhm :((

are u touching yourself too?

You send it while circling your clit just the way he told you to—slow, trembling, and wet. You can barely keep your hand steady, your thighs twitching at every glide. A second later, his response lights up your screen.

Heeseung [4:45 am]

yes baby

can’t help it

your pictures, your little sounds in my head

i’m so hard it hurts

That does it. You rub harder, faster, the heat coiling deep in your belly, your hips stuttering into your hand as you let out a tiny gasp, cheeks flushed, lip caught between your teeth. You need more, and he knows it.

Heeseung [4:46 am]

baby

put ur fingers inside for me

pretend it’s my fingers deep inside u

You whimper at the message, already sliding your fingers down lower, slipping them in without resistance. You’re so wet, they glide in easily, your head tilting back at the stretch, the heat, the ache.

Heeseung [4:46 am]

god i wish it was me

wish i could feel how tight you are

i’d fuck u nice and slow

You moan into your pillow, fingers curling, fucking yourself just like he would—thinking about his voice in your ear, his breath on your skin, the way he’d whisper praises in your ear while kissing your neck. It hits hard, your orgasm ripping through you in waves, thighs trembling around your hand, lips parted in a silent cry. You stay like that for a moment, ruined and flushed, before managing to pull your hand away. Still breathless, you lift your phone with shaky fingers and take another photo—your soaked fingers, a glossy string of cum stretched between them.

You [4:48 am]

made a mess for u hee :)

Heeseung [4:48am]

fuck…

fuck princess

i’m gonna cum

You’re still catching your breath when your phone buzzes again.

Heeseung [4:50 am]

you’re unreal baby

so pretty

so good for me

my perfect girl

You smile, cheeks hot, curled beneath your blanket now, the ache between your legs softening into warmth. You type slowly, eyes heavy with sleep.

You [4:50 am]

hee

u make me feel so good :(

want u here

wanna fall asleep on your chest

Heeseung [4:51 am]

i’d hold u so close princess

kiss ur forehead

play with ur hair til u fall asleep

You let out a soft, sleepy giggle into your pillow.

You [4:51 am]

mm that sounds perfect

goodnight hee <3

Heeseung [4:51 am]

goodnight baby

dream of me yeah?

<33

You tuck your phone under your pillow, smile still lingering on your lips as your eyes flutter shut, his words wrapped around you like a blanket.

You wake up to the soft buzz of your phone against your sheets, light from the screen spilling across your pillow.

27 new messages.

Your stomach flips. The group chat is blowing up and your name is all over it.

Sunoo

okay so it’s settled?? Heeseung’s place again??

Jungwon

yup tonight

Sunghoon

y/n don’t forget your controller

Jay

does she even know what’s happening rn

You stare at the screen, frozen. Heeseung’s place. Your cheeks burn as last night flashes in your mind, his voice, his texts, your fingers between your thighs. The pictures you sent. The ones he sent. And now… this? What if it’s weird now? What if it was just fun for him in the moment, but he doesn’t actually want you? What if he regrets it, and you’re showing up like a fool? You’re overthinking. Still, your fingers hover above the keyboard, hesitation burning in your chest. Then a new message pops up.

Heeseung

y/n are u in?

Three words. That’s all it takes to make your heart skip. You wait, ten seconds, twenty, trying not to read too much into it. Then, finally, you reply.

You

yeah :)

You stare at the little smiley face, hoping it doesn’t look too nervous. Hoping he sees it and hears the ‘please still want me’ in your head. Your phone buzzes again.

Heeseung [1:27 pm] (privately)

morning princess

missed u already

You [1:27 pm]

morning hee

missed u too <3

You send it before you can overthink, then hide your face in your pillow, kicking your legs. Your stomach is still tight with nerves, but his reply melts them just enough to let a smile creep in.

You’re staring at your reflection again. For the third time. Your skirt is short, but not too short, you tell yourself, sitting perfectly on your waist. The soft grey cardigan you picked out earlier clings to your frame just enough to show it off, the top buttons left undone so collarbones and chest show. You’re wearing perfume, a subtle one, the same one you wore last time at his place. You look cute. You know you do. You just hope he notices. Hope he wants you still. Hope none of what happened the other night has changed the way he looks at you.

Your phone buzzes again.

Sunoo

on our way! be there in 10

You grab your bag, swipe on a little extra lip balm, and head out. Fast-forward to Heeseung’s front door, everyone’s already inside laughing and talking as you step in. The same cozy orange light glows through the living room, voices echoing through the apartment. And then you see him, sitting on the edge of the couch in a hoodie and sweatpants, hair slightly messy like always, exactly how you like it. He turns his head the second you walk in. And you swear his eyes trail down your body, slow and shameless.

“Hey.” he says, voice low, lips lifting into the slightest smirk. “Hey.” you mumble, already feeling your cheeks warm. “You look cute.” he says simply. Like it’s just a fact. You barely manage a quiet “thank you.” before Sunghoon yells something about Mario Kart and the moment is gone. But not really, because you can feel his gaze on you even when you’re looking away.

The night has that same warm, familiar glow as last time—soft lights casting a gentle hue over Heeseung’s living room, the TV humming low as the next movie rolls. Everyone’s sprawled around the room now, Sunghoon’s half-asleep already with a bowl of popcorn resting on his chest, Jay and Sunoo are arguing playfully about which horror movie is better, and Heeseung’s legs are stretched out in front of the couch where you’re curled up on one end, hugging a fluffy pillow. Your skirt’s ruffled from how you’ve been shifting to get comfy, the neckline of your cardigan dipping slightly as you sink deeper into the cushions. You feel his gaze again, subtle but heavy. You glance up just in time to catch it, and he doesn’t even look away. He just smirks a little. You flush. Again.

Trying to act casual, you tuck your legs under yourself, tugging the hem of your skirt down just a little more. The warmth of the room, the quiet chatter, the way Heeseung hasn’t taken his eyes off you since you walked in, it’s all making you drowsy. By the time the third movie starts playing, your head is dipped against the couch, your cheek pressed to your arm. You fight it for a bit, blinking slow, barely following the plot, but your body is already giving in. Your breathing slows, your limbs go still, and eventually…you fall asleep. Heeseung notices immediately. At first, he just glances over, ready to make a comment, maybe tease you, but the words never come out. Instead, his expression softens. The curve of your lashes against your cheek, the way your lips part ever so slightly when you exhale, it’s enough to make his heart stutter.

He shifts, propping his elbow on the couch, letting his fingers curl against his cheek, watching you in silence while everyone else reacts to whatever’s happening on screen. You’re practically glowing under the dim light, blanket half falling off your thighs, cardigan slipping off one shoulder just enough to make him swallow hard. A while passes like that. Quiet. Intimate. Like it’s just the two of you in the room. Then Jay says something about it being past 3AM, and someone stands, stretching with a dramatic groan. “Should we bounce?” Sunghoon asks, rubbing his eyes. Jay nods. “Yeah, i’m dead. Heeseung, all good?” Heeseung tears his eyes away from you for the first time in a while. “Yeah.” Someone notices you next. “She’s out cold.” Jay leans in, whispering loudly. “You want us to wake her?”

Heeseung shakes his head, protective without even realizing it. “No. Don’t. She’s fine.” And just like that, they gather their things. Shoes are slipped on, phones grabbed off chargers, quiet goodbyes are mumbled, but Heeseung stays seated beside you, gaze still locked on your sleeping form. When the door finally closes and the apartment is quiet again, he stays still. His living room is bathed in that same soft orange glow, the credits roll on the TV, and you’re still there, breathing slow and peaceful, curled up with your lashes fluttering faintly, as if even in your sleep, you know he’s watching. He shifts just a little closer. You stir slightly when you feel the couch dip beside you, your body still heavy with sleep. “Hey, princess,” a voice murmurs, soft and warm near your ear. “Everyone left.” You blink up at him, slow and disoriented, eyes adjusting to the dim light. “Oh…I fell asleep?” Heeseung’s face is close, framed by the golden hue of the room, his smile gentle and just a little smug.

“Yeah,” he says, brushing a thumb lightly over your cheek. “You looked too cute to wake up.” You bite back a flustered smile, pulling the blanket tighter around your body. “You could’ve at least nudged me…” He shrugs, still looking at you like you hung the stars. “Didn’t want to. You looked peaceful.”

Your heart flutters, cheeks warming as your sleepiness starts to fade. He doesn’t move away, his face is still close, his hand resting beside your waist. The room feels warmer than it did earlier, quieter. Like everything outside of this couch doesn’t matter right now. You shift a little, your voice still a bit hushed. “So…it’s just us now?” Heeseung hums, tilting his head. “Yeah.” A pause.“You wanna stay a bit longer?” he adds. “Just us?” And the look he gives you isn’t teasing, not this time. It’s curious and hopeful.

You nod, still wrapped in the blanket, and sit up a little. A quiet yawn slips out before you bring your hand up to rub your eyes, still groggy, still warm from sleep. When you look up at him again, Heeseung’s already watching you, so closely, his gaze soft and heavy, like you’re the only thing in the world worth looking at. His lips are slightly parted, his expression unreadable but so full of something you’ve never seen from him before, not like this. Your heart stutters. Maybe it’s the quiet of the room. Maybe it’s the way he hasn’t looked away from you once. Maybe it’s the leftover warmth from your late-night texts, from the ache you haven’t been able to shake since. But something makes you reach out, slow and uncertain, your fingers brushing against his cheek before settling there gently. His skin is warm under your touch, and his lashes flutter just slightly at the contact, but he doesn’t move away.

Heeseung leans into your hand just the tiniest bit. And then, before you can overthink it, before you can get too scared, you lean in. Your lips press softly against his, barely there at first, just enough to feel the way he exhales sharply through his nose. His hand brushes lightly against your knee under the blanket, but he doesn’t pull you closer, doesn’t rush it. He just lets you kiss him, lets you decide. When you slowly pull back, your breath catching in your throat, you meet his eyes again. He’s smiling, soft, in awe, and he whispers, “Hey.”

A small laugh escapes your lips, bashful and sweet. “Hi.” You don’t say anything else for a second, both of you just sitting there in the glow of the room. And something in the way he’s looking at you, so soft, so wanting, makes the nerves dissolve into something deeper, heavier, needier. So you kiss him again.

This time with more pressure, more feeling, like all the nights of tension are finally spilling out through your lips. Your hand slips from his cheek to the back of his head, threading into his hair gently, and you feel him breathe in sharply when you do. His hands grip your waist and pull you effortlessly into his lap, and you melt against him, thighs bracketing his hips as his touch slides down to caress them slowly, reverently. You sigh softly into his mouth, and he hums in response, the sound low and satisfied. His fingers squeeze just above your knees, coaxing you closer until there’s nothing between you but heat and fabric.

Your arms wind around his shoulders, fingers threading into his hair as the kiss deepens, grows hungrier, but still soft around the edges. His lips break from yours for only a moment, breath shaky against your cheek. “Could kiss you forever.” he whispers, voice rough and thick. Your lips are still barely touching when you whisper it—quiet, breathless, almost like a confession. “I missed you.” He pauses, eyes searching yours, hands still resting on your waist like he’s afraid to let go. His voice is gentler when he replies, like he’s matching your softness.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, brushing his thumb along the hem of your cardigan. “I missed you too, princess. So much.” You feel your cheeks heat up, but you don’t look away, not this time. Not when he’s holding you like that, not when he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing that matters. A shaky breath escapes you before you murmur, “You have no idea how much I thought about you.” Heeseung tilts his head, his thumb tracing slow circles on your waist. “Yeah, baby?” he asks softly, like he’s afraid to hope. “Tell me.” You press your lips together for a moment before whispering, “I couldn’t stop replaying everything…the way you looked at me, the way you talked to me last night. I couldn’t sleep.” He lets out the faintest exhale, something between a sigh and a groan, like your words hit him right in the chest. “I know,” he says, brushing his nose against yours. “You’ve been in my head ever since i met you.” You look up at him again, shy and aching. “I was scared maybe you changed your mind.”

“Not even close,” he says without hesitation. “You don’t get it…I haven’t wanted someone like this, ever.” Your fingers curl into his hoodie, heart thudding. His lips find yours again, slower, more sure. His hands cradle you like he can’t believe you’re real. “I want you, Heeseung.” For a second, he just stares at you, his grip tightening ever so slightly on your waist. Then he leans in, lips brushing yours, voice dropping into something husky and warm, so low it shoots straight through your spine. “Show me how much, baby.” You don’t hesitate. You crash your lips to his in a filthy, needy kiss—nothing like the soft ones you shared before. Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as your body presses flush against his. He groans into your mouth, both arms wrapping around you, dragging you further onto his lap. His fingers slide up beneath your cardigan, caressing the soft skin of your waist, and your hips roll instinctively. Heeseung’s lips move feverishly against yours, and everything about him feels hot and overwhelming, like he’s been holding himself back for far too long. “You drive me crazy.” he mutters against your lips, breathless. You only kiss him harder in response, fingers clutching the sides of his jaw like you never want to let go.

His hands drift lower, until they slip beneath the hem of your skirt. You gasp softly into the kiss when his palms find the soft flesh of your thighs, then higher, until he’s gripping your ass with both hands, squeezing gently but possessively. “You’re so cute, baby.” he murmurs against your mouth, his voice thick with need and affection. You whimper, biting down softly on your lower lip as you pull back just enough to look at him. His eyes are dark, hooded, roaming over your face like he’s trying to memorize every little expression. Your cheeks flush, your hands stay tangled in his hair, your body warm and trembling in his lap. “You make me feel so…” you whisper, unsure how to finish the sentence with how full your chest feels. Heeseung leans in again, kissing you slower this time, his thumbs tracing soft circles over your skin. “I know,” he whispers. “Me too.”

Without even thinking, your hips begin to move , slow, subtle rolls against his lap, just seeking friction, something to ease the ache building between your thighs. You don’t even realize what you’re doing at first, too lost in the feeling of him, the way his hands are holding you, the way his lips feel on yours. But the second you hear him exhale, a deep, shuddering breath, you freeze. “Princess…” he murmurs, his voice all rough and low, like he’s holding back. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, your cheeks burning. “Hee…” you whisper, flustered, your fingers gripping his shoulders for balance. “I didn’t mean to—” His hands slide up your back slowly, soothing. “Don’t hide from me,” he says, and you feel him smile softly against your temple. “Keep going, baby.” Your breath catches, and you nod slowly, your lips brushing his skin as you speak. Your hips keep moving against him, soft and needy, your fingers clutching the fabric of his hoodie like it’s the only thing grounding you. “Hee…” you breathe, your voice trembling as your lips brush against the warm skin of his neck. “You feel so good…”

Your soft moan spills out before you can stop it—quiet, breathy, but it sends a sharp jolt through Heeseung. His grip on your waist tightens as his cock throbs beneath you, straining against his sweats. “Fuck, baby…” he groans, his voice rough and low. “You sound so good—gonna make me lose my mind.” You shiver at his words. You try to bury your face even deeper into his neck, cheeks burning. “Stop…” you whisper shyly, squirming in his lap, but not enough to actually get away. “Don’t say stuff like that…” He laughs softly, the sound husky and fond as he presses a kiss to your temple. “Why not?” he murmurs. “It’s true. You’re so fucking cute when you’re like this…all needy and shy in my lap.”

Your body moves again, hips rolling against him with a little more need, a little more desperation. Each soft moan and whimper that escapes your lips only fuels him more, your breath catching every time your clothed core drags along the thick bulge in his sweats. “Ngh…” you whimper, clinging to him. “Mmh—just like that, baby…” Heeseung groans, deep and low, his hands sliding down your waist until they’re gripping your ass again, squeezing it firmly. His fingers dig in just a little as he helps guide your movements, encouraging you to grind harder against him, a soft moan leaving your mouth. “Yeah?” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “That what you want, princess?” You nod quickly, too dizzy to speak. He chuckles under his breath, hands keeping you steady as he rocks you against him, the pressure sending sparks through your whole body. “So pretty—so fucking soft—can’t get enough of you…”

His hands slip beneath your cardigan slowly, warm palms cupping your breasts over your bra, and the soft moan that escapes you only makes his breath hitch. “Fuck…” he murmurs, voice low and strained as he palms at you, thumbing over the fabric. You’re trembling, but still, you find the courage to sit back just enough to slowly shrug your cardigan off, cheeks burning as it falls to the couch behind you. You look up at him with wide, shy eyes, your chest rising and falling. His jaw drops slightly. “Holy fuck…” he breathes, eyes glued to the way your breasts spill against the bra, soft and full. He wastes no time, hands grabbing them over the fabric, squeezing them in his palms. “You like them, Hee?” you whisper shyly, barely able to meet his eyes.

He lets out a soft, strained laugh, eyes dark. “Princess,” he groans, “I’m so fucking hard right now, what do you think?” Your whole face flushes hot, lips parted slightly. Still, you manage a soft, almost breathless, “You can take it off…if you wanna,” your voice fragile, and your eyes impossibly big and trusting. He stares at you like you just gave him the universe. Heeseung doesn’t say anything right away, just watches you for a moment, barely holding himself together. Then, slowly, he leans in. His lips find your neck, soft and warm, pressing kisses down the delicate skin like he’s savoring you. Each one slower than the last, trailing lower with every breath you take. Your eyes flutter shut, your fingers threading back into his hair as a shaky sigh slips from your lips.

His hands move with purpose, sliding behind you, and you feel the gentle tug as his fingers find the clasp of your bra. With one flick, it comes undone. The straps fall loose against your arms, and he pulls back slightly, eyes meeting yours. You give him a small nod, cheeks burning. He pushes the straps off your shoulders and lets the bra fall between you. Then his hands return to your chest, palms warm and reverent as he cups you fully now, skin to skin. He groans softly, like he can’t help it, like the feel of you is too much. “So soft,” he mutters, squeezing you gently. “So fucking perfect…” Your head tilts slightly with a quiet whimper, lips parted, body buzzing with heat as he rolls your nipples between his fingers, teasing and slow. “You’re driving me insane, princess,” he breathes, voice thick and low. “You’re too pretty for your own good.”

You lean in just a little, shy but needy, and Heeseung catches on instantly. His hands slide up your sides again, and he brings his mouth to your chest, kissing over the soft swell before wrapping his lips around one nipple. He sucks gently, warm tongue flicking, lips tugging just enough to make you gasp. One of his hands squeezes the other breast while his mouth works you, slow and purposeful. You whimper, back arching instinctively, and your hips begin to move again, grinding softly against the bulge straining beneath you. He switches sides, his mouth now on your other breast, sucking, licking, groaning low in his throat like he can’t get enough of you. “You like it, princess?” he murmurs between kisses, breath warm against your skin. “mhm” you whine softly, your eyes shut tight as you let the pleasure wash over you. He chuckles, proud and a little breathless himself. “Yeah? Then keep going, baby.” he murmurs, voice thick. His hands settle on your hips, helping guide your rhythm as you rock against him. “Just like that.”

His mouth returns to your chest, and the room fills with quiet whimpers, heavy breathing, and the soft sound of his lips on your skin. Your fingers tug gently at the hem of his shirt, your voice barely above a whisper. “Hee…” Heeseung doesn’t hesitate, he pulls his shirt off in one smooth motion and tosses it aside, and you can’t help the soft gasp that escapes your lips. Your eyes roam his toned chest, the sharp lines of his abs catching the dim light. You bite your lip, hands instinctively rising to trace along the ridges, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your trembling fingertips. Still grinding against him, you lean forward slowly, pressing soft kisses to the side of his neck. One after another, each one deeper, needier. His breath catches when your lips suck gently, leaving behind faint red marks, proof of how badly you want him.

He groans, low and raspy, and his hands return to your ass, squeezing hard, pulling you closer as your grinding becomes more desperate. “Fuck, baby.” he whispers, voice thick and strained, his head falling back just slightly as your mouth moves along his neck. His grip on your ass tightens as he helps guide your hips faster, harder—grinding down on the thick bulge straining beneath you. Every drag of him against your clothed cunt sends sparks through your body, his cock catching perfectly on your clit, the pressure unbearable in the best way. Your moans come out higher now, breathy and helpless, and it only spurs him on. He groans low, “You’re gonna cum, princess?” You nod frantically, eyes squeezed shut, hips rocking with desperate rhythm. “Please…Hee, please—”

He doesn’t make you beg more than that. One of his hands slips down between your bodies, under your skirt, fingers pressing against the soaked fabric of your panties. He rubs small, fast circles on your clit, syncing with your grinding, the friction making you cry out. “Shit, you’re so wet.” he breathes, watching you fall apart on top of him. “Feels good, doesn’t it, baby?” And you can only nod again, whimpering, as your orgasm builds sharp and fast in your gut—his voice in your ear, his hands on your body, everything pushing you closer and closer. You tremble as the wave crashes over you, tugging on his hair as your orgasm hits—your soft, broken whimpers filling his ears as you finish, your body melting in his arms. Heeseung wraps you up, his hand stroking gently up and down your back as he whispers, “Good girl…so good for me.”

Still catching your breath, you lift your head, take his face in both your hands, and kiss him deeply, slow and messy and full of all the want that had been simmering between you for weeks. When you finally pull back, your lips are kiss-swollen, your cheeks flushed, your eyes shy, but burning with something he can’t look away from. You shift off his lap, still trembling a little, and settle down between his legs instead. Sitting back on your knees, you look up at him through your lashes, arms resting against his thighs, pressing your soft chest together just a little. “Fuck.” he breathes, his voice raspier now, his eyes dark as they rake over you. His cock is twitching in his pants, straining, aching, just from the way you’re looking at him. Just from you. “Princess…” he says low, barely holding himself back. Your voice comes out breathy and shy, but so full of want it makes his head spin. “I wanna make you feel good, Hee…”

Heeseung’s eyes drop to your hands as they move gently over the hard bulge in his pants, slow and curious, your fingers tentative but so eager. He swears under his breath, biting down on his lip, the way you look up at him so innocent while touching him nearly making him lose his mind. “Shit, baby…” he groans, hips twitching slightly into your touch. “You’re driving me crazy.” You blink up at him, a soft smile tugging on your lips as your hands press a little firmer, rubbing him through the fabric. “Let me?” you ask quietly, so sweet, so soft, like you’re asking for permission to ruin him. He cups your cheek, brushing his thumb along your skin, voice low and wrecked. “You can do anything you want to me, princess.” You give him the softest kiss on the cheek, your lips lingering just a second longer, like a promise.

Then, slowly, with trembling fingers, you tug down his sweatpants and boxers, your breath catching when his cock springs free—big, leaking, heavy against his stomach. Your thighs instinctively press together at the sight, and your lips part slightly, like you’re already imagining how he might taste. “God…” Heeseung exhales, his head tipping back as he watches you through lidded eyes. You wrap both hands around him delicately, like you’re handling something precious, and lean in, placing a soft, innocent kiss right on the tip. Your eyes flick up to meet his as you do, wide, shimmering, so sweet it makes his jaw clench. “You’re so pretty, Hee…” you whisper, kissing him again, lips brushing lightly down the side of his shaft.

He twitches in your hand, groaning low. “You’re the one that’s pretty, princess,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “So fucking pretty…down on your knees for me.” He cups the back of your head gently, fingers threading into your hair as you continue kissing along his length, so slow, so teasing, savoring every second. Your tongue flicks out slowly, tasting the tip, salty and warm. You kiss it again, before dragging your tongue just a little lower, teasing the underside as you hear Heeseung’s breath hitch above you. “Fuck…” he mutters under his breath, his grip on your hair tightening just slightly.

You kiss him again, and then finally part your lips and sink down just a little, taking him into your mouth, the warmth and weight of him making you shiver. The second he’s inside, even just barely, a soft moan escapes you, quiet, involuntary, but enough to make him groan. “You like it, baby?” he breathes, his voice low and ruined. You hum around him in response, sending vibrations up his shaft, and it makes him curse again. You pull back slightly, your lips wet and shiny, looking up at him with that same innocent gaze. Heeseung’s jaw clenches as he watches you. “God, you’re so fucking perfect, princess…” You wrap your lips fully around him, taking him deeper this time, your mouth warm and wet as you start to suck with more confidence. Your hand tightens its grip around his shaft, fingers sliding smoothly as you bob your head up and down, eyes locked on his dark, intense gaze.

A thin strand of drool escapes the corner of your mouth, dripping down his length, but you don’t care, your focus is on him, on the way his breath hitches and his body tenses under your touch. Heeseung groans, one hand curling around your cheek, thumb brushing softly over your skin while the other finds your hair, guiding your movements like a gentle command. “Fuck, baby,” he rasps, voice rough and desperate. “Just like that—keep going.” You obey without hesitation, the rhythm steady and slow, savoring every moment, every reaction from him. You take him a little deeper, the sudden stretch making you gag softly. Your eyes water, tears gathering at the corners, but you don’t stop, driven by the way Heeseung’s low moan vibrates through you. Pulling back just enough to catch your breath, you look up at him with wide, glistening eyes and ask in a quiet, tender voice, “Does it feel good, baby?”

The moment the word leaves your lips, his composure shatters. His grip tightens, jaw clenches, and a guttural growl escapes him.“Fuck…,” he rasps, voice thick with want and disbelief. “You calling me that…I’m losing it.” His hands tighten in your hair, pulling you gently but firmly back down as his hips shift, desperate for more. Heeseung’s hands grip your hair firmly, guiding your head up and down faster now. Your soft moans fill the room, the vibrations sending shivers straight through him. He growls low, voice strained with need. “Shit—I’m gonna cum, princess.” he warns, breath hitching. You pull back just enough, lips parted and tongue sliding out to trace the length of him one last time. Your hands move eagerly up and down his shaft, keeping the pace as you wait for him to let go. His hips jerk forward suddenly, and he curses, fingers tangling tighter in your hair as he shudders, spilling hot and heavy into your mouth. You swallow it all and then lean in, lips parted, tongue peeking out to show him it’s all gone—clean, obedient, just for him.

His eyes darken as he exhales shakily. “Holy shit, baby…you’re fucking unreal.” You giggle softly, cheeks flushed, and crawl back onto his lap. Your lips meet his for a tender kiss, sweet and slow, but he kisses you back harder, possessive now, hands sliding over your hips before squeezing your ass firmly. The sudden smack he lands on it makes you whimper against his lips, body jolting slightly. Then, with barely a second to catch your breath, he flips you over on the couch, your back hitting the cushions with a soft thud, his body hovering over yours. He kisses you hungrily, like he can’t get enough, mouth trailing down your neck, your collarbones, teeth grazing, lips sucking until you know there’ll be marks. You whimper beneath him, arching into his touch, needing more.

He pulls your skirt down slowly, followed by your panties, dragging the soft fabric down your thighs with careful hands, like he’s unwrapping something precious. His breath catches when you’re bare for him, eyes darkening as he settles between your legs. His fingers gently part you, slow and deliberate, and he swipes through your slick with a quiet exhale. “So pretty…” he murmurs, almost to himself, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Embarrassment flutters in your chest and you instinctively cover your face with your hands, cheeks burning. He chuckles softly, voice low and warm. “Why are you hiding from me, baby?”

You don’t answer, you can’t, not when he leans in and presses a soft, open-mouthed kiss to you, licking a slow stripe that has your back arching. You gasp, your fingers reaching down to grab at his hair. He keeps going, licking, kissing, sucking, slow at first, then faster, more purposeful. You whimper his name, thighs trembling as he keeps you open with one arm wrapped around your hip. And then, his fingers. One sliding in, then another, curling just right as his mouth never lets up. The combination makes your toes curl, your moans growing softer but needier, your grip on his hair tighter with every flick of his tongue. “Hee…” you whine, breathless.

He groans against you in response, like he could stay there forever, completely lost in you. His fingers are working you open, curling and thrusting in a rhythm that’s already overwhelming. His tongue moves with practiced precision, flicking and sucking at your clit until your thighs are trembling around his head. And then suddenly, his fingers slip out, replaced by both of his arms wrapping firmly around your waist, tugging you closer to his mouth. His hands slide up your body and cup your tits, squeezing gently at first, then harder when you moan. His thumbs brush over your nipples, sending jolts of heat straight through your core. “Fuck, you taste so good,” he groans between licks, his breath warm and ragged against you. “Could stay here all night, baby. You’re so sweet…so wet just for me.”

You let out a choked sound, high and breathy, your hands flying to cover his on your chest, needing to feel him, hold him, ground yourself. Your hips twitch helplessly as his mouth drags another moan from your lips. “So sensitive,” he mumbles, sucking your clit just right. “So fucking good for me. Can’t believe I get to have you like this.”

You whimper, eyes squeezed shut, fingers squeezing his tighter. “Please…Baby—don’t stop.” you whine. He moans against your cunt, sucking harder now, his fingers rolling your nipples as your body writhes beneath him, overwhelmed by the pleasure building like a storm. Your whole body’s trembling, thighs tightening around his head, your hips bucking up into his mouth without you even realizing. “Hee—” you whimper, breath hitching. “I’m—I’m cumming—”

Your hands clutch his over your chest, knuckles white, your back arching as your voice gets higher. “Fuck, that’s it,” he groans, voice muffled against your soaked cunt. “Cum for me, baby. All over my fucking mouth.” And you do. A broken, high-pitched moan escapes you as your release crashes through your body, your hips stuttering against his face, your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. He groans again at the feeling, his tongue still working you through it, drinking every last bit of it up like he needs it to live. Your thighs tremble around him, your whole body going warm and overstimulated, but he’s still kissing the inside of your thigh, murmuring softly, “That’s my good girl…”

He pulls back from between your thighs, lips shiny, eyes dark and hungry. Still catching your breath, you reach up with shaky arms and hook them behind his neck, tugging him down into a messy, desperate kiss. You moan softly into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue. He groans into the kiss, hands sliding under you, one under your back, the other under your thighs, and lifts you like you weigh nothing. You gasp, arms tightening around his shoulders, your forehead resting against his. He carries you through the quiet of his room, the only sound your shallow breathing and the soft creak of the floor beneath his feet. His eyes stay locked on yours, so intense it makes your stomach flutter.

And when he reaches the edge of the bed, he lays you down gently, hands never leaving your body, and whispers, “You’re so perfect like this, princess…” He crawls over you slowly, eyes raking over every inch of your bare body, like he can’t believe you’re really here, like this, under him. His hands trail down your waist, squeezing gently before gliding to your hips, your thighs, your ass. He lowers his head to your neck, kissing and sucking softly, then down to your chest, lingering there, murmuring sweet nothings between kisses.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good.” he whispers against your skin, voice low and rough. You nod, already breathless, lips parting into a pout. “Please, baby…” you whine, fingers slipping through his hair, playing with it softly. His eyes flicker between yours as he pushes his sweatpants down, his voice low and breathless. “My sweet little girlfriend, yeah?” he murmurs, gaze heavy with want, but also something softer. You gasp, heart pounding, but you nod quickly, eagerly. “Yes, baby… please. Wanna be yours, Hee.” He groans under his breath, palming himself through his boxers. “Fuck…” Then he slips them off, his cock springing free once again. He positions himself between your thighs, stroking himself slowly as he looks down at you, completely bare and trembling beneath him. “All mine,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss you again, “Gonna take care of you.”

He finds your hand beside your head and gently intertwines his fingers with yours, grounding you, holding you close. “Got you, baby.” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. Then he slowly starts to push inside, inch by inch, his breath stuttering. “God…you’re so tight, princess. Love this pretty pussy…” You whimper, brows furrowed as you cling to his hand, squeezing it tightly. The stretch burns a little, making you wince, your thighs trembling around his waist. He pauses, his free hand stroking your cheek, eyes locked with yours. “You okay?” he murmurs, voice laced with care. You nod shyly, breathless. “Y-Yeah… just go slow, baby.”

As he inches in the rest of the way, your mouth parts in a sharp gasp from the stretch, but before the sound can fully escape, Heeseung leans in and kisses you, swallowing the noise and grounding you with his lips. “Doing so good for me.” he murmurs against your mouth. He stays there, buried deep, holding still, giving you time, kissing your cheeks, your nose, the corner of your lips. You squeeze his hand tighter, chest rising and falling as you adjust to the size of him. “Y-You can move…Hee.” you whisper shyly, blinking up at him with watery eyes. He nods, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “Okay, baby. I’ll be gentle.” And then he starts to move, slow and careful, dragging his hips back and rolling them forward again. He keeps holding your hand, his other brushing down your side. Every thrust melts the ache into something warmer, deeper, and you whimper softly beneath him, each sound making his heart clench. “That’s it,” he breathes, kissing your cheek as your lashes flutter. “Feels good now, doesn’t it?”

You nod quickly, lips parted, eyes fluttering open to meet his. “Mhm…feels so good…” Heeseung leans closer, voice rough and low in your ear. “Been thinking about you like this since the first time I saw you…” You gasp, your back arching at his words. “All wet and shy…wrapped around my cock like this.” His thrusts get slower, deeper, savoring every second. “Fuck, you feel like a dream, princess.” Your hands cling to his shoulders, lips brushing against his ear as you pant, your voice trembling but honest, too far gone to hold back now. “I touch myself to your voice…” you whisper, so shy but so desperate.“Every time you spoke, I’d get so wet.” You whine, tightening around him. “So wet for you, Hee… always.” His hips falter at the confession, breath catching in his throat. “Fuck, baby…” he groans, voice rough with desire, and then he thrusts harder, faster, trying to reach deeper just from your words alone.

“You’ve been mine this whole time, hm?” he breathes against your lips. “Getting off to my voice, fuck—dirty little thing.” You whimper, completely unraveling, and he’s loving every second of it. “Please, Hee…wanna ride you, please.” Your voice is all breathy and sweet. He groans low, twitching inside you, the tip of his cock nudging that spot that makes your thighs tremble. “Fuck…yeah, baby,” he breathes. “C’mere.” He pulls out gently, lays flat on the bed, eyes burning into yours as he guides you up. “Come ride your man.” You’re quick to move, desperate, aching. You straddle him with shaky thighs and grab his cock, lining him up and slowly sinking down, whining as he stretches you open again. Your hands splay on his abs for balance, your head falling back at the fullness. “So deep…” you breathe. “F-fuck, Heeseung…” He watches you like you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered, his hands gripping your thighs, sliding up your waist, thumbs brushing under your breasts. “That’s it, baby… take what you need,” he says, voice low and full of want. “Look at you…riding me so good already.”

You start bouncing on him, slow at first, then faster, the wet sound of you taking him again and again filling the room, making his breath catch in his throat. Your head tilts to the side a little as soft, high-pitched moans spill from your lips, your eyes fluttering with every drag of him deep inside. “Holy shit…” Heeseung groans, eyes roaming all over you—your flushed skin, your bouncing tits, the way your stomach tightens every time you sink back down on him. His hands move up to your chest, squeezing your tits in his palms, thumbs brushing over your nipples just to hear you whine again. Then down, caressing the curve of your waist, trailing lower until they find your ass, gripping it hard, pulling you deeper on his cock, then suddenly landing a sharp slap to one cheek.

You gasp, a broken moan leaving your throat as your hips stutter. He smirks, rubbing the spot he slapped. “So fucking cute when you sound like that, princess.” Then his hands slide down your thighs, fingers dragging over the soft skin, admiring the way they tense as you keep moving. “Feel so good riding me, baby.” he says, voice breathless.

Your rhythm turns desperate, bouncing faster and harder as your hands cling to his abs, nails digging slightly into his skin. “Want you—so bad, Hee—need you,” you pant, voice high and breathless, “Need to be—under your skin…” He lets out a soft chuckle, the need in your voice making his cock twitch deep inside you. “God, baby,” he murmurs, his hand sliding down to rub tight, fast circles on your clit. “You’re so fucking needy…” You nod, crying out as his fingers work you harder, your thighs trembling. “Hee—Hee, I love you—love you so much—ahh!” His hips twitch beneath you, and he sits up just enough to pull you in for a kiss, messy and deep, all tongue and breath. “I love you too, princess,” he whispers against your lips, “I’ll always take care of you—my sweet, perfect baby.” You nod frantically, fingers tangling in his hair, overwhelmed with pleasure and emotion. “I’m gonna cum—gonna cum for you, Hee!”

“Cum for me, baby.” he groans, fingers still circling your clit as you crash into your orgasm, moaning loud, hips stuttering. He holds you through it, eyes fixed on your face, utterly in love. Then, with a low curse, he lifts you just enough to slide out of you, stroking himself fast and desperate before finishing all over your belly with a strangled moan, his hand trembling from the force of it. You both stay still for a moment, catching your breath, your skin warm and glowing, his cum sticky on you, his arms still wrapped around you as you sit on his lap. He’s pressing lazy kisses to your shoulder, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles into your hips. “Was that okay?” he murmurs against your skin, voice low and hoarse. You nod slowly, leaning your head against his. “It was perfect.” He smiles, nuzzling your neck, “You’re perfect.”

After a moment, he shifts gently, reaching for a tissue from the nightstand and cleaning you up carefully, his touch tender, eyes always flickering up to check if you’re okay. You just watch him, dazed and dreamy and completely in love. He tosses the tissue aside and pulls you into his chest. You tuck yourself under his chin, your fingers playing softly with his hair. His heartbeat’s still a little fast. “I still can’t believe i did this to you.” he whispers. You smile against his skin. “I always wanted you to do it.” You lie there like that for a while, tangled up, warm and soft, only the sound of your breathing filling the room.

His hand finds yours again, fingers interlacing without thought. Then, very quietly, you murmur against his chest, “Want you to fuck me again, Heeseung.” He freezes. Blinks. Tilts his head to look at you, his eyes wide. “W-What? Now?” You look up at him innocently, smiling, eyes wide and full of mischief. “Mhm!” He groans, dragging a hand down his face as the tips of his ears turn bright red. “Princess…you’re gonna kill me.” You giggle, tugging at his hair and pulling him back down for a sweet kiss.

a/n: got lazy at the end. also left a sneaky easter egg whoever finds it gets a kiss :p idk how this got so long sry if it was annoying

© guliexe

[squipa]

touch tank

you're a teacher, currently trying to fill up your summer vacation with freelance work when you stumble into not one, but two situationships with clark kent, the adorkable reporter from the daily planet, and superman, the hero you can't stop running into. overall? you're having a very interesting break.

wk: 14.8k (worth it i pinky swear)

the best and the worst part of teaching is that you never stop having summer break— two and a half months of pure boredom and relaxation that always go the same. you find a job, you visit family, you take random classes at the community center just to get yourself out of the house. you really did not expect this year to be any different, any better. you expected the same boredom, the same routine, the same desperation to find someone to occupy your time. 

however, you didn’t count on clark kent to stumble into your life and take your world by storm. 

you met in late may, the first time you came around the daily planet selling pictures for the paper. you spent a lot of your free time behind a camera, capturing moments you didn’t want to lose— and you really needed some extra cash. metropolis might pay better than most cities, but at the end of the day, a teacher’s salary is a teacher’s salary. 

you were hopelessly turned around, clutching a small, manilla file that was nearly overflowing with the photographs you felt were relevant enough to submit with one hand and biting your freshly manicured thumbnail with the other, staring up at the very useless building directory, reading the names and numbers with little understanding. the receptionist had told you to go to perry white’s office for your meeting— but she hadn’t been so kind to tell you exactly where you could find it. 

the signs were no help. you are embarrassingly lost, and—

“need any help?”

you turn around, dropping your hands to your sides. you’re met kindly with the direct view of a man’s chest, forcing you to tilt your head up to meet his gaze.

and there he was. six foot four, built like a linebacker and stuffed into a suit, wearing glasses that looked a bit too small and a smile that seemed a bit too warm. the man you would come to know as clark kent— the center of your universe.

and those eyes. bluer than the ocean, captivating you so wholly you forgot to breathe. one’s that looked to you with such unequivocal kindness, coupled with a smile that was breathtakingly gentle— you forgot how to breathe. 

he’s staring down at you as if he’s not the only one who needs to catch his breath. as though he finds something about you to be just as overwhelming as you find him. 

he pauses, clearing his throat. “i just mean— ah, sorry, you look lost. i-i can help you. i work here. uh, reporter— um, i mean—“ he takes a deep breath, extending a hand. “clark kent.” 

god, he’s adorable. 

you smile up at him, taking his hand in yours and giving it a gentle shake. you note how large and uncalloused his hand is, and try to ignore the shocks of electricity you feel with that first, all-consuming touch. you tell him your name, thankful that you don’t manage to stumble over your words, and he jots it down in the back of his head like it’s sacred. “i’m looking for mr. white’s office? i have some pictures for the paper.” you explain, holding up your file. 

“oh, yeah, that’s my boss. i’ll walk you there.” he says, looking down at you with a soft grin that renders you so useless you nearly forget why you’re here. carefully, he motions for you to follow him, and you oblige, walking slowly down the arched hallways of the daily planet at his side. your heart begins to pound out of your chest.

there’s a beat of silence as you walk, before he breaks it with, “can i see them?”

he points to the folder in your hands, the one that you’re clutching like a lifeline. you hand it over without a second thought— how are you supposed to say no to the ridiculously cute, dorky guy guiding you through the building? you’re just not. 

he cards through them carefully, commenting on the quality, the angles, the color grading, basically just complimenting every picture while you try not to swoon. he pulls one of the prints out of the file, a rare picture of superman you managed to get two weeks ago. you consider it the strongest picture in your portfolio. most of the photos of superman are blurs of red and blue, or shaky selfies he’s taken with fans. this one is still, certain— hopeful. you took it candidly. he was crouched with a kid, one of your students, helping him fix his broken project with gentle hands. 

you think about that moment every now and then. it changed you from a casual viewer of superman’s heroics to someone who supported him completely. you watched him stop, and with hands capable of much greater things, sooth the worries of a child when he could have been doing anything else. it instilled a kind of faith in humanity you hadn’t felt in a long time. 

“i like this one.” he mumbles, sliding it out of the folder, staring at it like it means as much to him as it does to you. superman fan, noted. 

he pauses, staring at it a second longer than he did your other pictures, memorizing every detail before sliding it back inside the folder. “i don’t see how perry wouldn’t buy these— you’re an amazing photographer.” he says with a smile, handing you back the file. 

you do your best not to turn completely red at the compliment, looking up to meet his gaze. “i’m a teacher, actually.” you explain, bouncing on the balls of your feet. “just looking for a side hustle. that picture of superman? he’s helping one of my kids.” 

“really—? wow that’s really, uh, very cool.” he says, wearing a smile that you try your best not to read into. you both stop in front of an office with the name Perry White stamped across the door in shiny silver lettering. as anxious as you are to start the meeting, your heart sinks when you realize your time with clark is over. “well… good luck.” he says, all shy and dorky in a way that makes your knees weak. “i have a feeling i’m gonna see you around.”

you can’t help but grin, thanking him for walking you— and for the vote of confidence. you really don’t want to say goodbye, not when one look from him already disarms you.

he opens the door for you, and he’s lucky enough that you don’t realize how long he lingers by the office, memorizing every detail he can catalogue— the way you stand so confidently, yet with a demeanor that is so kind and genuine it makes him reevaluate everything he’s been looking for, the way the draft from the vent in perry’s office blows through your hair and makes you look like a movie star, the way you speak like it’s your favorite thing to do. 

you leave the meeting with a steady freelance gig, and a yellow post-it note you hadn’t noticed earlier, tucked into an interior pocket inside your file. 

i really hope you call me (xxx-xxx-xxx) 

-clark :)

you’re in your apartment when you find the note, and you can’t help but giggle like a schoolgirl, heat rising to your ears and dusting your face a rosy shade of pink. you waste no time dialing that number.

——

you meet superman before you see you clark again. actually, you’re on your way home to get ready for your first date with clark, trying to not let the nerves and anticipation shake you. 

you’re excited. like— bouncing off of the walls, can’t stop thinking about him kind of excited. you text constantly, and he calls you like talking to you is the highlight of his day, not some chore he has to do to maintain a relationship. you’ve been talking for about a week, and all the time with him has done is confirm your many blooming suspicions about him: he’s sweet, gentle, incredibly well-spoken and not afraid to be open about his interest in you in this shy, dorky kind of way that makes you kind of want to melt. 

you’re practically skipping down the street when it happens. it’s barely sunset, but you suppose crime doesn’t really depend on time of day anymore, not in the era of aliens and meta-humans. a hand darts out of the alleyway, grabs your arm, and pulls you into the shadows. before you can think to scream, to ask for help, anything— there’s a knife at your throat and you realize that your silence is a lot more valuable than your survival instinct.

“wallet, now.” you can barely see him— a combination of the dark alleyway and blurry vision. you make out dark clothes, dark eyes, and an expression that tells you to comply with whatever he says. 

your heart is beating so loudly you can feel it in your fingers. you’re shaking like a leaf— fumbling with your wallet, trying to hand it to the mugger. 

it drops from your hands. you look up at the man, eyes wide with the overwhelming fear for your life. you fucked up. it’s over. you can practically envision your funeral: sad, sparse, the death of someone who’s never really lived. you slam your eyes shut.

but then there’s a gust of wind, and the knife disappears from your neck.

it takes a moment for you to breathe, to process, to blink open yours and face a blue chest with a red and yellow emblem.

“are you okay, ma’am?” 

your gaze moves up to meet his. you’re not all there yet. there’s still adrenaline moving like shocks of lightning down your veins and the phantom breath of death sticking up the hairs on your neck. all you can really focus on is his eyes. impossibly blue like the deep sea, captivating you so wholly you forget yourself for a beat too long.

“ma’am?” he repeats, and his voice less authoritative. instead a gentle, concerned call to your senses, breaking out of your haze. 

you down, taking a deep breath. “yes, uh…” your hand darts to your neck, feeling for any imprint the knife could’ve left. you’re grateful to find nothing but untainted skin, like it had never happened at all. “i’m fine.” 

he nods, but there’s something in his expression that tells you he isn’t totally convinced. he hands you your wallet, a small, green leather clutch you’ve carried around since you were eighteen. somehow it had become the last thing on your mind.

“you’re safe, i promise.” he says, and his voice is so tender it makes you nearly forget that it’s superman standing in front of you, making sure that you’re okay. “the danger’s gone.”

you look up at him, eyes wide, brimming with tears you don’t know if you can hold back for much longer. he leans in a little closer, just enough for you to notice, his eyes checking over you carefully. maybe you’re just thrown off, because of the whole… mugging situation. but he almost looks a little scared, maybe a little relieved, like you mean a bit more to him than a civilian he saved.

you shake the thought. you’ve heard he’s like that anyways, kind, caring, a boy scout through and through. the look you’re seeing now can’t be anything more than that. 

he clears his throat, leaning back, taking on a more official, heroic posture. “can i take you home, ma’am?” and just like that, the moment’s over.

you nod, letting him guide you out of the alleyway with a touch that is impossibly gentle for someone you’ve seen pummel aliens into the ground with a single punch. a comfortable silence hangs between you, and you’re grateful the streets are empty enough for no one to pay the pair of you any mind. 

you must look ridiculous together. the thought makes you smile, and your adrenaline-induced panic is officially over.

 “thank you.” you say, breaking the silence. you smile up at him, craning your head to meet his gaze. he honestly looks a bit surprised that you’re thanking him. “for… y’know, saving me.”

“of course. i’m glad i made it in time.” he says with a quiet nod, his eyes meeting yours. his smile is so genuine, so human, you wonder how anyone could really hate him. 

you miss the lovestruck look in his eyes. 

you laugh. “me too.” you say, your hands swinging freely at your sides. “i know you don’t normally handle, uh, muggings, so… i feel pretty lucky.” 

his eyes dart away, looking around at the block— anywhere but you, really, but he doesn’t stop smiling. “well, i try to keep an eye on the street. y’know, on the rare days when aliens and robots don’t tear apart the city.” 

you grin, his eyes meeting yours again. “yeah, i know.” you say, looking up at him with wide, starry eyes that make him forget he’s superman and not anything besides the man lucky enough to be by your side.

your eyes are so focused on the god beside you that you miss a step, losing your balance because the tip of your heel got caught in a sidewalk crack. you fall into him— no, you practically dive into him, because of course you do. 

“woah there.” he says. his hands, which are just warm and huge and tender, carefully grab your sides and he steadies you, lifting you back onto your feet. 

you pause, flush with embarrassment. “i’m so sorry,” you cringe, looking up at him. “my heel got stuck because i had to humiliate myself and ruin the moment.” 

he laughs, sliding his hands away and looking down at you with a soft smile. “no harm done. just glad i caught you, miss.”

you pause, returning his smile with a grin that you just can’t seem to push down. 

“i saw you once, with one my students. he broke his history project, a popsicle stick model of the golden gate bridge?”

“i remember— jackson, right?” he asks, and there’s something so touching about him knowing the name of the random child he helped— it makes you want to melt. “smart kid, i’ve never met someone so knowledgeable about geography.” he says, nodding towards you. 

“right? he’s a little genius. i’m pushing him into architecture. i teach third grade, which is, i think, the best, ‘cause you get to see their passions develop in real time.” you say. you’re not sure why talking with him feels so easy, so natural. maybe it’s the whole superhero thing, or his impeccable bedside manner— but whatever the reason is, you can’t remember the last time you smiled so much.

“that sounds very rewarding.” he says, a gust of wind blowing his cape through the air. “i wanted to be a teacher, once.”

“got busy?” you ask, gesturing to the suit. 

he laughs in the sort of way where his shoulders shake and his voice booms throughout the street, even though you didn’t say anything particularly hilarious. 

“you could say that. how’s jackson doing now?”

“he’s on his way to becoming a very talented fourth grader.” you hesitate, before you continue. “i got a picture of you two, when you helped him.” you pause, stopping in front of your apartment building. “not in like a creepy stalker way— i’m a photographer too. kind of. hence the photo.” 

he pauses, peering down at you curiously. “may i see it?” he asks. 

you stop, your eyes locked with his. you can’t kick that feeling— how familiar he is. you can’t quite place it, so you push it back down deep for another day. “yeah.” you say, softly, pressing on the door. “i’ll be right back.”

it only takes you about a minute to retrieve the photo, digging through that same manilla file for your spare copy, the same file that clark stuck his number in. god— you were supposed to start getting ready, like, fifteen minutes ago. 

you pray clark is late. 

there’s a shadow over your window before you start heading back downstairs. right. flying. superman can fly. not crazy at all. you stumble over towards your fire escape, grinning up at him while you slide up the window.

you stick your head out, leaning on your arms, halfway out the window. 

“here, uh, this just a print.” you say, handing him the picture. he takes it gently, his fingers brushing against yours. he stares at it for awhile, his eyes tracing over every detail. 

“could i… keep this?” he asks, looking up at you like you’re the most important thing in the world— in a way that knocks the air out of your lungs. 

you nod, because really, how could you say no when he’s staring at you like that? you didn’t have a choice.

“thank you.” he says, before clearing his throat, floating back out towards the alleyway. “i, uh, i should be going.” 

“you got big plans tonight?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. 

he laughs, a soft chuckle that rings like wedding bells in your ears. “something like that.” he pauses again, looking back down at the picture and then up to you. “…see you around… miss.” 

there’s a burst of wind and just like that, he’s gone. 

and maybe, just maybe, you have a tiny crush on superman. 

——

your date with clark was an awkward, disastrous, mess— in all the best ways. the flowers he brought you had somehow gotten smushed, even though he insisted they came from the little shop on the corner right by your apartment— but they were your favorites. the restaurant lost your reservation, so you ended up having a picnic with food from the best food truck you’ve ever been to. the conversation was bumpy, at times a little difficult to navigate, but by the end, you had never laughed so hard in your life. 

you really had never met anybody like clark kent. 

he’s a gentle giant, a man who, despite being extremely built, you truly incapable of hurting a fly. he’s also the perfect gentleman, the definition of a man. for the entire evening, he refused to let you open a door, or pay, and when you started feeling a little chilly when he was walking you back to your apartment, late at night, he tucked his jacket over your shoulders before you even had the chance to complain. he’s also just… kind, plain and simple. he stopped to help an old woman cross the street, to ask a kid where his mom was and led him back to his parents, and, no shit, he literally rescued a cat from a tree. mind you, all in the span of four hours. he’s a good person, the kind of guy you read about in fairytales and grow up thinking doesn’t exist.

but here he is. 

“i had a really good time tonight.” he says, lingering by your door. you nodded in absolute agreement, looking up at him with a giant, uncontrollable smile that he returns in full. 

“yeah, me too.” you respond. the distance between you closes quickly, you lean in just enough to feel clark’s breath ghost on your face. 

he flushes and looks down to his feet, like he’s working himself up for something— before his eyes dart back to yours. “i, uh… i really want to kiss you right now.” 

you can feel a red hot fire spread to your cheeks, and you pray that the dim light of your apartment prevents him from seeing it. your eyes meet his, staring through his glasses into a sea of endless blue. 

you’ve never actually wanted someone to kiss you more than you do right now. 

“yeah?” you ask, your voice teasing him ever-so-slightly while you move in closer, your fingertips brushing against his. 

“may i?” he asks, sliding his unbelievably large hands on your sides then down to your waist, leaning over you in a way that makes you feel incredibly warm. you have to physically tilt your head back to meet his eyes, and your mood nearly sours at the idea that at some point you’ll have to pull away. 

you nod, and slowly, delicately, he leans in— pulling your body gently against him, his lips pressing into yours. it isn’t an eruption of passion, or some overwhelmingly fervent kiss, no. it’s soft, slow, sensual, an agonizingly perfect connection that makes you knees go weak when you’re in his arms. 

it’s too short, that’s your only complaint. he pulls away breathless, smiling down at you with a pink tint dusting his cheeks, ushers you back into your apartment and demands that you have a wonderful night, insisting that he’ll call you in the morning. 

you go to bed that night an hour later, only certain of two things.

this was going to be the best summer ever

you like clark kent so much it makes your head hurt

you want to see if superman is as good a kisser as clark

——

“here.”

clark pushes a cup of coffee that is somehow still piping hot into your hands, smiling down at you. you’re not sure how he even knew you were coming to the planet today, much less when to meet you at the door, but you liked that about clark. he always knows a lot more than he lets on. you chalk it up to the investigative journalist in him. 

“you got me coffee?” you ask, feeling the warmth from the cup spread through your hand. apparently, no matter how hot it is outside, none of that leaks into the planet. it’s freezing. 

“yeah, i didn’t know what you liked, uh, so there’s cream and sugar— not too much, though, uh, well, i mean, hopefully there’s enough—“

you press a kiss against his cheek and that effectively cuts off his rambling and leaves him quietly flushed, his eyes focused only on you. “thanks, clark.” you say, taking a sip. it’s a bit too sweet, but so incredibly thoughtful you might just start taking your coffee this way. 

he smiles, going red from his neck to is ears— god, he’s so cute. “you’re seeing perry today?” he asks, walking with you down the hall. you nod. 

“apparently he likes my work so much i get a daily planet issued camera.” you say excitedly. clark chooses to leave out the part where he practically begged perry to lend you one, a privilege freelancers don’t usually receive. he has to do an extra mountain of paperwork every night for a month— but gosh was it worth it to see you so giddy.

“makes sense.” he muses. “perry rewards the incredibly talented.”

he says it in a silly way, but you can tell he’s completely serious. he’s so sweet it literally makes your teeth hurt. 

you’ve been on three other dates since the first, and you’ve bumped into each other at the daily planet a couple times before this— everything is going extremely well. he’s so caring, thoughtful, and the more you learn about him the more infatuated you get. you swear, when he puts his hands on you it makes you dizzy. 

it’s perfect. he is. there’s only one issue: his constant tardiness, and his tendency to cancel last minute, or just not show up at all. it bugs you, when you’ve gotten all dolled up just to have to fight back tears at midnight, forced to leave an angry voicemail or two after you’ve downed a glass of box chardonnay, stuck alone, in your living room. 

but he makes up for it with a thousand apologies and small gestures that make you wonder why you were ever mad. 

it’s frustrating— the doubt creeping in about whether or not he likes you, the anger of being left behind without so much as a call, the loneliness that swallows you like a black hole. but when you’re with clark, he makes sure that his feelings for you are never in doubt, swearing up and down that he just has supremely bad luck and it doesn’t have a thing to do with you. still, it makes you wonder: what makes clark kent so busy?

“my lunch break is at one,” he says, taking your folder like it makes all the sense in the world for him to carry it and not you, “if you want to hang around a bit after your meeting, we could grab something together?” 

you nod, looking up at him as you approach perry’s office. “that’s perfect. i was gonna stop at the bookstore down the street and grab something for my mom’s birthday. pick me up there?” 

“yes ma’am,” he says in a way that is all too familiar, and he hands you back your folder, tucking it underneath your arm, his hand ghosting at your side. “good luck.”

“don’t need it. i’ve got you.” you say, opening the door and heading in. you don’t see the way clark flushes, this time redder than a tomato, nor jimmy laughing at him from all the way from across the building.

——

you’re on your way to the bookstore when it happens— the sky opens up, a giant alien-whatever pops down and starts wreaking havoc on the skyline of metropolis. the event is far enough away to where you would normally just shrug and continue on your path towards the bookstore while the people wait for superman to show up. 

except that you’re a photographer now. professionally. and professional photographers run towards their killer shot, not away from it. besides, your meeting with perry didn’t go… the greatest. he said most of your shots were unusable— and he wanted more pictures of superman.

but it would be stupid to run into danger like that— clark would disapprove, so would probably anyone with common sense. the ground is literally shaking because that demon thing knocked a skyscraper over like legos— you really should walk away. 

so, obviously, you end up climbing a tree about a hundred yards away from the creature (and superman, who stepped in about a minute ago), trying to find your perfect shot. it’s stupid, really, the way that you’re about twenty feet off the ground, perched just right on the branch so that if you can get superman and the alien to stay still for half a second— you’ll have your picture. 

unfortunately, you hadn’t accounted for the monster to have giant fireballs spewing out of its fingertips, with one specially aimed at you. foolishly, you expected it to be the normal kind of cryptid. 

so, you shut your eyes and brace yourself, praying that you’ll be the sexy kind of burn victim and not a crisp, dead one— but the impact never comes. instead, a pair of arms wraps around you and you’re on a rooftop— ridiculously far away from the scene with no way down. 

“stay here,” superman says, flying back with a harsh burst of air. he sounded… angry, probably from the fight but… you can’t shake his eyes met yours in that single glimpse, before he had gone back into the fray. 

the fight takes four minutes. you’re like, a mile away, on top of some random building with a pretty subpar view of the action— but you manage to still make out the flashes of blue and red that surround the being and shoot him back off to space. 

you frown, peering over the edge of the building. there’s no rooftop access, no door, nothing. you’re kind of just stuck— which is perfect, because it’s 12:55 and clark’s about to get off for lunch, so he’ll get stood up while you figure out how to get down. 

“you need to be more careful.” a voice behind you says, and you jump, nearly toppling over the side of the building. 

a hand grabs your arm and spins you around to face him, steadying you— it’s superman. thank god. 

you nod. “yeah. probably.” he looks unconvinced, and maybe a little pissed. his arm drops back to his side and he shoots you a stern look. 

“it’s irresponsible to run into danger like that. you could have died, ma’am.” he says. his hair looks a bit windswept, curling around the edges like clark’s does when he tries to tame it. his eyes zero in on the camera hanging around your neck. “no picture is worth your life, okay?”

you nod, looking down, a tad embarrassed. “yeah… adrenaline kinda beat me on this one.” 

he shakes his head. “promise me you won’t do anything like that again.” he says. when you look up at him, he doesn’t look angry anymore. he looks scared. its the kind of thing that makes your heart jump into your throat.

“please?” he asks quietly, his gaze locked with yours. 

you nod, swallowing down the strange feelings twisting around in your gut. “okay. i promise.”

there’s a beat of silence before he steps towards you, beaming down at you like you’re any other citizen. “let me get you down from here.” 

“please do.” you agree, and he lifts you by the waist like you’re featherlight, slowly flying you down until your toes touch the concrete. 

“by the way,” he begins, speaking quietly as you land, stepping back, “i framed that picture you gave me. thank you.”

he’s gone before you can say ‘you’re welcome,’ just a blur of red and blue that disappears into the sky like a shooting star.

he remembered you. 

he probably remembers everyone he meets on the street— he’s known for stuff like that, being so kind, so hopeful. 

but he remembered you. and that feels different. 

your phone rings and you shake off whatever you’re feeling, because clark, the guy that you really really like and who really really likes you is calling and there’s no reason you should be thinking about someone as untouchable as superman in the way that you are right now. 

“clark, you will never believe what just happened—“

——

today is july first.

your one month anniversary with clark. the day that marks one of the best months of your life coming to a close— and hopefully a sign that these next months are going to be just as good, if not better. 

this month, clark kent has literally swept you off your feet. perfect dates, amazing chemistry, gentlemanlike in a way that all seems too good to be true. and maybe it is. 

because, well, it’s three hours after your date was supposed to start. clark had been talking about today all week, texting you every free second about the amazing evening he had planned— but he’s not here. he couldn’t even send you a text, “hey, so sorry i can’t make it. raincheck?’ nothing. 

you wonder what the excuse is, this time. had to work late? ma called and he lost track of time? you hate it, how small you feel when he forgets about you. you suddenly wish it was august again, so you could have school and a whole new pack of students to occupy your time with— you wouldn’t even have to think about clark, you’d be so busy.

right as you reach for another glass of wine, there’s a knock at your door. 

you frown, tiptoeing silently towards the peephole like you don’t already know who it is. 

it’s clark— and he looks rough. 

there’s a nasty shiner on his eye, and he’s got blood peeking out from under his collar, and you wonder what other injuries his clothes are hiding. it takes you half a second to swing the door open, your hands flying to his face. 

“holy shit clark— are you okay?” you ask, eyes wide, checking every inch of his face to see just how bad it is. you’ve never seen him have so much as an odd bruise before, but now…? he looks beat. “what happened?”

his eyes don’t follow your hands, or your movements, they don’t stick to the ground, they just find yours and hold your gaze once you’re done giving him an extremely thorough once-over for any prevailing injuries. “you were crying.” he frowns, looking down at you. 

you pause, lowering your hands. “yeah, but—“

he hands— which are notably shaky, press against your biceps, wrapping around your upper arms as if to ground himself. 

“i’m so sorry.” his voice is so tender it practically kills you, pure, genuine guilt and sadness that makes you feel like a jerk for even being mad in the first place. and those eyes— god, those eyes. they take you and they refuse to let go. 

“clark, you look like shit, i’m not upset—“ you start, biting down on your lip. he cuts you off by pulling you into a suffocating embrace, holding you so close and so tight he practically knocks the air out of your lungs, not that you mind.

he traps your lips in a kiss— one that isn’t soft, or gentle, not the way that clark usually kisses you. it’s fervent, sloppy and overwhelming— he surges into you like he never thought he’d be able to do it again. 

what you don’t know is— with the battle he had, the one he lost, that was exactly what was on his mind. 

“i’m sorry i missed our date. i promise i’ll make it up to you.” he mumbles as he pulls away. he buries his face in the crook of your neck, squeezing you like he can’t get you close enough. you have no idea what’s going on, but you like the way you feel when he holds you, so you don’t stop him. 

you tentatively wrap your hands around him, unaware of the fallen god that has you in his arms. “what happened?” you ask quietly, your voice just a whisper against his ear. 

he gives you a final squeeze that toed on the line of breaking your ribs before pulling back, looking down at you. “uh, i just… this lady got her purse stolen, picked a fight i couldn’t win. i’m fine, promise.” 

you nod, your heart swelling with both concern and pride. you picked the guy who’d risk his own safety to help an old lady get her purse back— the thought makes you all warm and fuzzy, especially now that you know he’s okay. 

you have to push down the feeling that there’s more to the story than he’s letting on. 

“do you wanna come in?” you ask, tilting your head. he shakes his head. 

“i uh, i can’t. gonna sleep this off— but i’m gonna make this up to you. i swear— you can take that to the bank. i just didn’t want you to think i flaked for no reason.” 

you smile up at him, shaking your head. he’s too damn sweet for his own good. 

“okay, well, get home safe, okay?” you say, pressing a kiss on his cheek before sending him away with the promise that everything will be fine in the morning. 

——

you didn’t think that “i’m gonna make this up to you. i swear— you can take that to the bank.” meant breaking into your apartment to make you breakfast, but apparently that was clark’s exact line of thought. 

you didn’t even register the sound of him in your apartment when you stepped out of your bedroom— your hair a mess, makeup peeled off, wearing nothing but an oversized sleep shirt and your panties. you yawned, stretched, then nearly jumped out of your own skin when you noticed him staring at you from over your stove like you were the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. 

“what are you doing here?!” you yelled, darting back into your room, searching frantically for a hairbrush. 

“uh, i, um— i wanted to make you breakfast?” he starts, putting his hand to his face and shaking his head. “starting to realize how creepy this is.” 

you sigh, laughing softly to yourself, the shock slowly wearing off. “it’s really sweet, clark, just give me a minute to look… presentable.” you say through the door.

“you look beautiful— but, sorry. take all the time you need.” 

you emerge ten minutes later with your rats nest combed out, your makeup done, and wearing a pair of shorts that fit snuggly around your thighs. clark smiles at you in a sort of, i’m-sorry-for-breaking-in-but-hey-here’s-some-breakfast, kind of way. 

you shake your head, walking over to him and letting him wrap an arm around you, taking a deep breath to smell the absurd amount of pancakes he made for the two of you. seriously, there’s like, three stacks and half a bowl of batter left. you lean against him, enjoying the warmth. 

“sorry for freaking out.” you say as he presses a kiss against the top of your forehead. 

he shrugs. “sorry for breaking into your apartment.”

you laugh. “yeah— how long have you been here, and how did you get in—“ you pause, looking up at him, noticing how clean his face is for the first time. “your bruise is gone.” 

he leans back, rubbing his neck. “yeah, uh… i’m a fast healer.” he pauses and shrugs like that’s the only answer he can give you. “i’ve been here for like, thirty minutes. your neighbor let me in. mrs. stilinsky?” 

you nod— decide not to question anything, moving back to lean on the countertop. you note the way he shifts in the back of your head and move on. 

“i still feel bad about last night,” he starts, pausing to lift you up and onto the counter like you’re featherlight. you giggle, leaning in to press a quick kiss on his lips. “hence the breakfast. if you’re not busy today, i’d like to make it up to you.”

you raise a brow. “you know you don’t have to make up ‘getting jumped’ to me, right? i kind of get that one.”

he leans back to flip another pancake, shaking his head. “this is non-negotiable, honey.”

you roll your eyes, grabbing a pancake off of one of the stacks. “actually, i could use another set of hands to help me decorate my classroom…” you say, taking a bite of the pancake, looking up at him. “god, this is good— how did you make this?” you ask, mid-bite. 

he laughs, a motion that moves through his shoulders. “kent family recipe. ma would kill me if i shared.” 

“—is there pumpkin spice in this?” 

——

clark insisted on being the only one to carry anything— so you’re mapping out your classroom while he hauls stuff from your car, little by little. 

you’re switching to second grade this year, so you have a newer, slightly crappier classroom a mile farther from the teacher’s lounge, and a new curriculum to teach— but you don’t particularly mind. eight is a good age, you’ll just need to practice a little more crowd control during your lectures. 

most of your stuff was brought over from your old classroom last week, this is just the stuff you bought with your daily planet money to get a fresh new look for your class. 

clark drops the last of the junk gently by the door, smiling down at you as he approaches. he hooks an arm around your waist and presses a kiss atop your head, giving you a quick squeeze. “so, what are we doing today?” 

you grin up at him, leaning into his side while you begin rambling about your big plans for the room. 

you kinda prefer this to big dates. there’s something special about the mundane when you get to do it with clark. you just like being around him, basking in that sweet farm boy energy that has you totally whipped.

“okay, so, i’m gonna move my bookshelf to this corner, and then i’m gonna put up a bunch of posters in this area and make it, like, a reading corner, right. i’m gonna put up one of my big art wall things here and the other over there, and—“

you’re cut off by an earthquake. 

clark instinctively tightens his grip on you, looking up and around for any danger. your frown, leaning into him. 

he looks up at the ceiling for what seems like a beat too long when the ground shakes again. a couple trinkets fall off of a bookshelf, and one of your boxes topples over. he looks down at you, ushering you out of the classroom. “is there somewhere safe to hide?” he asks, looking up and down the hall. 

“here, c’mon,” you start, leading him down the hall. “kids go in the gym for tornado drills— it’s kind of the same thing?”

he nods, following you with his hand tightly interlaced with yours. the ground shakes again and little bits of drywall fall from the ceiling— none big enough to do any real damage, but enough to spook you. 

you and clark make it to the gym, where the infrastructure seems a lot more sturdy. you run inside— but he hangs by the door. “i’m gonna see if anyone else needs help, okay? i’ll be back.”

“clark—!“ you start, but he’s already gone. 

you frown. the school is empty save for the two of you. he should be back in two, maybe three minutes. 

but he’s not. he’s not back in five. or ten. 

by the twelve minute mark you’re worried in a way that is all-consuming— and the building keeps shaking. you nearly got smashed by a ceiling tile that came loose, and you’ve spent the last few minutes half focused on clark’s survival and your own. 

you give up on waiting, going to the administrative office to check the cameras for him, a relatively easy journey. you flip through them all twice. you give time for him to leave any blindspot. he isn’t there— he just ditched you. 

you try not to throw the computer across the room. you could, logistically, and you could blame the damage on the whatever going on outside— but you don’t. you just storm out of the building, looking up at the sky. 

superman’s fifty feet above your school fighting some robot-looking thing mid-air. to be fair, he’s winning, but not enough for you to be particularly thrilled about the sighting. you look around for clark, and he’s nowhere, which is just great. 

“clark!” you call out, looking for him, ducking debris from the action above you. you turn the corner of the building, looking around by the dumpster, trying to see if he was hiding with some sweet old lady or doing anything besides running away and abandoning you. 

you rush past the wall— and maybe if you were a bit less panicked and a bit more observant you would have noticed the pile of clothes peeking out from under the dumpster, or the glasses that belonged to clark kent reflecting sunlight onto the stack of bricks behind you. 

but you continue, rushing out to the courtyard, met with a great big field filled with nothing but astroturf and gym supplies. 

“clark!” you call again. he’s not there— you know he isn’t and you’re really, really freaking out. what if he got caught under a chunk of debris? what if that robot monster up there crashed into him? what if he really did just abandon you and leave you to fend for yourself?

you brush that last one off. he wouldn’t do that. you know him well enough to know that. he’s good to his core, he’s not the type of guy to run from danger. 

you look up at the fight above you. superman is pummeling into the robot like there’s no tomorrow, getting closer and closer towards the ground. he’s right above the field you’re hanging around, and—

oh shit. 

they both crash against the ground, knocking a literal crater into the field. the impact of the collision knocks you onto your ass, and despite being fifty feet away, the yelp you let out when you hit pavement attracts superman’s attention— and the thing he’s fighting. 

it happens in slow motion: you, with wide eyes, scrambling to get up on shaky legs, the robot, hurling towards you impossibly fast, and superman, an inch behind, trying to stop it

you’re frozen. you can’t run, or fight, or even move— you’re just stuck, shaking, your heart beating out of your chest, adrenaline shooting through your veins like fire. 

you think it’s the end, but superman grabs hold of the thing when it’s an inch away, pulling it back and throwing it across the field so hard the boom that follows sounds like a missile strike. you just stare, your breaths uneven and panicked, watching with teary eyes as superman punches that thing into the ground, ripping the machine’s head off with bare hands, tearing it apart until it’s nothing but scrap metal and wire. 

and then he turns to you, moving faster than the speed of light across the field to gently help you up. 

“are you alright?” he asks, taking your hand. your legs are shaking so bad that he has to practically hold you upright, but he doesn’t seem to mind. 

you nod. “yeah, i’m okay.” you say, taking a deep breath, swallowing down your panic. 

he checks you over for any injuries, the same way he did the first night that you met. “you shouldn’t have been out here.” he says, and he sounds frustrated— you feel bad. bad that he always seems to be saving you, and that you seem to be his least favorite regular. he’s saved you once a week for the last month at least, sometimes when you’re taking pictures for the planet, sometimes when trouble just seems to follow you home. either way— you have seen a lot of superman lately. 

“i uh, yeah, i was looking for… clark kent? i know he’s interviewed you before, have you seen him?” 

his gaze softens, and he takes a breath, looking down and shaking his head softly like he’s having a conversation in his head you aren’t privy to.

“he’s fine.” he says, looking up at you. you’re captivated— it’s always those damn eyes. bluer than the pacific, you don’t know how a man so perfect can exist.“i, uh, he was about to get crushed by some debris, so i moved him half a mile west.”

you breath a sigh of relief. “thank you.” you say, steady enough to stand a bit taller. he doesn’t let go. 

“you get into a lot of trouble, don’t you?” he asks— not in a, ha-ha we run into each other a lot way, but in a, hey i’m kind of concerned about your well-being kind of way. your heart leaps to your chest. 

“yeah. kept my promise though. didn’t come out here for a picture.” 

he smiles— you almost swoon— and shakes his head. “do i have to start keeping a special eye on you, miss?” 

you try not to blush. you fail. “with my luck, that might just be necessary.” you say, smiling up at him. 

you pause. 

you are totally flirting with superman. and even crazier— superman is totally flirting with you. 

you have clark. loving, caring, sweet, handsome clark. 

but can it really hurt to indulge in the fantasy for a minute longer? 

“well, if you need anything, ma’am, call out for superman, and i’ll be there.” he says.

“anything?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. “i might just take advantage of that.”

he laughs— a laugh that seems too familiar. “i hope you do.”

you look up at him, tilting your head. “thank you, again, for saving me.”

he smiles, looking down at you, giving your hand a final squeeze before he lets you go. he leans in a bit closer, smiling down at you in a way that makes your heart jump to your throat. “i’m always gonna save you. i promise.”

the way he says you gives you pause. it makes your knees want to buckle. it makes this whole thing seem completely unreal. 

because he’s talking about you like you mean a lot more to him than a pedestrian he’s had to save a couple times. like you’re someone he cares about— which confuses you a lot more than you care to admit. 

he leans back, clears his throat, acts like he said a bit more than he should have and returns to that superman persona he let slip for half a second. “you try to stay safe, okay?” he says, raising an eyebrow, and you nod, a little dazed. 

“on it.”

he steps back and shoots back off into the sky, and you stare until he’s completely gone, now just a whisper of blue in the skyline of metropolis. 

“hey! there you are!” clark’s voice echoes from behind you. you spin around, overwhelmed with relief that he’s safe and running back towards you. 

you practically crash into him, simply relieved that he is safe and not smushed under a building or something like that. his arms wrap around you so tight you can barely breathe, and you hold him so close you think your arms might break. 

“i got so scared when you didn’t come back.” you mumble into the fabric of his shirt. he nods, pulling back, looking down at you. 

“yeah, uh, i was looking for others and this giant piece of wall almost got me— superman swiped me out and took me like, three blocks away.” he says, taking a deep breath. “i’m really glad you’re okay.”

you nod, swallowing down the guilt forming in your chest. here clark is, all worried about you, who literally ran back from half a mile away to come and get you, and you were just flirting with superman. 

“yeah, uh, superman saved me too. guess we both got lucky.” you say, chewing on your lip. you feel horrible. 

he frowns. “a-are you okay?” he asks, tilting his head. you hate how he can read you like that.

you nod. “yeah, uh, i think i just want to go home.”

——

that night you sent clark home, promising you would call him in the morning. you told him that you were just a bit shaken— and you were. but not from the whole… robot trying to kill you thing. from the superman one. 

you just felt guilty about it. confused on what made superman so keen on you. you’ve felt confused a lot, lately. about clark, superman, your own feelings. 

to make it clear: you are 100% whipped for clark. he is your perfect man, and he has never made you doubt for one second that he likes you just as much as you like him. the whole superman thing feels like a fantasy come true— having some angelic, godlike protector single you out. it’s probably very human to have some feelings, to get a little flustered when someone like superman flirts with you. 

there’s just something about superman that feels achingly familiar, in the kind of way that bugs you wholly. his laugh, his voice, his eyes. the eyes get you the most— like there’s something right in front of you that you just can’t see. 

you take another sip of your beer, looking out at the moonlit skyline from your fire escape. 

“are you alright?” 

you jump, whipping your head around to see superman floating ahead, approaching you slowly, like he’s afraid you’ll scare. he smiles, leaning against the railing of the fire escape, looking down at you with this weird, soft look in his eye. like he’s worried. 

you nod. “what are you doing here?”

he shrugs. “i wanted to make sure you were okay, after today.”  he says, staring at you with those impossibly familiar blue eyes. 

you raise an eyebrow. “do you check up on all the people you save?”

he chuckles, and shakes his head. “just the lucky ones.”

you pause, offering him a beer. he waves his hands no, climbing over the rail to sit with you. 

“you’re real friendly.” you observe, taking another swig of your drink. he shrugs.

“just concerned.” 

there’s a long beat of silence before either of you speak again. you’re not really sure what to say, how to proceed. you can feel him staring at you, while your eyes trace over the buildings around you. 

“how’s your day going?” you ask, blinking back up at him. he stares for a second, then smiles— and those eyes capture you once more. 

“been an odd day. y’know, stray robot attacks and all.” he pauses, giving you a once over. “you?” 

you shrug. “odd’s probably the best word for it.”

“would you like to talk about it?” he offers. “i’ve been told that i’m a good listener.” 

do you wanna talk about it? it’s kind of been an emotional roller coaster of a day. of course, it’s the kind of thing that would only happen to you, having superman on your porch step, asking how you feel. at first, all the running into each other seemed like dumb coincidence— now it all feels a lot heavier. 

“i’ve been seeing a lot of you lately.” you say, tilting back your head to get a better look at him. 

he nods. “is that a bad thing?”

you shrug in response. “it’s an odd one. especially ‘cause—“ you start, cutting yourself off. you look down, chewing on your lip so you don’t confront superman for being a huge flirt. 

he looks at you inquisitively, a small frown playing on his lips. “‘cause?”

you take a deep breath, looking down. “i have a boyfriend. well— he’s not technically my boyfriend, yet. he hasn’t asked, but like, y’know. i really like him.”

you look back up and he’s smiling, almost like he’s trying to suppress a grin, which confuses you even more, because, like, two minutes ago he was acting all into you.

“and how are things going with your not-boyfriend?” he asks, leaning back. 

“great. so i need you to stop flirting with me.” 

he laughs— he actually laughs, with his full chest. acts like you saying that is the silliest thing in the world. like he didn’t randomly show up at your apartment to ‘check on you.’

he smiles up at you with this weird, knowing twinkle in his eye. “you’re right. i’ve got no business getting between you and clark.” 

you pause, your eyebrows knitting together. you didn’t mention anything about clark. 

“how’d you know it was clark?” you ask, frowning. 

he pauses— like his body stutters. “uh, well—“ he starts, stumbling in a way that seems so familiar, just like everything else he does. god, what is it about him? “i assumed, since he was who you were looking for at the school.”

you nod, training your eyes on the loose curl sitting on his forehead. you guess that makes sense, at least, enough for you to not dwell on it any longer. yet, coupled with everything else you’ve noticed, it’s all just… very strange.

“i’m onto you, superman.” you say, looking up at him, eyebrows raised. you see it, just the briefest, tiniest moment of panic in his eyes before the superhero persona sets back in. it’s just enough to let you know that you’re not crazy. 

“onto me?” he asks, slightly incredulous. “what for?” 

you shrug, leaning back against the railing, taking another quick sip of your beer before placing it down against the barred floor of your fire escape. “just whatever it is that you’re hiding from me.”

he nods, like he’s barely entertaining the idea. “i could just stop running into you.” he says, a bit more serious now than he was a minute ago. “if i was hiding something.” 

you smile, shaking your head, standing up and leaning back against the railing. “you could. i doubt you will.” you say, flashing him a grin, hoisting yourself up to sit on the railing. 

he tilts his head. “why’s that?” 

now, you wouldn’t do this if you weren’t at least two beers deep, and right now, you’re three and a half in, so your judgement is maybe… slightly impaired. besides, it’s not like this is the farthest you’ve ever gone to prove a point. 

you slide your legs over the rail, and without a single thought or hesitation, you push yourself off. 

you plummet for a bit longer than you thought you would— not like the drop would kill you, anyways, you live three stories up, but you’re a lot closer to the ground than you thought you’d be when he catches you. 

his arms wrap around you bridal style— and he looks kind of pissed. he doesn’t quite look at you, not until you’re back up safely on the fire escape and he’s floating back out in the alleyway. 

“that was, gosh—“ he starts, looking down at you, arms crossed. “why would you do that?”

“i knew you would catch me.”  you say, your eyes glancing up to find his. 

he shakes his head. “promise me you won’t do that again. ever.” he asks, eyebrows firmly knit together. 

you nod, which, doesn’t seem to be good enough for him, because he tilts his head and looks at you with a gaze that is incredibly stern. you reach out your hand, extending your pinky finger out towards him. 

“i pinky swear.” 

he smiles, locking his finger with yours. “thank you.”

there’s a boom somewhere off in the distance, one loud enough to attract his attention. his hand slips away from yours, and with a nod, he’s gone. 

you’re gonna figure him out. 

——

it’s been two weeks since that night— and that was the last time you saw superman, a new record for you and him. you enjoyed the space as much as it infuriated you— so your time has been spent cataloguing every interaction, sorting through everything that bugged you, even slightly. 

you don’t tell clark about it. it can’t feel good to hear that your girl is constantly thinking about another guy— especially one that is a god amongst men. 

you and clark do have a good rhythm, though. he spends most nights at your place now, and he spoils you with two ‘real dates’ (as he calls them) a week. it’s nice, having him around. someone you can force feed your baking to and cuddle up with when watching scary movies.

it’s nights like tonight, actually, that make you so into him it scares you. he came over after work, and after making you a pasta salad that tasted like heaven on your fork, you sat together on the couch to watch some random sitcom he liked. his arms wrapped around you immediately, and he held you so close and so tight it was basically impossible not to fall asleep in those big, bulky arms of his. 

you blink awake now, soft light and sound still playing on your television despite how quiet everything else seems. you listen to clark’s breathing, steady and even, snoring softly with his grasp loose around you. 

you slide out of his arms quietly, surprised that you didn’t manage to wake him when you knocked into the table behind you on your way to the bathroom. you come back two minutes later, wiping your hands on your sleep shirt and looking down at him. 

he looks so peaceful, so relaxed. it makes you smile. carefully, as to not wake him up, you slide his glasses off of his face and put them on your coffee table, and grab a blanket off of your armchair to throw over him. 

in this motion, you realize you’ve never actually seen clark without his glasses before. you look down at him, tilting your head, squinting for whatever shapes you can make out with such little lighting. 

you didn’t realize how strong his prescription was, because he looks quite different. like— noticeably different. 

huh. he looks a lot like superman. 

you frown. squint a little harder. besides the hair, he’s nearly identical. 

you shake the thought. it has to be some weird coincidence, right? clark, your clark? not possible. you’re too sleepy to give it much thought, anyways. 

still, it bugs you. it bugs you the next morning, when he makes you breakfast. it bugs you the day after, when you see him at the planet. it bugs you for another week, because the similarity is just too damning. 

you stare down at that picture you have of superman. of him, helping your student. the one that inadvertently led you to clark. the one that superman himself framed. you’re looking at all the similarities of note between clark and him. sure, they’re different, but everything different is something easily changed. hairstyles, tone of voice, hell, even posture. 

you chew on your lip. it’s 5:30, clark’s supposed to pick you up in two hours. 

but, hypothetically, if you went to his place now and looked around when he wasn’t expecting you… would you find this picture hung up somewhere? 

it would be just to get the thought out of your head. you’re like, 95% sure there is no way in hell that clark kent can be superman. especially because, if he was, and he’d been flirting with you as superman? you’d be beyond pissed. 

you knock twice on the door. “clark?”

you hear a shuffle and a pause. it takes thirty agonizingly long seconds for him to open the door, but when he does it’s all smiles and laughter— “hey, what are you doing here? thought i was picking you up later.”

he urges you in and gently shuts the door behind you, smiling down at you. your eyes trace every inch of the apartment, looking for something you pray you don’t find. 

“i didn’t want to wait any longer,” you say, looking back up at him, “i missed you.”

he grins, wrapping an arm around you and giving you a squeeze. he looks nice— white button up, black slacks, his hair impossibly perfect. you lean into him, nearly forgetting about your mission. 

“do you want to just hang out here tonight? skip the date?” he asks, sliding your purse off of your shoulder and setting it down on his mahogany front table— one that he made himself when he still lived in smallville. 

“actually,” you say, uncertainly, sliding off your jacket. “that sounds perfect. i wanna talk.” 

he raises a brow, taking your jacket and hooking it the coat rack. you lead him to the living room, flopping down on the couch. “do i need to be worried?” 

he sets himself behind you, leaning against the back of the couch, smiling down at you. you look around, still looking for that picture— one you’re sure you won’t see amongst the decor of his apartment. 

“yeah, maybe.” you say, your eyes meeting his. his smile fades, and those ocean blue eyes stare down at you with just enough concern to make your heart skip a beat. “what are we?” 

you don’t know why you picked that question to stall for time, but here you are. 

he takes a breath, like that question somehow relieves him— what an odd guy. 

“what do you want us to be?” 

he asks it gently, hopefully, like he’s easing you into it. he is— he wants you, bad. more than just a summer situationship. clark isn’t built for that. but he understands hesitation, he understands if you want to take your time. he’s got all the time in the world. 

you pause, taking a breath. “well, i really like you clark.” you say, scooting back on the couch, patting the empty space next to you as a signal. he dances around the side of the couch, extra careful not to knock into anything and disrupt a moment like this one. the couch dips beside you and you sit with your legs crossed, facing him. 

“i really like you, too.” he says, quietly, like it kills him not to say more. 

you nod, chewing on your lip. “and i want to be your girlfriend.” 

he breaks out into a grin, leaning back, looking at you with nothing but love in those ridiculously blue eyes. “yeah?”

“not that you don’t still have to ask me, cause you do, and you have to make it, like, the most romantic thing i’ve ever seen.” you say, smiling up at him. he nods— super serious, like one of your kids planning out an assignment in their head.

“i promise.” he says, leaning in. “i’m gonna romance your socks off, babe.” 

you laugh, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him against you. he presses a quick kiss against your lips— one you’re careful not to get sucked into; you’re not done yet.

“now that that’s settled,” you say, forcing him back with a playful push that elicits a groan from him. “if i’m gonna be with you— you can’t hide anything. i need complete, open honesty.” 

he nods, looking away. you frown. “is there anything you haven’t told me? anything important?” 

he pauses, his eyes trained to the wall, like he’s deliberating on something super important. 

were you right? is clark really… superman? 

he looks back at you, smiling, like that moment didn’t happen. like everything is alright. “i stole one the toys from your classroom.” he shrugs, laughing a bit. “the stuffed deer? it reminded me of you.” 

you gasp, feigning offense. “i’ve been looking for him everywhere!” you exclaim in fake horror, but you can’t help but giggle. 

what were you thinking? clark, superman? sweet, adorkable clark? it’s more likely that he’s secretly mother teresa. 

his laugh grounds you, and he slings an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into him. “i’ll let you know if anything else comes to mind.” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple. “wanna watch a movie?” 

you nod, looking up at him. “i’ll let you pick it if you make popcorn.” you grin, pressing a kiss against his jawline. 

“yes ma’am.” he says, standing up, lingering in your touch a second too long before leaving for the kitchen. 

you watch him, unable to suppress a giant, dorky smile. god, you love him. 

oh god, you love him. 

you decide to table that thought for when you get home. 

“i’m gonna change into one of your shirts!” you call out, standing up and heading towards his room. you’re still in date night attire, and you would much rather be dwarfed by one of clark’s nice, cotton, smallville t-shirts than brave the night in jeans and a tube top. 

“have fun!” he calls back, and you can hear the sporadic popping of the popcorn from the kitchen. 

you make it to his closet, filtering through the half-dozen tees he keeps hung up. he doesn’t have that many clothes, you note, a few dress shirts, a couple cheap suits, two pairs of jeans, and a box of ties below it. you look around a bit more, noting the weird amount of dress shoes he has lined up on the ground when you notice a pair of black wingtips sat above a silver, face-down picture frame. 

huh. 

maybe if you were a bit more trusting and a bit less suspicious you would have left it alone— but that isn’t you. 

your eyes flicker to the doorway, which is empty, and back to the frame. carefully, you crouch down, sliding the shoes down to the ground, tentatively picking up the frame and flipping it towards you. 

your heart beats out of your chest. 

it’s the picture. 

it’s the picture. 

the one you took of superman, the one you gave him that first night, the one he told you he framed— the one that you decidedly did not give to clark, the one that clark never told you he framed, the one that clark would have no reason to hide except—

that he’s superman. 

that you were right. 

that he lied to you. 

you take the picture. hold it so tight your knuckles turn white. walk out of the closet, out of the bedroom, into the kitchen. drop it on the countertop so clark can see it. 

the look on his face tells you everything you need to know. he looks shocked, caught, then scared, guilty. his eyes dart from the picture to you in an instant. the microwave beeps three times, the popping slows to a stop. it’s over. 

“i can explain.” 

you shake your head. he doesn’t need to— it’s pretty open and shut. he lied to you, and if it was just him hiding the superman thing, you could understand. “you talked to me as superman— flirted with me, asked personal stuff— you lied. you’ve been lying, this entire time, i—“ you take a deep breath, fighting tears. “i should go.” you say, spinning around on your heels.

he grabs your hand before you can move, squeezing it gently. “please, wait— let me explain it. please. you don’t understand.”

you pull away, looking at him with nothing but hurt in your eyes— because you are hurt, you feel betrayed and broken and everything you thought you wouldn’t feel with clark. you stare at him, trying your hardest not to cry— not in front of him. he looks hopeless, half-defeated, uncertain, and lost in a way that overwhelms him.

you sniffle, shaking your head. “i understand fine, clark.” you say, swallowing down your heartbreak and peeling towards the door. 

“this is over.”

——

the days that follow are bleak. all you have to show for the breakup are dark, lonely hours wasted in pints of ice cream and dirty tissues. your only solace is scrolling through article after article— either ones written by clark, or ones written about him. 

you push yourself through it with everything you can muster, praying that he doesn’t hear your sobs from across the city. you love him. loved him. and you’re not sure you’ll ever be so in love again. 

but he betrayed you, he lied to you— he hurt you in a way that you can’t explain. you don’t want to let that push you down any more than it already has. 

so, you push back. get up, out of bed, get dressed, call your friends, make plans. put yourself in a situation where you don’t have to think, especially about clark. it’s been ten days since you stormed out of his apartment and you have to move forward. it’s the last day of summer before you go back— you can’t have let it all been a waste. 

you club. you party. you convince yourself that you’re having fun. you drink too much and then you spend an hour sobering yourself up before you home. you kiss your friends goodbye and toss the numbers you had pocketed in the trash outside your apartment. you head upstairs, taking a deep breath to try an avoid letting yourself think about the silence.

about clark. 

and, when you get to your door, fumbling for your keys— you notice a piece of neatly-folded card stock taped below your peephole, your name encircled by a heart on the front of it. 

carefully, you take it down, removing the tape with little tear and opening the letter, recognizing the handwriting before you can even read a word. 

to start this, you were right. i shouldn’t have lied, i shouldn’t have pretended i wasn’t lying, i shouldn’t have spoken to you under false pretenses. the last thing i ever wanted was to hurt you, and for that, i am so sorry. 

i hope, for you, this past week hasn’t been as miserable as it has been for me. i hoped to have seen you at the planet, or bump into you on the corner, or find some way to see you and try and redeem myself— but i couldn’t wait any longer to explain.

yes, i am superman. i was born on the planet krypton, sent here as an infant, and adopted by my parents, john and martha kent. i have a cousin who too, is from krypton, but remembers much more than me about home, and i take care of her superpowered dog, krypto, in a secret fortress in the arctic. i can fly, i can move incredibly fast, i have inhuman strength, x-ray vision, laser vision from my eyes and breath that can freeze nearly anything, all given to me by the earth’s yellow sun. 

i came to you as superman at first by accident. the night i saved you from the mugger, before our first date. i had spent the days leading up to our date spiraling. you, who are so perfect, so beautiful, and so kind, were going out with me, and i was terrified to mess it up. i realized how easy it was for me to talk to you as superman, when it was difficult for clark kent. the times i saved you, i shouldn’t have lingered. the times i spoke to you as him, i shouldn’t have been there. at first, it had been a crutch, but by the last time, it had become a compulsion. 

i had to see you. to make sure that you were safe, and warm, and happy. i realize now that i violated you in a way i cannot make up for. for this and for everything else, i am truly sorry. while my betrayal is inexcusable, know that i did it because i love you. this summer has been the best of my life, i have never met someone as compassionate, hilarious, talented, and beautiful as you, i have never wanted to be around someone more than you, i have never had someone plague my thoughts and dreams the way you do. you have quickly become my everything, my reason for waking up, for helping people, for pushing through every day.

you asked me, the day of our fight, to make my request for you to be my girlfriend the most romantic thing you’ve ever seen. and i promised you that i would. 

and while i have lied to you, hidden things from you, and hurt you, i have never broken a promise. 

open the door, please. 

you look up from the note, wiping away a river of tears that had just poured out of you. carefully, your hands wrap around the doorknob, slowly turning it and pushing the door open. 

and there he is. 

standing in the center of the room, surrounded by a thousand rose petals, holding a giant bouquet with an iron grip. candles litter the foyer, giving his face an ethereal glow in the low light. his glasses are gone. his curls are out. he’s someone between clark kent and superman now, someone who you desperately want to know. 

he clears his throat, his gaze holding yours hostage with those infinity blue eyes captivating you so wholly. 

“i promise never to hurt you again. never to lie to you, or hide things from you, or betray your trust— if you’ll let me be yours again.” he says, smiling down at you like he’s on the verge of tears. “will you be my girlfriend?” he asks, as you approach taking in the entire set up slowly, trying not to lose what little composure of yours you still have. 

you take a breath, your eyes locking with his once more. 

“yes.” you say, grinning while tears— happy ones, slip from your eyes. he smiles wider than you’ve ever seen, practically throwing the bouquet so he can wrap his arms around you in a giant bear hug. 

he lifts you up and spins you off of the ground, pulling an exciting giggle from your lips. it takes you a second to realize he’s off the ground too, that you’re both mid-air inside your tiny apartment— but you’re too focused on clark to mind. 

he holds you close, leaning in just enough to warm your face with his breath.

“i love you.” he says, quietly, like if saying it any louder would have scared you away. 

“i love you too.” you say, smiling. 

he grins, leaning into you and crashing against you with a kiss so fervent it nearly topples you over— so passionate it makes your chest explode with warmth. 

and suddenly, just for a moment, just for now— everything is okay again. and you know that as long as you have clark at your side, it always will be. 

——

there are two quick knocks on the door, followed by a rasp “honey? you okay?”

you tremble, sat with your back against the door, bunched up in your wedding dress, trying to force the tears to stop falling to avoid messing up your ridiculously expensive bridal makeup. ten minutes ago the pressure got to you, and five minutes ago you sent your entire party— bridesmaids, stylists, even your mom —out the door so you could properly break down. 

“yeah.” you say, sniffling. your voice shakes so much that the lie isn’t even half-convincing. clark can see right through you anyways (literally), so it’s not like you were really trying to lie. you just didn’t want him all concerned. it’s his wedding day too, you want it to be the happiest day of his life, even if your own experience is a train wreck. 

you can practically hear his frown. “kara told me what happened.” he says, softly. 

oh. yeah. your bridezilla breakdown. not one of your best moments. you aren’t exactly proud of screaming at your mom to stop messing with your hair, or your aunt for commenting on the fit of your dress, or your bridesmaids for giving you all sorts of unsolicited advice. you yelled, threw a fit, and pushed everyone out of the room so you could sob mascara into your veil. 

“can i come in?” he asks, gently, and you let out a weak laugh. 

“the groom can’t see the bride before the wedding, remember?” you say. he groans, sliding down against the door, his back to you. 

“that’s a silly rule.” he says, and you smile. you love how much he makes you smile. 

“i don’t need any more bad luck.” you wince. “did kara tell you about my bitch fit?” 

you hear him snort a little bit through the door. “she used nicer words.” he says, pausing. “wanna talk about it?”

god yes. it’s all you want to talk about. but you don’t want to bring clark down any further than you already have. you want him to have the perfect wedding, even if you are decidedly not. 

“it’s fine. i just needed a minute.” you say, your voice shaking again— enough to where you know clark won’t drop it now. you bury your head in your dress, taking a deep breath. 

“c’mon. i’m your husband in like, ten minutes. you can talk to me.” he says. his voice is so sweet and syrupy— you’re not sure how you can refuse him. 

you lean up, back against the door, shutting your eyes so tight it hurts. the words spill out of you so fast you don’t even think about them before they do. “i wanna be married to you so bad. but god— i know we spent so much on this and we spent so much time planning it but… i just want this over with. my dress is so goddamn tight and nobody can leave me alone for half a second without telling me something i need to be doing or something i’m doing wrong. and i just— it all got to be too much. and now my mom is probably gonna storm out ‘cause i yelled at her and then my dad won’t be there to walk me down the aisle, and i just ruined everything for no good reason.” 

the end of your rant is met with a beat of silence. a terrifying, overwhelming, moment where you think you might have finally scared off clark. 

of course, you didn’t. you couldn’t. “hey, honey— nothing’s ruined. look, don’t think about what your mom wants, or what your bridesmaids want, or even what i want. what’s gonna make you happy? ‘cause i could fly you off to a courthouse right now and ditch the party. all i want is to married to you— you could be in your pajamas for all i care and you would never have looked more beautiful. i just— darn it, i want you to be happy.”

you’re crying again, but this time you’re smiling, because god, your fiancé is just so sweet it makes your knees weak. 

“what do you want, sweetheart?” he asks again, his voice so soft and tender it makes you turn to putty. 

you sniffle again, wiping your tears with your fingers while trying not to further destroy your $120 makeup. “i really want a hug.” you mumble, staring down at your mascara-stained hands. 

“on it.” he says, and you hear him stand up and try for the door— which is still very much locked. 

you giggle a bit, standing up with him “i can’t let you in, though. the rule?” 

he scoffs. “that rule is just plain— gosh, it’s just ridiculous. let me in, please, or I’m gonna break this door down.” 

you laugh— god, it feels so good to laugh. you haven’t seen him all day and it felt like you were drowning. 

you pause, giving in and slowly turning the lock, but you don’t quite open the door yet. 

“promise me you’ll keep your eyes shut?” you ask, knowing how silly it sounds. god help you, you’re a bit superstitious. 

“scouts honor.” he confirms, and you slowly open the door, peeking out to see clark, who looks breathtakingly stunning, with his tie wrapped around his eyes like a blindfold. 

you laugh, smiling so wide the muscles in your mouth start to get sore. 

“there she is.” he says, reaching out blindly for you, his hands— impossibly warm, feeling around for your shoulders. “you feel very beautiful.” 

you laugh, wrapping your arms around him and burying yourself against him, your head in his chest. his arms circle your body and he squeezes you so tight you might faint— exactly the kind of hug you needed. 

you do your best not to let yourself cry, but clark has a way of forcing the tension out of you, one way or another. one hand presses into the small of your back, the other strokes your hair softly. little praises and comforts slip from his lips like sugar, while you sob into him.

“i love you so much.” he whispers, giving you another squeeze.

“i love you too.” you cry, holding him so tightly your arms ache. “i am so excited to be married to you— this is not cold feet i promise.”

he laughs, nodding against you. “i know, honey, i know.” he says, and god, he knows just how to sooth every one of your worries away. 

finally, you pull away, looking up at him. his glasses are tucked into his pocket, his hair is slicked back with one little curl popped out against his forehead. his suit is a deep black, with a navy blue tie (still covering his eyes) and a matching pocket square that makes him look irresistible. 

“you look really nice.” you say, sniffling, but you can’t wipe the smile off of your face. 

he shrugs. “i’m sure it’s nothing compared to you.” and he says it like you aren’t already a mess and you’re not blushing like, well, a bride. 

you grab the edge of his sleeve and use it to wipe away your tears. his thumb brushes against your cheek, falling to your bicep when you let his sleeve go.

“so, what’s the plan, gorgeous?” he asks, grinning down at you with that five-star smile that gets you every time. “are we sneaking out and going downtown?”

you take a deep breath, shaking your head. “no, no we’re doing this.” you say, leaning into his touch. “but if you, say, asked one of your superhero friends to slip a roach down my mom’s dress, i think i’d skip down the aisle.” 

he laughs, squeezing your arm and pulling away. “i’ll see what i can do.” 

you smile, memorizing how dorky he looks with that tie around his eyes and his cute open mouth smile. 

“see you on the other side?” you ask, tilting your head. 

“see you on the other side.” he confirms, stepping back with just enough uncertainty to let you know that he’s not using any x-ray vision. 

you watch him through the crack in the door until he’s gone, smiling so wide you might be stuck that way. 

half an hour later the music starts, your dad takes your hand, and you’re walking down the aisle like nothing ever went wrong.

first you eye the crowd, looking over the array of friends, family, and superheroes that showed up. thank goodness clark is a reporter and not, say, an office worker, because you don’t know how else you could explain the random celebrities like bruce wayne and oliver queen who are sat in the audience. 

then you look at your feet, which, are hidden beneath the dress, but you want to make sure you don’t stumble and embarrass yourself with a hundred pairs of eyes on you. 

finally, you look up at clark, who’s staring at you in the sort of way that makes you feel faint. like you’re the most beautiful woman in the world. like you’re about to make his knees buckle. like he’s in pure awe. he doesn’t even look nervous— a trait which you envy, because you’re an absolute mess right now. he just looks captivated.

you make up to the alter, looking up at him with a healthy mix of nerves and excitement. he’s looking down at you like he’s never been more certain of anything in his life. 

“i love you.” he mouths, grinning at you.

“i love you more.” you mouth back, and he shakes his head with glee.

“—you may now share your vows.” the officiant says, looking to clark.

he smiles, looking down at his feet, taking a deep breath before looking back up at you.

“for… for a long time i didn’t know what to write. i had about six… thousand drafts, but i don’t think there’s any way i can put into words how much i love you. how much i depend on you, how much of my happiness is thanks to you. i have so much purpose now. because if i can make you happy— if i can make you safe, if i can make you feel loved and supported and half as good as you make me feel every day by just being you… i’ll have accomplished more than i’ve ever dreamed of. i love you, honey, so much it makes my chest hurt. and i am the luckiest man in the world to be the man who gets to marry you— my soulmate.” he looks back up at you with stars in his eyes— your spaceman.

there’s like, five tears sliding down your cheeks by the end of that speech. you literally cannot stop smiling. you expected a lot— his job is writing for chrissakes— but wow.

wow.

“i, uh, wow. i don’t think i can top that.” you say, and a gentle laugh echoes from the crowd. you take a deep breath. “clark, i— i spent a lifetime thinking i’d never find someone like you. you’re, literally my knight in shining armor. when we met, and you walked me to perry’s office when i was so, horribly lost, i remember thinking how much i wanted this guy to ask me out. and then i found your number in my files, and i didn’t even realize how lucky i was. clark— my life has become so much better because you’re in it. having you, my rock, my best friend, my soulmate— i don’t have to dream any more. every morning with you is one come true. you are the incredibly dorky, adorable, and unfathomably amazing love of my life, and marrying you is the best thing i will ever do. i’ve never been certain of anything, but for this i have no doubt: i love you, clark kent, and i will love you no matter what life throws at us— i know that despite any tragedy or circumstance, i am yours, always and forever.”

you smile up at clark, droplets of water falling further down your face while a single tear drops from his eye. he smiles at you like you’re all he could ever want. you are.

“by the power vested in me by the state, i now pronounce you mr. and mrs. clark kent, husband and wife. you may now kiss the bride.”

clark grins at you and leans in, his lips pressing gently against yours, his hands pulling you in by your sides. the music plays, the church erupts in applause, and your husband knocks the breath out of you and for one moment, just one, everything is completely perfect.

this is so easily the longest fic i've ever written.... i am very proud of her though i very much hope you all enjoy!!

[iamactuallysocute]

is there an alternate ending to that last baby saja story where she actually dumps his ass for someone better 😭

(/hj, I enjoyed the writing even if I wanted to read my hair out over how much an asshole he was being... half wilted flowers can only make up for so much...)

BABY SAJA – LOYALTY IS WASTED ON MEN LIKE YOU!

JINU/ABBY/ROMANCE/MYSTERY – LOYALTY AIN’T FOR ASSHOLES!

Where you dump his ass for another Saja boy💋

cw: cursing, mentions of sex (BDSM mentions, spanking, hair pulling, biting), light gore mentions

“I’m breaking up with you.”

You don’t shout it. You don’t even raise your voice. You say it the same way you’d tell someone it’s raining. Calm. Factual. Final.

Baby’s sitting on your couch. Slouched. Legs spread like a dickhead. Phone in one hand. He doesn’t even look up.

“Cool.” he says, shrugs, thumb still scrolling. “I figured.”

“You figured?”

“Mm.”

You want to launch a sandal at his face. Ancient demon or not.

You don’t even recognize the person standing here anymore. You—you, the one who lit up when he walked into a room, who spent months overthinking every look, every silence, every goddamn breadcrumb of affection he flicked your way like a charity case—you can’t believe you ever let this man touch you.

You grab your phone. Your keys. Open the door. “Don’t be here when I get back.”

He leans back into the cushion, arms stretched across the top of the couch, still acting like he’s on a fucking lunch break. “Sure.”

That finally breaks your heart clean open. Not because he said it. But because that’s all he had to say.

You walk out. You mean it. You’re done. You know that someone else wants you. That someone else who is a hundred times better than Baby wants you. And that someone is…

JINU

You just left your friend’s place. The air’s crisp. It’s late. You’re cute. You’re cold. You’re alone. You pull your little jacket tighter around yourself, cheeks cold, lips still sticky from the cherry lip balm you borrowed in the bathroom before leaving.

You close the building’s door behind you gently, click of the lock fading into the quiet street.

“Walking home alone? In this neighborhood?”

Not gonna lie you got scared a little.

You look up.

Jinu’s leaning against the wall near the steps. Hands in his pockets.

And you smile. Because it’s Jinu. And he’s never been anything but good to you. Even if you know what kind of demon he really is. Even if the boys call him selfish, sadistic, an absolute fucking tyrant on bad days. Even if he once pushed Abby through a wall just because he looked at his dinner the wrong way.

With you though?

He’s soft.

Warm.

Charming.

“Jinu.” you say, voice light, glowing without trying. “What are you doing here?”

He straightens up, steps toward you casually. “Was nearby. Figured I’d walk you home. Don’t want you out here alone this late. Not after the week you’ve had.”

“…News travels fast, huh?”

Jinu hums, offers you his arm. “What can I say? Some demons talk too much.”

God, his voice.

You hesitate a second. But only a second. Then, you loop your hand around his arm gently. Nestle in. Let yourself feel the warmth of him through the fabric. How solid he is. Stable. Steady. Unlike someone else.

“Sorry about the breakup.” Jinu says as you two start walking. The street is quiet, lamplight painting gold streaks on the sidewalk. “I mean it.”

You glance at him. “Are you really?”

He looks down at you. “I’m sorry he didn’t see what he had.” he says smoothly. “But I’m not sorry you’re free.”

Your cheeks heat. And not from the cold.

“Jinu…” you giggle a little, playful. “You’re too much.”

“Not enough.” he murmurs, but it’s low enough that it almost gets swallowed by the wind.

You blink up at him. “Huh?”

He just smiles.

You fall into an easy silence after that. He doesn’t flirt? not really. He just walks beside you like he’s meant to. Like his place has always been at your side.

He never says he wants you.

He doesn’t need to.

It’s there.

In every silent glance.

Every breath between words.

Every step closer he takes without touching you.

“Was it bad?” he asks after a minute. Voice quieter now. “The breakup?”

You shrug. “Not as bad as it should’ve been. I mean, he didn’t even fight me on it. He just… sat there. Didn’t even blink. Like I told him I was leaving to grab milk.”

“That tracks.” Jinu mutters.

“God, right?” you laugh, and then immediately start rambling, because you’re tired and warm from earlier and Jinu being so weirdly comforting is disarming as hell. “Like—I kept thinking I was gonna cry, or he was gonna cry, or something. But no. It was like breaking up with a brick wall. And I—I really tried, you know? For so long. I gave everything. I cooked for him. I listened. I supported him when he was moody and ancient and impossible. And he gave me nothing. Like not even eye contact sometimes. And I kept thinking, ‘Well, he’s a demon, maybe he just doesn’t know how to love like a human does,’ but that’s bullshit. That’s actual bullshit. Because you guys know how. You just don’t want to when it’s inconvenient. And I’m not—god, sorry, I’m totally trauma dumping, I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t apologize.” Jinu says. Instantly. Firm.

You pause. Glance over at him.

“You’re allowed to talk.” he says. “You were with him a long time. You’re allowed to hurt.”

You breathe in slow, lips parting, unsure what to say to that.

“And for the record?” he adds after a beat. “You weren’t the problem. You’re… better than what he ever deserved.”

Your heart hiccups.

“Thanks.” you murmur, voice small, shy. “I… I’ve been doubting myself a lot lately. Wondering if I was the issue.”

“You weren’t.”

“You say that like you know.”

“I do.” he says. Simple. Straightforward.

“You always know what to say, huh?” you ask, nudging him gently.

“I usually don’t give a fuck.” he replies, lips twitching. “But for you? I try.”

You’ve reached your block. Your apartment is really high up. You should say goodbye. You should. But… you kinda don’t want to.

“Do you wanna come in?” You ask it like you’re not thinking about it. Like it’s casual. Like you haven’t been feeling oddly warm and floaty walking next to the demon embodiment of selfish cruelty for the last twenty minutes. You smile at him, gentle, a little shy. “Just for a drink or something. Water. Tea. I think I have juice.”

He looks past you, up at your building. Then at the door. Then back at you. And for a moment, there’s hesitation—not that he looks uncertain, but that something else is pulling him back. Because you don’t know this, but Gwi-Ma’s voice has been digging into his skull since he saw you leave your friend’s building. Jinu had brushed it off. As he always does. But it’s still there. Gwi-Ma knows. Of course he knows. And Jinu’s already pushing it.

Because he likes you. More than he wants to. More than he should.

And he’s not good for you.

He knows that, too.

“Can’t.” he says, tone low. “I’ve got something to handle.”

You don’t hide your disappointment, just like you don’t make it a big thing either. You’re a sweetheart like that. You just nod, lips pushing into a soft little pout. “Right.”

You reach for your keys.

And then you feel it—his hand, gently taking yours.

You blink.

He lifts it to his lips, slow. Elegant. Eyes on yours the entire time.

He kisses the back of your hand. Just barely.

When he lets go, your hand stays there for a second.

He steps back.

“You’re doing alright.” he says.

You blink at him, soft. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” he murmurs. “Better without him.”

Then, with a final glance, he turns, shoves his hands into his pockets again, and walks off down the street. You stand there a second longer, hand still tingling, heart annoyingly fluttery. You should go inside. You should forget that Jinu, of all people, just made you feel like you were made of glass and diamonds.

But you don’t.

You stay right there.

Watching until he turns the corner and disappears into the dark.

The next time you invited him in, he came in. Just a drink. That was the deal. He didn’t touch you. Not once. But he looked. Leaned back, one arm thrown over the backrest, watching you.

The second time? He actually asked to come in. He made you laugh. God, he always made you laugh in that infuriating way, like you knew he was an arrogant bastard and yet somehow it still felt hot. You talked. Not about anything important.

Still didn’t touch you.

But when you stood up to grab a blanket, you felt his eyes on the backs of your thighs.

By the third time? He stayed late. You gave him something fizzy to drink. You got comfortable. He got comfortable in your space.

He came close that time. Leaned in when you were talking. Let his knee brush yours. Watched your lips when you spoke, which made you mess up your words three separate times.

And when you got up to get him a snack, he followed you into the kitchen. Not saying a word. Just leaned against your counter, arms crossed, watching you dig through a cabinet like you were the midnight craving.

Not like he told anyone else though. He wants to show you off, he really does, but if Baby knew Jinu was here? Sitting on your floor while you braid a red string bracelet for him? Watching you hum to yourself while you slice peaches into a bowl? He’d burn the whole damn apartment building down. Demon pettiness knows no bounds.

The fourth time? You didn’t even ask if he wanted to come in. You just stepped aside, and he walked in like he belonged there. He did. That’s the problem. The more he came over, the more it felt like he was meant to be here. In your space. In your air. In you.

And he’s so evil.

He’s not even pretending to be soft with anyone else. You’ve seen it. The way he shoves Baby in rehearsals, talks over Abby, rolls his eyes when Mystery gets too feral. He’s cruel. Self-centered. Cold.

But not to you.

Not anymore.

Because Jinu’s smart. He sees things for what they are. And he sees you. Bright. Effortlessly kind. All sunshine and softness and stupid cute sweaters. With your cute apartment and your warm drinks and your tendency to talk about things like the shape of clouds or the way the sidewalk smells after rain.

And he fucking wants to be gentle to you. Wants it in a way he doesn’t understand. Because it doesn’t make sense. He’s a demon. A selfish bastard. He takes what he wants and leaves everything else bleeding.

And he really really likes you.

Not that he says that out loud.

No.

Not Jinu.

And then one night, finally—after three drinks, and one of those long silences that stretch and hum with meaning—you looked at him. Really looked. And he was already looking back.

You said, “What?”

He said, “Nothing.”

Then he reached out—slowly, carefully—and tucked your hair behind your ear.

And you kissed him.

You kissed him first.

He kissed you back.

Just once.

Slow.

Hot.

Hands cupping your face.

And when he finally pulled back? He whispered against your lips, “…Took you long enough.”

He is, weirdly, incredibly caring. He listens when you talk. Actually listens. Like, retains info level listening.

Jinu went from kicking chairs across the dance floor to gently moving your hair out of your eyes when you were half-asleep on the couch. From barely tolerating Baby’s tantrums to learning how to make your tea just right because you “always drink that bitter shit.” From using people like pawns to holding your face after a kiss.

Wild.

He texted you first. You didn’t even know demons could text properly. Baby had replied with fucking emojis and one-word answers. But Jinu? He talked to you. He paid attention. Like actually paid attention. He remembered things you said in passing and brought them up again days later. You told him once—once—that you liked chocolate-covered almonds and he showed up with a bag the next time he came over. Said nothing. Just tossed them to you like it was nothing.

And the sex? Oh my god.

Not like it was bad with Baby. Technically. He had a nice face, a hot body, and 300+ years of “dicking around” (literally) experience. But it was empty. Detached. Mechanical. Like he was doing it because he was bored or hungry. Not because he wanted you.

Jinu fucked like he meant it.

Like your pleasure was his business. Like you were the event, not the warm-up. He could be rough—god, could he—but he watched you the whole time, learning what made you shake, what made you cry out, what made you go all soft and fucked-out and begging without using words, and made it clear that if you weren’t enjoying yourself, it wasn’t fucking over.

And the aftercare. You never expected that from someone like him.

And it wasn’t just about the sex.

It was everything.

All little things Baby never did.

Baby never asked if you made it home safe. Jinu does.

Baby never remembered your favorite things. Jinu remembered everything.

And yeah, sometimes he was still a prick. He didn’t say the right things all the time. He never apologized first. But he never ignored you. Never cold-shouldered you. Never made you feel like you were chasing.

Strange. How different they are. How much difference it makes.

You used to think demons didn’t know how to love.

Turns out they just didn’t know how to love you right.

Right now, the boys just finished practicing. Well, the four boys did, Jinu mostly barked orders around and threw a tantrum when they weren’t behaving, but they’re done now.

“Yo, you done?” Abby’s voice cuts through the cool-down haze, breathless as he peels off his drenched tee and slaps it across Romance’s back.

Romance barks out a fake scream.

Jinu doesn’t answer any of them. Doesn’t have to. He’s already at his bag, slipping out of his black hoodie, fixing his hair back into place like he hasn’t just spent the last hour moving like he wants the floor to crack beneath him.

Romance clocks it first. “Yo, where you going so quick, stone-face?”

Jinu straightens up. Hooks a thumb in his belt loop. Looks over his shoulder. “Date.”

Everything.

Stops.

Even Baby, slouched against the mirror, sipping on a bottled water freezes. Mid-sip.

Abby blinks, scoffs, then leans forward like he misheard. “Wait. With who?”

Jinu smiles. Just a flick of it. Sharp. Smug. Slow.

“Y/N.”

The blood visibly leaves Baby’s face.

Romance’s jaw drops. “With—wait. Our Y/N?”

Mystery’s eyes open. For the first time in the past hour.

“You’re lying.” Abby says, but it sounds more like he wants Jinu to be lying.

“I’m not.” Jinu zips his bag shut.

Romance walks over, pushing his hair out of his face. “Okay, but like… how serious is this date?”

Jinu doesn’t even look at him. He just reaches into his pocket, casual, unfazed, the picture of confidence, and pulls out a condom and cheekily waves the little packet between two fingers.

And then he walks out.

Boss.

BOSS.

B. O. S. S.

Romance’s hands are on his head. “That motherfucker.”

Abby’s jaw is locked so tight his temple’s twitching.

Mystery says nothing. Just slowly sits up, lips parting like he’s about to growl.

Baby is still facing the mirror. Staring at himself. Water bottle hanging loose in his hand.

His reflection?

Absolutely fucking fuming.

At your place, you were already waiting by the door, if you’re being honest. Not right by it, but close enough that when the knock came, you could open it in record time. Like the angel you are.

When you hear him knock, you open the door already smiling, already glowing, because how could you not? He’s leaning one shoulder against the frame like he didn’t just practice for hours and mentally wreck the other boys. He’s dressed down tonight, sleeves rolled up to reveal those sharp, veiny forearms you’ve grown to obsess over.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” you melt, breathe, stepping aside to let him in.

You barely have time to close the door behind you already turn to peck him on the lips. Just a sweet little kiss, because you’re such a sweetheart.

You pull back with a grin, and before you can even take a step away, Jinu leans in and peppers your cheek with tiny, rapid-fire kisses. It’s playful. Stupid. Adorable.

You let out a surprised little shriek, swatting at his chest, and he just smirks, tilting his head.

“Jinu.” you laugh, trying to shove him lightly, “Stop, that tickles.”

“Mmm.” He doesn’t stop. Just mutters into your skin. “Don’t tell me what to do in my girlfriend’s house.”

That word.

Girlfriend.

God.

You’re weak for it.

You turn into actual mush under his hands, and you know he knows it because he’s smirking now, all cocky and smug. His fingers sneak under the hem of your hoodie, palm splaying against your lower back, wandering

“You’re handsy today.” you tease, wrapping your arms around his neck, fingers playing with the ends of his hair. “Not even a glass of wine first?”

“You want me to leave?” He buries his nose in your neck, breath warm.

You scoff. “Shut up. Totally not what I said.”

He grins.

You lead him to the kitchen, still buzzing from the warmth of him, feeling that weird, dizzy contrast, how the fuck someone so ruthless, someone who literally is here to take souls, can turn into this clingy, lazy bastard who latches onto you.

And the crazy part? This is the relationship you always wanted. No games. No confusion. No cold shoulders or question marks or awkward silences. No laying in bed wondering if you’re the problem. Just… this.

Jinu stealing kisses when you’re mid-sentence.

Jinu opening the fridge like he pays rent.

Jinu pretending not to care but kissing your knuckles when you hand him a glass of water.

Jinu looking at you like you’re the first human he’s ever actually seen.

You always knew he was better.

That was the thing.

That was the problem.

That was the reason.

You broke up with Baby because you stopped lying to yourself. Because once Jinu started looking at you like that, once he started stepping in when Baby would step back—how the fuck could you stay?

It wasn’t just that Baby didn’t treat you right.

It was that you knew someone could.

And now?

Look at you.

Happy. Soft. Glowing.

Your lips are pink from kisses. Your hoodie smells like his cologne. Your smile won’t fade.

He’s a man. A real one. And he wants you. Fully. Openly. So when he follows you to the couch, wraps you up in his arms, you let yourself melt. You let yourself trust it. You let yourself be happy.

Because look at you.

Glowing.

ABBY

He showed up at your door with a busted lip, knuckles bloodied, and a body even worse. Looked horrible.

“Holy fuck.” was the first thing you said.

He smiled, that same lopsided, boyish, dimple-popping, fucking adorable smile, and said: “Hey, angel. You got food?”

Food.

Not gauze. Not antiseptic.

Food.

You stared at the walking wound in front of you, torn between smacking him and hugging him. But he just gave you the world’s most manipulative puppy eyes (oneof which was rapidly swelling shut) and you sighed, hard, and let him in.

“Here.” you mutter, placing the steaming plate down in front of him.

He grins through the cut on his cheek. “Thanks, babe.”

He’s already halfway to digging in, but you’re already gone, striding back to your room, cute little pastel first aid kit in hand. The cute one. Pink zipper. Stickers. Possibly glitter. Baby didn’t like when you used it on him, said it was embarrassing. But Abby? He’s a fucking man.

This is fine. Totally healthy.

You come back around the corner, already snapping open the box, ignoring the way he’s shoveling rice like he hasn’t eaten in two weeks. He probably hasn’t.

“Alright.” you mutter, kneeling beside him on the couch. “Lemme see that jaw.”

He tilts his face toward you, obedient but still chewing. “Mmm. You smell good.”

You sigh and start dabbing antiseptic on the cut under his cheekbone. “Hold still.”

“I am holding still.” he mumbles.

You hold his chin between two fingers when you dab at the cut on his cheekbone. “Sorry if this stings.”

“It’s okay.” he says. Quieter now. His eyes are on your face.

“You’re doing great.” you murmur, brushing sweat-soaked hair from his face. “Not gonna hurt. Just cold.”

“Mmm. I like the cold.” he mumbles.

You keep tending to him, voice a soft stream of kindness. “You’re doing so good, Abby. Almost done, okay?” you say as you disinfect a scratch along his collarbone. “You’re really strong. You must’ve scared the hell out of the other guy.”

He just hums.

“Shirt.” you hum, digging into the kit.

“I’ve got it, I’ve got it.” he says, and shrugs out of his already unbuttoned top.

You try not to stare.

(You fail a little.)

A chest broad enough to put a family on. Shoulder blades like a wet dream. One of his shoulders is a little purple, like someone bigger than him tried and failed to pin him down.

You wince at that one. “Jeez, Abby.”

“I won.” he says, like that makes it okay.

“Tell me if this stings.” you say, pressing to the cut.

“It stings.”

You glance up. “Seriously?”

“No.”

Yes.

You sigh and trail your fingers along his arm as you clean a cut there, caressing gently to keep him calm. Every time he flinches—even a little—you hush him sweetly, murmuring, “I know, I know. I’m sorry, sweetheart. Almost done. You’re being really brave.”

He watches your hands. Careful. Precise. You’re not even realizing how tender your touch is.

“You’re okay.” you whisper. “I’ve got you.”

And god, if his heart wasn’t doing push-ups before, it is now.

He’s quiet for a long second. Just looking at you. Watching the way you lean in to check his side. The way you frown when you see a deeper bruise. The way you mumble things like “poor baby” and “this looks worse than it is” like you’re apologizing for not being able to magic it away.

And you don’t even know what you’re doing to him. You don’t realize that the ache in his chest has nothing to do with the fight anymore. That he came here because something pulled him here.

Because when he got thrown through a brick wall and spit blood, the only person he wanted was you.

And all he can do is stare. Softly. Silently. Desperately.

“Look at this bruise.” you whisper, lightly tracing one with a finger. “Poor thing.”

“‘M fine.” he mutters. But it’s breathless. Awkward.

You glance up. Smile. “You will be.”

He looks away. Down, then on the floor, then back at you.

“You’re doing great.” you whisper, dabbing another bruise. “You’re always doing great. Can you lift your arm a bit for me, sweetie?”

He obeys. And when he does, your hand brushes along his bicep, steadying him. God, his arm. You could cry. You could sleep on that arm. That arm’s more built than your entire credit score.

But you’re not being flirty. Not really. You’re being… you.

You’re pressing gauze against his wounds like he’s glass. Stroking a thumb across his cheekbone when you clean the bruise blooming under his eye. Murmuring things like, “you’re okay” and “this might sting, I’m sorry, love” and “you’ve been so brave, Abby, really.”

And he just sits there. Food forgotten, spoon paused halfway to his mouth, just staring at you. Big brown eyes, wide and blinking. Shoulders tense. Lips parted. Not in lust. Not even in flirt mode. Just… in awe.

“There.” you hum, leaning back just a bit. “Not too bad. You’ll live.” You flop down next to him finally, close but not too close, letting your shoulder brush his. He’s warm. Too warm. “So, what happened?”

He pauses, wiping a bit of rice from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, like the feral fucking asshole he is. “Huntrix.”

Your mouth opens in a little “oh.” you lean your cheek into your palm. “They really don’t give you boys a break…”

He shrugs. “Just me and Mystery.”

Your eyes go wide. “Oh my god, Abby.”

“They were more pissed at Mystery, to be honest.” he says, voice casual as hell, but his thigh is tense next to yours.

You let out a little noise of distress. “That’s awful! You poor thing. You don’t deserve that.”

He chuckles under his breath. “I kinda did.“

“Well… I’m glad you’re okay. Even if you’re an idiot. A big one.”

He glances at you. “I’m really okay.”

You smile up at him, sweet and simple, like loving is your default setting.

He swallows.

That quiet lingers.

“You, uh… still dealing with that breakup?”

You blink. You weren’t expecting it. Not now. Not from him. “Yeah.” you say. “I guess.”

He looks at you, brows tugged together. It’s almost funny. Abby could punch a tank in half and not blink, but one mention of your broken heart and he’s clenching his fists like he wants to go out and commit a homicide.

“It’s not like I regret loving him.” you say, quietly. “I just regret waiting so long to love myself too.”

“Why’d you even stay with him?” he asks. Not judging. Not curious. Just… confused. Like someone just tried to explain calculus to a rock.

“Because I believed he could love me back,” you shrug. “That he wanted to. But love without effort isn’t love. It’s just ego. And I was just… easy. I made it too easy for him.”

Abby leans back, jaw clenched, looking away from you like he can’t stand the thought of it. You being easy. You being hurt.

“But it’s okay.” you say softly. “It’ll pass.”

“You’re too good for that guy.”

“Thank you.” you say, voice barely a whisper, touched in ways you don’t want to admit. “That means more than you know.”

You look at him. Really look at him. Big, busted-up, beautiful him. You’ve known Abby long enough to understand his language. And now? He’s watching you like something clicked. Like something’s changed.

You’ve been sitting on something too.

“You know,” you begin. “you’re kind of part of the reason I broke up with him.”

That gets his attention. He stiffens slightly, brows pulling together. “Wait, me?”

“I remember it.” you nod. “That day you sat down next to me.”

Abby blinks. You can tell he’s replaying about ten thousand moments in his mind, all of them loud, messy, probably involving a punch or a flirt or something in between.

“We were at the studio. I brought food. Baby was ignoring me, shocker.” You smile, a little bitter, but mostly sad. “You were the only one who noticed I was sitting by myself. You sat down next to me, told me I looked good. And I remember… I felt it.”

His eyes flick to yours, still a little confused but hanging on every word now.

“I felt seen.” you go on, voice softer now. “You helped me realize I deserve more than someone who only looks at me when my shirt’s off. I need someone who sees me when I’m sitting on the sidelines, doing nothing, just being. And still thinks I’m worth sitting next to.”

Abby exhales, slow and low. “…I didn’t know I mattered like that to you.”

You smile, gentle. “You matter more than you think.”

For once, you’re not the one giving all the love. You’re just sitting there. Being loved back.

You lean over just a little, not even making a thing of it, and press the softest kiss against his cheek. His stupid, handsome cheek.

You’re not trying to seduce him.

You’re just being you.

“You know…” you say, casually, like it’s just a passing thought. “you’re so much more than your body, Abby.”

He stares at you.

“You’re kind.” you go on. “In your way. You notice things. And yeah, you’re hot,” you chuckle, waving vaguely at his whole shirtless situation. “but that’s not why I let you in tonight. Or why you being here makes me feel… safer.”

His breath hitches. Actually hitches.

You’re not even flirting, you’re just telling the truth. Nobody ever talks to Abby like this. Not the girls he hooks up with. Not his bandmates. Not even himself. They call him muscle. Weapon. The guy who throws people through walls and then flexes about it.

He’s wrapped. Absolutely wrapped around you. The way you see him? He could scream. He could bite something. He could drop to his knees and ask why the hell you didn’t choose him first.

He finally swallows, voice rough. “I don’t think anyone’s ever said that to me.”

You tilt your head, smile soft. “That’s a shame. It’s true.”

He’s evil. Like, actively evil. Bro’s literally killed things for less than an insult.

But you? You’re the dream. The light. The human warmth.

And now you’ve kissed his cheek and told him he’s more than his abs?

Yeah. He’s done.

Deadass done.

Here’s the truth, Abby is not a better person than Baby. They’re both demons. They’re both horrible people. They’ve both probably killed people with their bare hands.

But Abby? Abby’s a better boyfriend. A better man. A better presence in your life.

Baby never liked being seen. He hated vulnerability. Every time you got close, he pulled away, rolled his eyes, played it cool, made you feel like you were doing too much for simply wanting a boyfriend who didn’t treat you like a side quest.

Abby? Abby makes a meal out of you just walking into the room. He watches you. In that aware way. He knows where you are at all times. You move across the room? His eyes flick. You laugh? He twitches. You wear something cute? He’ll make a joke, sure, but you catch him staring five times when he thinks you’re not looking.

He pays attention.

Not just when you’re crying, either. Not just when you’re naked. Always.

When you’re upset, Baby used to pretend not to notice. Would roll his eyes or sigh. He never asked what was wrong. Never pulled you close. He’d ghost you for three days and then show up to your place acting like you were the clingy one.

Abby hears it in your voice. Sees it in your face. And sure, maybe he’s not great at talking about it, but it’s real. He notices.

And fuck… that alone is sexy.

He’s still a demon, of course. A complete beast. Manhandles you left and right. You’ve been lifted. Tossed. Pinned against a wall, a counter, the hood of a car, the floor, once even your own front door. The man can’t keep his hands to himself. Whether he’s slinging you over his shoulder just to “see something from a higher angle” (read: flex) or pinning you to the couch because “you’re not sitting properly” (read: he missed holding you), the constant manhandling is weirdly tender. Protective. Reverent. He’s carrying you across the room because “you were in the way, babe.” His strength? Ridiculous. There’s no such thing as “gentle” hands with him, not physically—but emotionally? The care? The softness in the grip? It’s there.

And okay, listen—not to be petty—but Abby’s body? Yeah. Sorry. It’s just better.

Not that Baby wasn’t hot. He was hot. Annoyingly so. That’s half the reason you stayed as long as you did, right?

But Abby’s a tank. He’s the blueprint. You’ve felt safer wrapped in his arms than you ever did laying next to Baby in bed, and that says everything.

And god, the sex? With Abby? There’s feeling. There’s love. There’s effort. It’s not some lazy “come over” and then silence for two days after. It’s intense. Hot. Real. He looks at you the whole time. Tells you what he likes, asks what you like, leaves kisses in your hair after and holds you.

There’s something sacred in the way you gasp when his hand slides up your thigh. Like he’s worshipping you with every kiss, every grip, every bite and bruise and sweet whisper that you’d never expect from a man who bench presses cars for cardio.

It’s rough, yeah. It’s filthy, yeah. But it’s also… loving.

Abby’s the kind of guy who lifts you when he kisses you. Who makes you feel it in your bones, down your spine, in places Baby never bothered to reach, emotionally or otherwise. He’s got that kind of body that makes your knees weak just from a back hug. And he knows it. He uses it, too. To hold you like you’re breakable. To fuck you like you’re not. All that manhandling? The way he grabs your thighs and drags you closer without asking? The way he flips you like you weigh nothing, like you’re his favorite thing to play with? Oh yeah. It’s insane.

Abby wants you. You see it in the way his eyes darken when your shirt lifts even a little. You feel it when he groans, low in his throat, just from hearing you breathe hard. You know it when he grabs your hips, when he pins your wrists down, when he pulls you flush against his chest and growls something absolutely obscene in your ear right before he ruins you.

And he doesn’t just take, he gives. Over and over. Until you’re limp, delirious, completely spun out, and the only word you remember how to say is his name.

Baby never ate you out.

Yeah. Let that sink in.

Meanwhile, Abby has an actual addiction. You so much as breathe too sweet and he’s already got you on the kitchen counter like a last meal.

He calls it “protein.”

You don’t ask questions.

It’s not just sex—it’s focus. Attention. That thing you were always starving for with Baby. You could wear a dress for hours for Baby and get a peck on the forehead, a side comment about being “too much.” Meanwhile, Abby will walk in, shirtless from training, take one look at you and say something like, “Come here. Now.”

And you do.

Happily.

Abby’s a giver. The kind who looks at you like worship, who doesn’t stop until you’re crying into the sheets and then asks if you’re good for one more. The kind who loves how messy you get, how good you feel, how much you react to him.

Manhandling is basically his love language.

Push you into a wall just to kiss your forehead? Standard.

Tug your hips into his lap without a word? Also standard.

Hold both your wrists in one hand and still be able to run the other down your back? Standard and unfair.

And that body drives you crazy. Abby’s physique looks unreal. Baby? Cute. Pretty, even. But if we’re talking who wrecks you and still asks how your day was? Abby wins. By a landslide. With his arms tied behind his back. (Which, by the way, you’ve also tried.)

One day you’re lying awake next to Baby, wondering why you feel lonelier than you do when you’re alone, and the next you’re dodging Abby’s impossibly wide shoulders as he carries you across the damn apartment because “you looked tired, babe.” And he doesn’t even let you walk half the time now.

He’s not perfect. No. He still forgets to text sometimes. Still gets into fights with the others. Still eats like a linebacker and leaves blood on your towels. Still occasionally lifts you without warning, or slaps your ass so hard you fucking collapse.

But you know he cares.

He’s still evil. Still punches first, asks nothing ever. Still can’t figure out how to say “I love you” without mumbling and looking away like he didn’t just cradle your face an hour ago and call you “precious.”

But you know what?

He actually likes you.

And you’re not crying in hallways anymore. You’re smiling in kitchens. With hickeys on your neck and his hoodie on your body. Wrapped up in the arms of someone who chose to see you.

Every day.

Every time.

Without needing to be asked.

Now, it’s that crash after rehearsal. Sweat. Sore muscles. Jinu barking like a drill sergeant two hours past when he swore he’d stop. Everyone’s spread across the kitchen, chairs, counters, floor. They’re tired. They’re hungry. And Jinu’s scrolling through delivery apps.

“Can someone just pick already?” Jinu snaps, scrolling violently on his phone, thumb moving fast enough to kill.

“I told you.” Mystery mutters from the floor, lying flat, then whispers something.

“You said that three decibels above a whisper, no one heard you.” Jinu huffs.

From his place leaned against the fridge, Romance looks up, dreamy as always, shirt sticking to his chest from sweat, but still looking heavenly. “Okay but if we’re ordering, I want the tteokbokki from that place. With the fried egg. No, wait, two eggs. Poached. And if they don’t poach, scrambled. And no onions. Actually, caramelized only—”

Jinu lets out the sigh of someone who’s aged 30 years in the last 30 seconds. “Baby? Food?”

Baby barely lifts his head from the counter, where he’s face-down, chewing gum. “Whatever.”

“Perfect. You?” He looks at Abby.

Abby shrugs. “Nah. I’m good.”

Pause.

“Wait, what?” Romance perks up. “You’re skipping dinner?”

Jinu narrows his eyes. “You never skip dinner.”

Abby just shrugs again. But this time there’s a little curl at the corner of his mouth.

Romance is practically vibrating now. “Who’s cooking for you?” he asks, voice like a gossiping schoolgirl. “You got a girl, Abs?”

Abby looks around the room, takes his time, then drops it like it’s nothing. “Y/N’s cooking.”

Dead silence.

Jinu stops scrolling. Baby lifts his head. Mystery’s head rolls to the side, one eye cracking open.

“What.” Romance gasps, slapping the counter.

Abby doesn’t answer immediately. He’s not a man of drama. “We’re seeing each other.”

Romance looks scandalized, hands over his chest like he’s personally been betrayed. “You’re dating Y/N?! You?! I’ve been trying to hit that since—”

Jinu cuts in. “Please. Stop. Talking.”

Mystery mutters something about “rip the bandage off next time,” while Jinu just glares at Abby like this is somehow his fault.

Baby’s watching, silent. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t need to. Because the little twitch in his jaw is enough.

Romance is still being dramatic as hell. “I mean, no offense, but I never saw Y/N going for Abby.”

Abby gives a slow smirk. “You’d be surprised.”

Romance shivers. “Ugh. I love that for her.”

Baby’s watching Abby now.

Jinu notices, of course. Jinu always notices. He doesn’t say anything, but he throws Baby a very specific look over his shoulder as he finalizes the food order. A “don’t be a bitch” look.

Baby doesn’t do anything. But there’s that thing in his eyes now.

He didn’t want you. Not really. Not enough.

But someone else having you?

Someone else earning what he wasted?

Oh, he feels that.

He feels every fucking second of it.

About two hours later, your door unlocks. Opens. Closes. You peek out from the kitchen the second you hear that heavy, familiar step.

“Abby.” you beam, stepping out, hair a little messy. “You’re late. Did they keep you after again? Did Jinu make you run the chorus five more times? Did Romance throw a tantrum again? Sit. Sit down, babe.”

He barely gets his shoes off before you’re already ushering him into the chair, hand at the small of his back. As he sits down, he pulls you down onto his lap and plants a kiss behind your ear.

“Did anyone hit your face again?” you ask and gently cup his chin and turn his head side to side.

“Looks worse than it is.” he murmurs, his hand already finding the back of your neck, thumb brushing there like it’s muscle memory.

“Still.” you pout, watching him eat. “You’ve been taking hits all week. They better not think they can just throw you around like that.”

“Sweetheart.” he says, voice dropping slightly as his fingers drift down to your shoulder. “I’m the one throwing people.”

You furrow your brows a little but let it go. “I missed you today.”

“Yeah?” he murmurs, distracted by your scent, by the curve of your hips on his lap.

“Mhm.” You trace a finger down his jaw.

Baby’s a fucking loser. The biggest fucking idiot walking this dimension.

Because Abby gets it now. Gets what the others saw. Why even Romance toned down his jokes around you. Why Mystery offered you a weird little flower once and then didn’t try to bite your fingers off.

Abby’s into you. Fully. More than just physically, though, yeah, that’s definitely part of it. You’re hot. Delicious. But more than that? You care. And that? That shit’s rare. Especially in his world.

He digs some food into his mouth and groans. “God, marry me.”

You swat his chest, laughing. “Shut up and chew.”

“I’m serious.” he mumbles around another bite.

“Shut up.” you smile, brushing his hair back from his forehead.

He kisses your wrist. Quick. Thoughtless. Casual.

You didn’t become a better girlfriend.

You were always this good.

You just finally gave it to someone who knew what the fuck to do with it.

ROMANCE

A few days post-breakup. Quiet night. TV humming low in the background. You’re curled up on the couch in an old hoodie, cradling a pint of ice cream, bare legs tucked under a blanket. You haven’t cried today, which is honestly kind of a win. You’re halfway through a spoonful of rocky road when there’s a knock at the door.

You blink. Glance at the clock. Almost midnight.

You grab the remote, pause the show. Wipe your mouth with the sleeve of your hoodie and shuffle barefoot to the door. And when you open it, yup.

It’s Romance.

Hair perfect. Skin glowing. Black button-up shirt, slightly open at the collar. Tight jeans. He’s got that lazy, sexy smirk carved right into his face like he was born with it. Like he came out the womb hitting on the doctor. (AN: guys I’m cackling at myself) He’s holding the most stunning bouquet of flowers you’ve ever seen in your goddamn life. I could list them but don’t know shit about flowers, so I’ll just say it’s gorgeous. The whole thing wrapped in this gauzy black ribbon, tied in a bow.

You blink, stunned.

He gives you a slow once-over, from your messy hair to your bare thighs to your socked feet, and purrs. Actually purrs.

“Well, hey, baby.” he purrs, like you’re the gift at his door. “Heard you finally came to your senses.”

You raise an eyebrow. “It’s been, like, three days.”

“I waited. Didn’t want to seem desperate.”

“You are desperate.”

“Desperate for you, sweetheart.”

You squint at him, but it’s useless. He’s already grinning. Already slipping in like he belongs here. He lifts the bouquet slightly. “These are for you.”

And then—screw it.

Your fingers curl into the collar of his shirt and you yank him in.

His lips crash into yours. The bouquet hits the floor with a soft thump, petals fluttering everywhere as his arms wrap around your waist. He kisses you like he’s starving.

“Yeeaaah, babe.” he mutters into the kiss, grinning against your mouth. “Fucking finally.”

Romance fell for you ages ago.

Not just because you’re hot, though he thinks you’re criminally hot, and he’d happily die suffocating in your thighs if given the option. Not just because you’re sweet, though your kindness makes his chest ache every damn time you smile at him. Not even because you made Baby jealous, although that? That was delicious.

He loves the way you talk when you’re excited.

He loves the way you tilt your head when you’re curious.

He loves the way you treat all of them, even the ones who barely deserve it. He loves that you stayed so long, and that you finally left.

Because you deserve to be chased.

You deserve to be wanted.

And he wants you.

Bad.

Always has.

You kiss him harder. And he’s all in. Mouth warm and eager, tongue sliding against yours, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your hoodie like he’s been dying to touch you for centuries.

Your back hits the inside of your door. His body presses into yours. And even then, even now, lips swollen and breath ragged, he still finds a way to smile against your mouth.

“You taste ice cream.” he whispers.

You breathe out a laugh. “Shut up and keep kissing me.”

And he does.

He kisses you like Baby never did.

You laugh, breathless, fingers tangling in his hair now. “You’ve been waiting for this, huh?”

“Since the day I met you.” he whispers, brushing his nose against yours. “You have no idea.”

His hands are warm. His smile is even warmer. And for the first time in days, you feel wanted. Not in that shallow, transactional way. But really wanted. Worshipped, almost.

He kisses you again. Softer now.

And maybe this is reckless. Maybe this is fast. But damn, it feels right.

“Oh—shit.” you mutter, pulling away from him, though Romance follows your mouth a little, chasing it like he’s not ready to let it go just yet. His grin’s lazy, lips parted, so pleased with himself. “Your flowers.”

You bend to scoop them up. A couple petals have scattered across your hallway tile, and you frown, trying to gather them gently.

“I’m sorry.” you say, glancing back at him.

He shrugs and lets out this giddy little laugh, breathless and bright and boyish. “Totally worth the loss. I’d drop twenty more bouquets if it means I get kissed like that again.”

“I liked them.” you say softly.

“I can bring more.”

You gently sweep it into your arms and walk them to the kitchen, but Romance? He’s glued to you. Still holding your hand. Every time you move, he follows.

He doesn’t let go of your hand.

Not when you rinse out the vase. (yeah you got one now)

Not when you fill it with water.

Not even when you one-handedly stick the bouquet into it.

He’s giggling behind you the whole time. Actually giggling.

“I know I flirt a lot.” he says quietly. “Joke around. But I need you to know, I’m serious about this. About you.”

Your breath catches.

“You’re… rare.” he continues, brushing his knuckles up your arm. “You’re not just pretty, though damn, you are, you’re good. You’re kind in ways that make people better. You glow, baby. You glow.” He grins, but it’s laced with something deeper. “Even when you were with him, you made everyone feel like they mattered. Including me. And I…”

He trails off. Shakes his head. Smiles again, but it’s a little shy now.

“I want to be the one who makes you feel that way. Every day. No cold shoulders. No emotional constipation. Just me. Right here. Saying it plain.”

He lifts your hand. Kisses your knuckles.

“I’d love it if you gave me a chance. I’d be so good to you. If you let me.”

You swallow.

His thumb strokes your wrist. He leans a little closer, voice low. “I’d love to be the one you come home to. To bring you flowers you actually get to enjoy. Not just drop on the floor after a desperate kiss.”

You laugh softly, cheeks warm, heart so full it almost hurts.

“You don’t have to say yes.” he whispers. “I know it’s messy. But if you do wanna give someone a real shot? Someone who actually sees you, and wants all of it—”

He pauses.

Then breathes—

“Let it be me.”

“…Sure.” you whisper.

He blinks. “Yeah?”

You nod, smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah.”

Romance—your Romance now—is exactly what his name threatens. He’s dramatic. Intense. Recklessly affectionate.

And you eat that shit up.

And god… the way he talks to you?

Unreal.

Every sentence is laced with a compliment, a flirt, a tease, something to make your cheeks warm or your stomach flip.

And the way he looks at you.

He worships with his eyes.

Romance is so fucking into you, it’s criminal. The second your shirt lifts even an inch, his brain turns to static. He’s obsessed. With all of you. With the noises you make. The way you touch him. Your thighs. Your hips. The sound of your laugh. You once sat on his lap just to tease him and he literally whined like a man starved. Whined.

And the man is a freak in bed. Certified. Stamped. You’re pretty sure he gets off on being bossed around sometimes—like the second you put a hand in his hair and pull, he’s gasping like he’s been blessed. One time you slapped his ass as a joke during sex and the man moaned. Looked over his shoulder all breathy like: “…Again?”

You were like, Excuse me??

And he was like, “No, but for real, can we explore that later?”

Yeah. Freak. Slut. But a generous one. He always puts you first. Every time. Makes a whole production out of it. He’ll go down on you like it’s a five-course meal and he’s not coming up for air until dessert.

The bed, the wall, the couch, the shower, the kitchen counter, he turns every inch of your home into a sex spot.

Says shit like “Say it again. Say it and I’ll make you see stars, come on—” He does. He absolutely does. “Make it hurt, sweetheart. C’mon. Gimme something to remember.” and whatnot.

Hair pulling. Spanking. Face pressed to the mattress. Tied wrists, licked tears, pillow in your mouth because god forbid the neighbors hear you scream his name again.

And he still manages to be romantic about it. Whispering praise in between the filth.

“So perfect like this. Look at you. Can’t believe you’re mine.”

Sir, please.

He’s never distant. Never cold. Never leaves you wondering. He’s the opposite of Baby. Every damn way.

He loves being manhandled. Loves it when you get a little mean. Push him back. Scratch. Bite. He whines when he’s not allowed to touch.

He lives for the pain.

You don’t know when you figured it out—maybe the first time your nails raked down his back and he moaned like you kissed his soul—but it clicked fast. Too fast.

He’ll rile you up on purpose, cocky little smirks, snarky comments, full-on brat mode. Then the second you snap? When your fingers dig into his jaw or you call him a name you definitely shouldn’t call someone mid-makeout? He’s in heaven.

“Do it again.” he’ll whisper, eyes half-lidded, lips swollen. “Make it hurt a little this time, sweetheart.”

You’ve spanked him. Bit him. Once even slapped him across the face during an argument-turned-hookup and he melted.

And he worships you.

Your body. Your voice. Your moods. The way you boss him around when he’s teasing you. The way you look down at him like he’s yours. He wants to be yours. Fully. Constantly. Messily.

He never lets you doubt it.

Never lets you question if you’re loved.

Never lets you go to sleep without a reminder that he wants you, exactly as you are.

Because yeah, he might be a demon. But god, when he loves? It feels divine.

Pillow talk with him? Unreal. He traces lazy shapes on your back and talks about everything. About the way you laugh. About how pretty you looked that one time you fell asleep on his chest and drooled on him and he swears he didn’t mind.

Romance doesn’t do things halfway. Not sex. Not love. Not you.

Now, it’s one of those weird ass afternoons where everyone’s in the same room but no one actually wants to be. Takeout boxes are scattered across the coffee table. Nobody’s speaking.

Abby leans back, crunching a lettuce wrap. “Man… you know what I miss?” he says mid-chew, voice louder than necessary.

Romance doesn’t look up. “Peace?”

Jinu snorts.

Mystery, sitting cross-legged on the floor, flicks a piece of food at Romance’s knee just for that.

Abby ignores the whole damn vibe and continues, shoving more food into his mouth. “I miss Y/N’s cooking. Shit had me seeing stars.”

Baby, slumped on the far side of the couch, head tilted back, lets out a sharp exhale. Doesn’t look at anyone. Doesn’t comment. Classic.

Romance, cool as ever, is picking through a box of something, eyes half-lidded. He doesn’t even flinch.

Abby grins and nudges Jinu with his elbow. “Honestly? I think I should ask her out. For real. Like—date her. She’s sweet as hell, fine, and she made me cupcakes that one time with the little dumb hearts on them—”

“Don’t.” Romance says. Calm. Flat. No heat in his voice.

Abby blinks. “Huh?”

“I said don’t.” Romance repeats, setting his chopsticks down slowly. He doesn’t even look mad. Just focused. Chill as hell. “She’s taken.”

Abby tilts his head. “By who?”

Romance doesn’t blink. “Me.”

Silence.

It takes a while for them to realize he’s not joking.

Jinu’s eyebrows raise slightly, just enough to betray his internal what the actual fuck? before he goes back to drinking from his water bottle like this is none of his business.

Abby blinks twice. “…You?”

Romance shrugs, leaning back on one arm. “Yeah.”

Mystery’s mouth is open, he’s so cute.

And then there’s Baby. Stone still. That jagged feeling of fuck-you-I’m-fine that’s not working anymore. He doesn’t say anything. But there’s the way his gaze flicks, just once, toward Romance, like he’s two seconds away from launching across the couch and strangling him with a charger cord.

But Romance? Unbothered.

“Well,” Abby says, shoving another bite into his mouth. “guess I’m not gettin’ any more cupcakes.”

“Look, if you really want her cupcakes…” Romance checks his nails out. “She might still make some for you guys. If I ask her nice.”

Abby blinks. “Wait. For real?”

“Sure.” he says, tone light. “I’ll ask her. She likes feeding you.”

Abby lights the hell up. “No fucking way. Thanks, man!”

Romance gives him a casual fist bump like this isn’t the worst day of Baby’s life. Okay, not the worst, he’s been through seeing people get torn apart and had organs splash ALL over his face, but still, not a nice day.

Jinu nods, looks like he approves. Even Mystery lets out a heh.

Everything around Baby is noise—wrappers crinkling, Abby talking about cupcake frosting, Mystery poking around in someone else’s takeout like a raccoon in a trash bin—but it all sounds muted behind the pulsing, echoing ache in his chest.

Because the last time you made cupcakes? You kissed his cheek while they cooled. Called him “handsome” for no reason. Asked if he wanted the first bite.

“She made me a chocolate batch last week.” Romance says, conversationally, as if this isn’t killing a man in real time. “You remember how good those were, right? The ones with the little sea salt on top.”

Abby’s groaning like he’s about to cry. “Bro. Stop.”

“Can’t help it. She spoils me.”

Baby doesn’t do reaction, but Jinu can see it. The part of him that wants to punch a hole in the floor. The part of him that remembers everything he never said to you. Every text he ignored. Every time you looked at him like he was the center of your damn world and he just… brushed it off.

Because now someone else gets it.

Someone else has it.

“She’s so sweet, man.” Romance says, leaning back. “Like. On another level. You ever meet someone who just makes you better? Who makes you wanna try? That’s her.”

He doesn’t even say it to be cruel. That’s the worst part. He says it because it’s true.

That night, Romance is asleep on your couch. One leg hooked lazily off the side, head tipped back, the gentle rise and fall of his chest visible through the soft tee you made him put on after round two of “dessert.” His hand is still on your thigh, not in a horny way (for once) just… resting there. You’re too lazy to wake him up to tell him to drag his ass to the bedroom and go to sleep there, so you stay in place.

The truth is, Romance, for all his flirty, devilish, tongue-in-cheek charm, is the kind of man who has earned this. Earned you.

He wants your love. Doesn’t just bask in it, or tolerate it, or make you fight tooth and nail for it. He wakes up early just to warm your shower for you. He texts you “eat something sexy” when you’re busy and forget lunch. He leaves notes in your coat pocket, dumb ones, like “You’re my cupcake” with a little doodle of a whipped cream swirl and a dick with arms, but they always make you laugh. He listens when you talk. Doesn’t just nod and grunt like Baby used to. No. Romance looks you dead in the eyes, grins when you ramble, encourages your dumb little things because he thinks every thought that stumbles out of your pretty mouth is magic. He touches you like… no words, actually, there’s no words to how he touches you. Not just sex—though, let’s be real, the sex is insane. The man is a freak. You’ve had orgasms that made you cry. Literally. Not even because of the orgasm, but because he kept going and told you, “You don’t have to be quiet anymore, sweetheart. This is your place.”

He doesn’t make promises he can’t keep. He just shows up.

Every. Fucking. Day.

You don’t cry yourself to sleep anymore. Don’t wait for a text that never comes. Don’t feel like a second thought, a filler girl, a body in a bed for someone who never really held your heart with care.

He’s your reminder that love isn’t supposed to feel like begging.

It’s supposed to feel like this.

MYSTERY

You’re walking next to Mystery on the street. Late. He’s quiet, hands in his pockets. Doesn’t say much—he never does—but he’s here. Walking beside you. Not rushing you. Not brushing you off.

“So then he said, ‘Sure,’ and I swear to god, Mystery, I almost hit him.” You wave your hand in the air dramatically, smiling even though it still hurts a little. A lot. But it’s a cleansing kind of hurt now.

Mystery doesn’t laugh—he rarely does—but the corner of his mouth twitches. That little upward flick you’ve learned to treasure.

“He really said that?” you ask. “Like… actually, out loud?”

Mystery nods once. Not sarcastic. Not dry. Just a simple confirmation that yes, Baby really is that much of an asshole.

You huff out a laugh and stuff your hands deeper into your sleeves. “God. I was in love with that man.”

Mystery glances sideways at you. You catch it from the corner of your eye. He looks with his head, you saw that shift. Something quiet—but electric—passes between you.

“You know,” you say softly, eyes flicking up to the streetlights above you. “I spent so long thinking that if I just did more, he’d come around. That if I wore the right thing, cooked the right food, said the right words… maybe he’d look at me like he actually saw me.”

Mystery’s jaw ticks.

You don’t notice. You’re too busy watching your own breath fog in front of you.

“I thought I was the problem.” you admit, softer now. “Like maybe I was just too clingy. Too emotional. Too soft. Too much.” You laugh again, weak this time. “Turns out he just didn’t want me.”

“You’re not too much.” It’s so quiet you barely hear it.

You blink, eyes snapping to him.

“I don’t…” He frowns, and for a moment it looks like he might bite his own tongue off. But then he says it anyway. “I don’t like people.”

You smile a little. “Yeah, I figured.”

“But I like you.”

You stop walking. Your boots scuff the pavement as you turn to look at him.

He slows, stops too, a few steps ahead. Finally turns his head just enough for you to see his lips parted like he hates every word that just left his mouth but also meant every syllable.

You don’t say anything. Not yet. You just smile—soft and a little surprised. Because for the first time in days, you feel seen. Not by someone trying to get in your pants. Not by someone trying to hurt you. Just… seen.

So you gently nudge his arm with your shoulder.

“Wanna keep walking?”

He nods.

And that’s that.

“Seriously, though,” you say, pulling your scarf tighter around your neck. “you don’t get cold? Not even a little?”

Mystery doesn’t answer. His arms are bare, bare. In this wind? Man’s got short sleeves. He just walks beside you in silence, hands in his pockets.

“I mean, you’ve got blood, right?” you tease, elbowing him lightly. “Warm-blooded? I’m out here layered like a croissant and you’re giving freezer aisle.”

Still no answer. But his lips twitch. Just a little.

“I’ve been… off, lately.” you say. “It’s weird. You think that when you break up with someone who made you feel like shit, you’d be relieved, right? But it still hurts.”

He says nothing. But his body turns slightly toward you, steps syncing perfectly with yours.

“It’s not even the breakup that hurts.” you continue, voice softer now. “It’s the knowing I let myself stay. That I tried so hard for someone who barely noticed. Like I gave and gave and he just—took. And I let him. Because I thought he’d see me eventually. That he’d wake up one day and realize I was it.” You breathe, fog in the cold air. “He didn’t.”

Mystery’s jaw flexes. His eyes don’t leave the sidewalk, but there’s something in his silence now. Like if Baby were here, he wouldn’t be.

You glance up at him again. “Sorry. I’m trauma dumping.”

He shakes his head once. Slow. “You’re not.”

You smile, soft and warm. “Thanks. You’re sweet.”

He exhales like you just punched him in the stomach. Like he doesn’t know how to receive kindness and still survive.

You reach up and tug his sleeve lightly. “Still not cold?”

“No.”

“Are you lying to look cool?”

“Yes.”

You laugh. Loud, sudden, delighted.

He really likes you.

You squeeze his bicep absently as you talk. “You know, I don’t even miss him. Not really.”

Mystery glances down at your hand on his arm. Doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t pull away either. His expression is neutral, but his cheekbones have that faint flush.

“You get it.” you say, nodding dramatically. “You know what I mean. He’d show up at my place, act like we weren’t dating, and then get jealous when I so much as talked to the others. Like—hello? You ignored my birthday. You didn’t even know what day it was.”

Your grip on his arm tightens, and he doesn’t react. His muscles stay flexed under your fingers. You’re not even sure if he notices how touchy you’re being, or if he’s just letting it happen because it’s you.

“And the thing is,” you go on, “I kept telling myself that maybe he just didn’t know how to show it. That maybe I had to teach him how to be loved. And isn’t that stupid?”

Mystery doesn’t respond. But he slows his pace just slightly, making sure you’re in step. It’s subtle. Sweet.

“I kept lowering the bar.” you sigh, looking up at the stars. “Until the bar was on the floor. And then I kept digging.”

Your fingers slip down a little and wrap around his forearm instead. Veins. Veins. You don’t say anything about it, but you feel them. The warmth of him is starting to seep into you.

“But, you know,” you continue, quieter now. “I think I’m mostly mad at myself. For knowing the truth and staying anyway.”

Your words hang between you both. Heavy. Raw. True.

You glance up at him with a small, sheepish smile. “Sorry. You didn’t sign up for the ‘girl vents about her asshole ex’ package.”

He shakes his head once. “I don’t mind.”

You smile again, brighter this time. “You’re lovely.”

He doesn’t answer. But you swear you feel him lean into you just the smallest bit. Like maybe—if you weren’t holding onto his arm, he’d be holding onto you.

“I don’t get how you’re so warm.” you murmur. “Is it a demon thing?”

“Probably.”

“Well, I like it. I’m freezing. Don’t let me go.”

He doesn’t.

For a second… you wonder what it’d be like to kiss him. Just once.

Your boots crunch to a stop as you reach the front steps, wind still curling around the corners of the brick. The overhead light flickers like it’s about to die.

“Can I ask something kinda dumb?” you say, toeing at the edge of the sidewalk.

He nods, once.

“Why do you always have your hair in your face?”

He blinks. Doesn’t respond right away. You panic immediately.

“Wait—no, sorry! You don’t have to answer that. I wasn’t trying to be like—ugh, I’m sorry. You don’t need to tell me anything. If it’s a demon thing or a personal thing or whatever, I didn’t mean to—”

He shrugs. Just a simple shrug. Barely a movement.

You pause. “That’s it?”

He shrugs again, like: Yeah. That’s it. No big reason. No ancient trauma.

You stare at him for a second and let out a soft laugh, almost bashful. “Okay, that’s fair. You just… keep it like that?”

He nods. Then, maybe to throw you a bone, he mutters, “Don’t like people looking too long.”

Your chest squeezes a little. There’s so much weight in that one sentence. He didn’t have to tell you that. But he did.

“Do you want to come up?” you ask gently, glancing sideways. “No pressure. Just—if you’re not busy or if you don’t have to, I don’t know, bite someone tonight. You could stay for tea.”

He nods. Slow. Once. “Yes.”

You unlock the building, glancing back with a teasing grin. “You don’t have to bite anyone while you’re here either, by the way.”

Behind you, you swear you hear him exhale something that almost sounds like a laugh.

When you get to your floor, the door clicks shut behind you. Mystery steps in behind you, silent as a shadow.

“You can sit wherever.” you say over your shoulder, dropping your keys in the bowl by the door. “Couch, counter, kitchen floor.”

You catch the tiniest curve of his mouth as he makes his way to the barstool by the kitchen counter. He sits slow.

You head to the kettle, reaching for your tea stash. “Okay, I have like… a dumb amount of options.” you ramble. “Chamomile if you want to sleep, peppermint if you want your soul to feel sparkly, lemon ginger if you’re into that breakup aesthetic, or… ooh, this one’s cinnamon vanilla.”

He says nothing. He’s watching you. You don’t feel creeped out. At all. In fact, it’s weirdly comforting. And sweet.

“Cinnamon vanilla it is.” you decide, tossing the bag into a mug.

You mostly ramble to him as you set the mug down in front of him once the water’s poured. He takes it without a word. The mug looks adorable in his hands. He stares at you over the steam rising from the mug.

You smile sheepishly. “Sorry. I talk too much, huh?”

“No. I like your voice.”

Your heart skips once. Hard. You feel your face heat up. “Thank you.” you murmur, suddenly bashful.

He sips his tea.

You swear you’ve never seen anything so tender in your life.

And it doesn’t even occur to you that he could be here for your soul.

He’s not. Of course he’s not. That was never the intention. But you don’t even hesitate. And you’re not stupid. You’re not weak. You’re good. You invited him in without having a doubt about his intentions.

“Do you like it?” you ask, nodding toward the mug.

He lifts it. Sips. “…It’s warm.”

You giggle. “That’s what tea usually is, genius.”

His lips twitch again, just barely.

You beam.

It’s hard. His hands aren’t made for warmth. They’re made for killing. Biting. Ripping. He’s taken more than he remembers. There are people buried in unmarked graves because of his wrath. He always felt bad about it.

And now watching you be hurt made him want to rip Baby’s lungs out through his back and hang them from the rafters.

He didn’t.

But he wanted to.

He wanted to so badly.

He didn’t want to rip Baby apart in front of you. He didn’t want to scare you. Not you. Never you.

He’s feral, he knows that. Abby had to tackle him off Romance once because he got possessive over a chair. He bit Jinu’s arm so hard it didn’t heal for three days.

Mystery doesn’t do control. He does rage. And yet, here he is. Sitting next to you, still, quietly sipping tea. You’ve brushed his arm twice now, leaning close to get something or adjust your sock, and he hasn’t done anything. You could reach up and touch his hair, and he wouldn’t stop you.

He thinks about that for too long.

You don’t know what he looks like under it. Not really. You’ve seen glimpses but you’ve never seen him bare. Unhidden.

He wants to show you.

He wants you to see him.

It makes him sick to his stomach. This… vulnerability. The sheer size of what you make him feel. There’s something inside his chest that crawls and claws and burns whenever he hears your voice or smells you.

It isn’t just lust. Lust he can handle. This is longing. Something hungrier. Like his soul is trying to dig itself out of him just to be closer to you.

He’s killed people for less.

He’s scared he’d kill for more.

He’s been locked up. He’s been chained. He’s been called “freak,” “monster,” “filthy.” Gwi-Ma once told him he was a “bad breed.” That he was born dirty and should die the same way.

Mystery didn’t know what the hell he was doing.

You were soft. Sweet. You had stars in your eyes even after all the bullshit with Baby, who still walks around like you didn’t carry the entire weight of that relationship on your glittery-ass shoulders. You could’ve had someone like Jinu, or Abby, or even Romance—hell, Romance is still sulking about it. And yet… here you are. With Mystery.

You didn’t mean to fall for him.

But it was one night. That one night.

You’d been laughing—actually laughing—after you made him taste a spoonful of something you baked and he winced like it was poison (it wasn’t, it was just sweet—Mystery’s weakness). And you leaned in, playful, a little buzzed on wine and comfort. You said it gently, like you weren’t expecting anything back. And you asked—offered, really—“Do you want a kiss?”

He didn’t answer.

He just leaned in.

Didn’t say yes, didn’t say no, just moved until his mouth was on yours and your fingers were in his hair and you could feel how hard he was holding back.

You kissed him soft. Real soft. Not the “I want to fuck you into the floor” kind (though… that came later). But the kind that said, you deserve to be kissed like a person.

And man, it’s so much better than Baby.

Let’s be real—Baby was beautiful, sure. Pretty face. Cool voice. Big dick, maybe, but no heart. Cold. Unbothered.

Mystery? Mystery worships you. In his own fucked up, wordless way.

He bites.

That’s a thing.

Like actually. His love language might as well be “mild flesh wounds.” You’ve got little indents on your collarbone, your shoulder, your hip. Nothing that scars. Nothing you didn’t moan for.

It’s not even sexual all the time. Sometimes he just nips your wrist while you’re reading. Or your thigh while you’re brushing your teeth. It’s instinct. It’s affection. It’s him. Cheek, shoulder, thigh, neck, doesn’t matter. Sometimes it’s playful, a little warning nip when you’re teasing him too much. Sometimes it’s deeper, sharper, when he’s lost in you, in love, in lust, in need. He won’t apologize. Never does. But he always presses his lips to the mark after.

You let him.

Hell, you want him to.

And you love it.

You love him.

Even though he’s a mess. And fuck, is he a mess.

He doesn’t open up easily. You’ve had to piece together his past from half-sentences and the way his breathing changes when certain names come up. Sometimes he doesn’t sleep. Sometimes he does, but only when he’s curled into you. He flinches in his dreams. Sometimes growls in his sleep. Once said something in a language you didn’t understand and woke up shaking.

And his love is a little violent, sometimes. In general, but you know he means well. He’s also violent during sex. Not cruel. Never cruel. Just raw. Messy. He’ll leave marks. He likes them. Especially the ones that show.

Feral.

Animalistic, sometimes.

But never disrespectful.

Never cruel.

Never like Baby, who touched you when it was convenient and ignored you when it wasn’t.

Mystery doesn’t fuck for fun.

He needs it.

Like hunger.

Like instinct.

He puts you in positions that make yoga look like child’s play.

Yeah… you’re getting wrecked. There’s no other way to say it. The man is feral in bed. An absolute beast. Quiet until he’s not, then all teeth and breath and growling in your ear like he’s going to eat you alive. The way he grabs you? Rough, but careful. You’ve had your ankles over his shoulders. You’ve been face-down, claw marks on your hips. You’ve ridden him while his fingers dug into your thighs hard enough to bruise. He’s bent you over your own sink, your shower, your dresser. He doesn’t care. The world’s his hunting ground.

But even with all the filth and heat and obscene sounds he pulls from you? There’s a weird tenderness underneath it all. Like when he presses his forehead to yours mid-thrust. Or cups the back of your neck like you’re fragile even when you’re screaming his name. Like he’s worshipping and wrecking you in the same breath.

It’s in the way he pins you, mouth dragging across your neck like he’s tasting your pulse. The way he bites—god, the biting—sharp enough to leave dents, never enough to break skin unless you ask. That one time he sunk his teeth into your hip so hard it left a mark for days, and when you told him it hurt, he looked like he was about to kill himself.

You had to pull him back by his shirt and kiss him stupid just to calm him down.

He’s messed up.

He’s been through things you can’t imagine.

Sometimes he gets quiet for days. Sometimes he won’t let you touch him. Sometimes he disappears for a whole night and comes back with blood under his nails and guilt in his eyes.

But he always comes back.

And when you’re there, holding him, kissing his jaw, letting him rest his forehead against your chest, he doesn’t feel like a monster.

He just feels like your boyfriend.

“Hi booooys!” you sing out, balancing a stack of takeout bags in your arms as you enter the boys’ place. “I brought you food.”

It’s the kind of entrance you used to make back when you were still dating Baby. But that’s over now. Dead. Buried. Burned. Pissed on. That man is not even a memory, he’s a warning label. You broke up with him. You healed. You moisturized. You leveled up. You’re dating his feral little teammate now and wow, life is good.

Anyway, food.

“Angel?” Romance gasps like he’s hallucinating. Then immediately bolts from his seat. “You didn’t tell me you were coming. You know I get weak in the knees when you surprise me.” He spins dramatically, then snatches a bag out of your hand and presses it to his chest like it’s you. “Is this for me? Wait, don’t tell me.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t get too excited.”

Abby’s already biting into something, looking like he hasn’t eaten in days. “Damn, you look good.” he says, talking around a mouthful.

“You’re an angel.” Jinu says.

Mystery’s coming up for his food too, but he doesn’t say anything.

Baby’s sitting by the speakers, scrolling through his phone like the food doesn’t exist and neither do you. Same blank-ass face. Same “I’m too cool to care” slouch. Same lazy gaze that doesn’t quite meet yours. He looked up when you walked in. Just once. Briefly. But the moment he saw your smile? Your mood? The glow that he hasn’t been the source of for weeks now? He looked away.

You don’t give a fuck though, just hand Jinu his drink.

Romance doesn’t know what “subtle” means. Or “boundaries.” Or “that’s your bandmate’s ex, chill.” So when he’s saying something about your pretty hands, you look at Mystery.

He’s not doing anything. Not touching. Not speaking. Just looking.

But god do you know that look. That posture, that pout.

Romance doesn’t, though. He’s still talking, still throwing casual shoulder grazes and puppy eyes and leaning juuuust a little too close when he thanks you for the food.

“Anyway,” you say, turning back toward Mystery. “I should go.”

You smile up at him—just the tiniest bit mischievous—and you press a kiss to his lips. Quick. Casual. Soft.

Mystery blinks, stunned but still. He doesn’t move for a second. Just stares down at you, but he’s happy.

“Bye, babe.” you whisper, low enough that only he hears it.

Then you turn and start walking out like nothing happened.

Until Abby lets out a low, slow, “Hooooooly shit” and claps Mystery on the shoulder like a proud older brother. Romance looks like he’s going to flip a fucking table.

Mystery just licks his lips, slow.

Baby? Still not looking. Still scrolling. But his grip on the phone tightens, just slightly.

Crack.

[doodlepipsy]

* JUST KEEP WATCHING / part 1

pairing: lando norris x y/n fewtrell summary: lando finds out you have an onlyfans and debates whether or not he should subscribe warnings: 🔞minors dni!!!! 18+, mentions of mature content below the cut. nothing explicit though x notes: just hope it's ok :) it's very long and wordy before we even get where he finds out, i'm sorry lol. please let me know what you think and interact with it if you want part 2!!! maybe a pre-singapore meetup or the singapore race weekend? btw she is theo's twin sister

SET IN EARLY AUGUST 2024

It had been months since Lando had actually seen Y/N in person. And whenever they did cross paths, there was always something new or different about her. He never knew what to expect anymore, but it was kind of interesting. A new piercing here, a fresh little tattoo there; one time he and Max nearly walked right past her because she'd dyed her hair blonde and hadn't warned anyone. Y/N's decision to move to London seemed to have been the right one. She just seemed much more confident in herself, having had the opportunity to experiment and explore, to bloom.

But living in the same city as her big brother didn't mean they were in each other's company often. In fact, Max had barely seen her these last few months because if he wasn't him off travelling around the world, then she probably was. Or she was just busy with other plans, other people. Max liked to joke that she'd become too cool for him... but these days, he was actually starting to believe it was true. And Lando had no idea how it happened. How "Baby Fewtrell" wasn't so little anymore, but a fully grown woman. Sometimes he'd catch her stories on Instagram and it felt like he was observing a stranger.

But she'd never be a stranger. She was still his best mate's baby sister; the same girl who had a huge fear of being struck by lightening, that cried when Max surprised her with Harry Styles tickets, that once consumed a Solero smoothie too quickly and almost threw up on Lando's shoes and that definitely thought Carlos Sainz was stupidly sexy, which the lads teased her mercilessly about.

Lando was not known for being punctual. But for once, he was arriving early to a function because Lando knew that if he waited around in his hotel room any longer, he was going to end up falling asleep and turn up late. They'd concocted a plan to surprise Max at his birthday barbecue, acting like Lando couldn't make it to the bash. And technically, Y/N said he could arrive anytime after midday and it was now midday. Max and Pietra (who was in on the surprise) were due to arrive in a few hours, giving everyone plenty of time to be ready.

One could argue that this was a housewarming party too, with Y/N and five of her friends renting a house together to share the burden of rent and stay local in London to their jobs and studies. Their end-terrace in Chelsea was perfect, it had a small but comfortable garden and a self-contained little apartment in the basement which their friend and his partner shared, while the other four were spread over the two upper floors in various sized bedrooms. And although Y/N hadn't managed to snag the biggest room, she'd lucked out the bedroom that was connected to a cute little roof balcony space.

Lando wasn't at all surprised to see the front door was painted some loud colour, and wondered if it was Y/N's idea. She always said one of her favourite things about London was the doorways. He was facing a bright shade of teal, with a ring of coloured flowers hand-painted around the garish brash door knob. He gave it a good knock and made awkward eye contact with the Ring doorbell camera, waiting for a few seconds before pulling out his phone. But just as he was about to hit send on his message to tell Y/N he'd arrived, the door swung upon. Lando found himself greeted by the biggest smile.

Her hair was cut in some sort of shaggy hairstyle that he didn't know the name of (wolfcut) but it really suited her. Lando couldn't tell if her freckles were real or not but those suited her too.

"Oh my god, is that race winner Lando Norris??" she giggled, clearly excited to see him. She hadn't actually congratulated him in person since his Miami win in May. And although the last few races had been difficult (Hungary especially), he was still riding the high of achieving his first Formula 1 win. His mouth immediately expanded into the widest grin, his eyebrows doing a little dance above his interesting eyes. "Come 'ere, you!" Y/N squealed, throwing her arms open and inviting him into a hug.

He couldn't help but notice; her baby tee was so fitted and so light coloured that it was impossible not to see it. Not only was she braless right now, she appeared to have pierced one of her nipples. Lando's eyes did the quickest flash, impossible for her to notice that he'd looked. Right? God, he hoped so. "Hello, BF." he teased, knowing she was most likely rolling her eyes.

As the pair embraced, her hands resting on his back as she pulled away from him mid-hug. "I'm almost 22!" Y/N pouted, bored of this long-running "Baby Fewtrell" joke. She let go of Lando and looked down at her Cherry Kitten t-shirt, frowning slightly. "Shit, sorry. I've got a little bit of jam on my shirt... it's not got on you, has it?" she asked, placing her fingertips to his chest as if to investigate, searching for any stickiness. He glanced down at her nails, peach coloured with colourful little daisy-like flower designs which stood out against his dark green t-shirt so perfectly.

"Oh, it's alright. Can't see it anyway." Lando replied, trying to remain as nonchalant as possible. But he was feeling very chalant right now. Particularly when she turned around and revealed the text on her shirt. On the front was some cute vintage-style illustration of a kitty. On the back it said "my mental health isn't great but my pussy is"

Y/N didn't even realise, she'd just chosen the first shirt she didn't mind getting dirty while working in the kitchen. She liking cooking and loved to bake, and had made a Victoria sponge from scratch to accompany the classic butterfly cakes she'd prepared yesterday. "Right well, come through and I'll introduce you to everyone. I was just finishing the potato salad when you knocked so excuse the mess." Y/N explained she closed the door behind Lando and gestured to a nearby internal door. "Let me give you a quick tour! This is our living room," she began, opening the door and flicking the lights on.

He didn't expect to see a man staring back at him in the mirror that was fixed above the fireplace. So much so that he let out a weird startled noise, voice cracking out of fright. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry! It's... hold on..." Y/N disappeared behind the door only to return with the offender. "Sorry, that's just... Paul?" she explained, so casually as if this wasn't nothing out of the ordinary, holding onto the cardboard head of the life-sized cut-out of Paul Mescal that was currently living behind their living room door. Lando could see a bright pink feather boa appeared to be hanging around his neck. He didn't even know what to say, only that his heart still thumping loudly in his chest. And Y/N could tell that Lando was thoroughly confused by his bewildered expression. "Yeah, sorry. I wish I could explain but it's... he's like our mascot. Anyway it's just Paul, don't panic!" she laughed, leaving Lando even more bewildered than before.

They trapsed through the lounge and into the dining area, which was separated by what appeared to be a double-doorway with no doors. Compared to the dark vibes of the living room, Lando was pleasantly surprised by how open-plan and light the kitchen was with it's conservatory-style extension and roof. The doors were wide open, leading to their small garden area and he could smell the charcoals were already burning. The kitchen wasn't in a mess at all, in Lando's opinion. Music played at a low volume from a bluetooth speaker on the kitchen, almost drowned out by something louder being played outside. She'd been in the zone, in her own little world. A creative bubble of chopping, mixing and various timers set on her phone for the grill and oven. "Do you need a hand with anything?" he asked, slotting his phone back into his back pocket.

Y/N shook her head vigorously, hands resting on her hips. "No, I'm pretty much done now. Thanks though! Just gotta put things away to keep cool and ready to go. You know you're like, really early, right?" she asked, wondering if he'd got mixed up with the time. He travelled to so many different timezones throughout the year and lived an hour ahead of her in Monaco that she wouldn't blame him if he had.

"Oh yeah, I know. Is that alright? If I spent too long sitting down at the hotel, I'd end up taking a nap and you know how that goes." laughed Lando, as he knew Y/N was well aware of his ability to fall asleep anywhere, at any time and in any situation. If Lando Norris needed a nap, Lando Norris would find a bloody way.

Y/N smiled knowingly and gestured to the roof. "If you want to have a kip for an hour or two, I don't mind. I'll wake you before Max gets here."

He'd love to, actually. He was coming off a race weekend and had spent the last day at the MTC for debrief and media duties. He'd been working through emails and taking phone calls about various projects and brand commitments all morning. A nap sounded fabulous right now. But he shook his head and tucked his hand into the pocket of his dark jeans. "Oh, no, I'm good." Lando replied, and watched as Y/N tilted her head ever so slightly.

"Honestly, Lan. You're more than welcome to, no one is going to be here for at least another hour and I've gotta shower and change anyway. Are you sure?"

He didn't want to seem rude to her friends, rude to her as the gracious host and his best mate's little sister who he hadn't seen in so long. But Lando knew that she was genuine, that she wouldn't offer if she knew it would cause a problem. Although he also knew that she'd do the same even if it did upset somebody. He knew she only cared about his wellbeing.

So when he asked, almost timidly, if she was sure no one would mind, Y/N rolled her eyes at him in an overdramatic fashion. "Yeah, course! Christ, no one wants to deal with you in 4 hours when you're grumpy 'cause you're tired. You become a right gremlin." she joked, pointing her index finger at him accusingly before flicking the same finger to the doorway. "Let me just introduce you real quick to the gang and then I'll take you up."

Everyone was congregating in the small yard, which had a patch of fake grass down and a picnic table with a garden parasol that looked suspiciously like it belonged in a pub beer garden. There were several ashtrays dotted around the place and a shelving unit that had been turned into a makeshift bar with a dozen or so bottles of booze, mixers and empty glasses all lined up. Her friends looked like your typical mix of arty London fashion types. She'd once described them on Instagram as her "girls, gays and theys" and he didn't really understand that last bit but he tried not to judge. "Ok so guys... guys!" Y/N barked, interrupting their conversation (or debate) to introduce her guest.

And they all immediately went quiet, eying the newbie in the garden. Which wasn't daunting at all. "This is Lando, Max's friend that I've been telling you about! He's gonna go have a quick nap before Max gets here but I wanted to bring him over first very quickly. So we've got Julian," she began, gesturing to the impossibly handsome and tall sandy blonde guy sat on the picnic table with a Lost Mary in hand. Lando gave him "the nod" and a small, barely audible greeting. "He lives downstairs with his boyfriend Marco. Then we have Peachy," she pointed towards her friend that Lando assumed was the aforementioned "theys" part of the group because he couldn't actually tell if Peachy was a him or a her but Max had pre-warned him not to ask. Max also mentioned that he knew Peachy's real name was Olivia Peach, if that helped. Which it didn't... but as advised, Lando wasn't going to ask. "And I think you've met Zia and Keeks?" Y/N referring to the set of girls sitting on outdoor beanbags on the ground, gazing up a him behind sunglasses.

Both greeted him with a synchronised "hi" and he smiled down at the pair before acknowledging that he remembered meeting them, albeit very briefly, on some night out last year. He remembered one of them definitely got very drunk and expressed a great interest in putting her tongue down his throat. But he wasn't sure if which one of them it was and he sure as fuck hoped that no one remembered it. Y/N knew that with all the attention on him, Lando would be feeling awkward and shy which is why she made it brief.

A chorus of nice to meet yous and see you laters could be heard as they re-entered the kitchen, with Y/N guiding him from behind towards the hallway. "Come on, I'll just grab my stuff and set you up in my room. Follow me." she said, overtaking him to trudge the first set of stairs. "Be glad I'm on the first floor!" she huffed, as she glanced towards a second set of stairs. "This is my lil room, I actually cleaned it yesterday so you're welcome." cooed the brunette, entering the room first and quickly hooking her finger through the strap of the bra hanging from the back of her computer chair, holding it behind her back as if it was a dirty secret. "The sheets aren't clean on though, sorry. I can change them if you want?" she blurted out, realising that Lando was very used to crisp white hotel linens and not her Ikea ditsy floral set, however cute and whimsical they were.

But he adamantly shook his head, holding up his hand. She always did this, starting fretting about little details and thinking something wasn't right or adequate. "Nah, don't be silly. It's only for an hour. This is fine, thanks Y/N." Lando said softly, and Y/N knew he was being genuine when he used her name like that.

She nodded her head and glanced around for a few items that she needed to get dressed and do her hair. "I'll go upstairs to shower so if you need the toilet, the bathroom is the door with the laundry basket outside. Ok?" And when she was satisfied that he was ok, Y/N left him to snooze in her sanctuary, hoping that she'd moved anything embarrassing or potentially incriminating well out of sight.

Because as suspected, Lando couldn't help but have a little look around, as if he was trying to get to know a bit more about this version of her. She had quite the array of Instax mini Polaroids on the wall, framed by toadstool string lights and other delightful little embellishments. It seemed like she had a thriving social life, judging by photos and the sheer amount of old wristbands in the glass bowl on her shelving unit. It made Lando smile. He always thought of her as that shy little 12 year old who was obsessed with saving caterpillars from being squished. This particular caterpillar had evolved into such an interesting butterfly.

On top of the shabby chic white chest of drawers were so many trinkets, a collection of bits and bobs that she'd collected over the years that obviously meant something to her or just looked cute. There was an interesting amount of candles in various shapes, sizes and colours, that had yet to be lit. Did she collect them? There were at least two that were the shape of a women's body. And, when he peered towards the back, he realised one of them was shaped like a cock and it was set in front of a really small red notebook with "A Tiny Sex Diary" written in gold lettering on the front. Huh.

The computer desk was fitted with a fairly decent camera and lighting setup, and it had Lando pondering if she was into streaming or something. He couldn't actually recall what she was doing at university, he just knew it was fashion related. But he couldn't remember the specifics, and he wondered if maybe she was doing content creation. Her Instagram was certainly well-curated, plenty of dumps with well-taken shots and she liked to showcase her style. Maybe he'd delve into it later with her, ask for an update on what she's doing these days. She worked part-time at Urban Outfitters, last time he checked. And this was confirmed by the staff lanyard he'd just noticed was hanging on the left knob of the top drawer. Lando almost missed it, too consumed by the sight of pastel purple coloured lace underwear peeking said top drawer, which was stopping it from closing fully.

The man puffed his cheeks up and turned away, forcing his feet out of his trainers without untying the laces and sitting down on the bed. He really had to stop falling into that place in his mind, allowing himself to think about her in ways that were disrespectful to her or to Max. He wasn't even sure when it started happening, it just crept in so slowly that he didn't notice it at first. All of a sudden, she was there and she was different. But nothing was different between them, their dynamic hadn't changed at all. They really didn't spend a lot of time around each other anymore and only interacted in messages and on social media.

It was social media's fault, he had decided. Catching all these glimpses of her life over the last few years and witnessing her transition into adulthood through Instagram stories set for close friends only and her silly little drunken Snapchats. Maybe that's why it felt weird. Because Max still thought of her as a teenager and so they all referred to her as such. She was still Baby Fewtrell to their friendship group, but she wasn't a baby anymore. And he can't have been the only one who noticed, yet none of their friends mentioned it.

The pillow smelled so heavily of her, all perfume and shampoo. It reminded him of sweeties, like Parma Violets. He was on his side with his arm tucked under it and it didn't take him long to fall asleep. It didn't feel like he'd been out for long when he felt the weight of someone's hand on his chest. One eye peeped openly lazily, reacting to the sound of someone softly repeating his name. "Ayy, there he is..." he heard a familiar feminine voice say, and opened his eyes fully this time to see Y/N's face smiling down at him. "Fuck me, this is like trying to raise the dead." Y/N giggled, one knee and her other hand pressed into the mattress next to him, as if she was crawling onto the bed. And that made his sleepy brain short-circuit for a millisecond, glimpsing down at the way her thigh was dangerously on show through the slit in her animal print satin skirt. "You need to get up, mate. The birthday boy is on his way!" Y/N told him, getting off the bed and turning to look at herself in the mirror on her dresser, satisfied with her effort.

He sat up, forcing the heels of his hand into his eyes to give them a rub. "Sorry, I was knackered." Lando said, voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat and looked at Y/N, who turned to look at him.

"I know, that's why I left you for a bit." she replied and Lando scrunched his eyes before forcing them open in a wide stare.

She watched as Lando did his best to force himself to wake up properly. "What time is it?" he asked, concerned that Max was already on his way and he was still in bed.

"Almost 2:30..." was her reply, to which he groaned loudly and swung his legs off the bed and on the floor, reaching down for his shoes.

Lando furrowed his brow. "Why didn't you wake me?" he whined, huffing as he fiddled with the laces that he'd left knotted.

"Because, I knew you needed it." Y/N told him in the same stubborn matter-of-fact tone that Max used when he did something for Lando's own good. "Besides, you don't have to come down as soon as he arrives. He's due in about 15 minutes and you can take another 10 to wake up. God, look at the state-" she started to laugh, reaching out to try and tame the way his hair was stuck up. Lando swallowed hard, ignoring the way her hands in his curls made his tummy feel funny. "Maybe use those 10 minutes to sort whatever is going on with your barnet." She playfully pushed his head to the side and he smirked, watching as she moved away and towards the door. "But for real: t-minus 15 mins according to P's text."

When Lando realised how low his battery was, he left his phone on Y/N's beside table to give his phone a quick charge and made his way to the bathroom to finger-brush his hair and use a bit of water to control the coils if necessary. He trudged back to Y/N's bedroom to wait for his mate's arrival and busied himself on his phone, glad that Y/N had one of those cables with multiple chargers attached. The music downstairs was playing a little louder now and he was fairly sure he could hear the familiar voices of Tom and Connor chatting with Y/N. He assumed their girlfriends were also in attendance, to keep Pietra company more than anything.

Soon he heard Max enter the house, heard the group greet him with a variety of different happy birthday wishes before moving towards the back of the house. Y/N's bedroom had very small roof patio, which partially overlooked the garden. He leaned to look through the door which lead to it, unable to see over the fence. Lando wondered when he was supposed to make his entrance, if he was meant to sit here and wait for Y/N to come and get him. He chewed on the skin next to his thumbnail, anxiously scrolling on his phone when there was a knock on the door. Lando froze for a moment, only relaxing when a familiar choppy hairstyle swung around the door. "Just making sure you've not gone back to sleep. You can come down now if you want!" she whispered excitedly, proud of the way she'd pulled this off for Max.

It couldn't be easy, not seeing your best mate very much throughout the year unless you were jetting off to a race weekend (where you still wouldn't get to see him) or some all-expensed paid holiday for a few days when he had the downtime. It certainly had to suck that you couldn't spend important days together very often, like birthdays. So Y/N did her best to make sure the stars aligned for this one. She knew he'd be in the country after his race weekend debrief and she didn't have to beg Lando to show up for Max because even if he had a tight schedule, he'd have made the time anyway. Thankfully, Lando had some time off before the Dutch race but they lied to Max, saying that McLaren had him working on something for one of their sponsors.

Max was in the garden, already holding a glass of something and coke with his back to the kitchen. Lando knew that P would have her phone out ready but secretly he hoped she wouldn't, because not everything needed to be filmed. Y/N stood in the doorway, using the back door's step to her advantage, still having to get on her tippy toes (which wasn't easy to do in chunky Doc Marten sandals), throwing her arms around her brother's shoulders to cover his eyes with her manicured fingers. "I almost forgot, I've got something for you..." she said quietly, feeling Max lean slightly to put his glass down on the nearby table.

"Oh God, what else have you bought?" Max asked, flustered and slightly paranoid he was about to be embarrassed by some gag gift in front of his mates. She had already gifted him a nice pair of trainers in a style he liked, and he thought that was it. He didn't like Y/N spending her money on him, not when she was a student and always arranging her little Euro trips; she was probably perpetually broke. And he was so thankful for the spread she'd put on, he knew she was trying to impress him, trying to prove that she was a grown up now too.

"Relax, it's nothing scary." Y/N reassured her brother, who was now doing some sort of awkward lean back to accommodate her shorter height.

When she let go and placed her hands on his shoulders, it didn't register immediately that the hands were bigger, heavier. He opened his eyes and expected there to be something in front of him. He was looking at the faces smiling back at him, confused as hell. "Happy birthday, you muppet." Lando grinned, and Max whipped his head around so fast that his neck made a quiet crack.

"Fucking hell, mate!" Max yelped, clearly startled. Lando cackled and Y/N beamed, hands clasped together and tucked into her chest. Lando was considered family in their household, and the bond he had with her brother made her heart so full. She watched as the boys embraced, before Max was pushing Lando and ranting about the little fibs he'd been fed over the last few weeks and days. Y/N asked him more than once if he really had no idea, if there wasn't an inkling that maybe they were up to something and Max confirmed each time that he really thought Lando was busy shooting for yet another advertising campaign.

Music bumped in the background as conversations flowed easily, as food was eaten and as glasses were emptied, with the group singing Happy Birthday to an bashful Max before he blew out the colourful candles on his cake. "Can't believe you made this yourself, for me." Max said quietly to her, one arm around Y/N's shoulders and giving her a squeeze while she was removing the candles. "You know you didn't have to do all this." he added, leaning to give her a quick kiss on top of her head. She smiled, the kind that caused her eyes to crinkle because the apples of her cheeks were being pushed so high. She knew he wasn't only referring to the food or for hosting the gathering.

"But I wanted to. I mean, it's not every day that you're second favourite brother turns 25." Y/N joked, as Max rolled his eyes at her.

"Theo isn't even here, you could at least make me the favourite this one time!" he protested and Y/N cackled.

"What is Sam, chopped liver?"

The pair laughed and Max gave her shoulder another squeeze as she cut two pieces of cake for him and P before dishing out more pieces onto a collection of mismatched small plates for people to take. As Lando stood next to her, Y/N attempted to unlock her phone while avoiding getting cake residue on the screen, presenting it to Lando with a mix of jam, cream and crumbs of sponge on her fingertips. "Can you hold this for a sec?" she asked, and Lando obliged, looking away as Y/N used her knuckle to type her PIN. "Will you find something?" she asked, referring to the Spotify app open on her phone. They'd turned the music off while they sang to Max and now they needed the tunes back on while she handed out plates.

"Yeah, yeah, let's have a look..." Lando replied, tongue resting in the corner of his lips as he browsed the playlists she had, some of which weren't even saved under actual titled. She had so many that were just named with a few letters or the default Playlist #5. What a mess, how could she find anything? He'd hate to see what her Liked Songs looked like. Scrolling through the playlist that they'd been listening to already, he saw something by Wilkinson and selected it and was about to see if the Smart Shuffle was on because it should be, when an Instagram message notification popped up.

He was attempting to swipe it away but ended up clicking on it by mistake. Shit. He couldn't help but clock the last message sent, his light eyes widening at the sight. Lando planned to exit the message before he could read anything, not wanting to invade Y/N's privacy. But he didn't know how to use her fucking phone; so instead of leaving the app, it just went back to her inbox which was full of unread messages. It didn't escape his notice that this definitely wasn't the Instagram account he knew of and followed. The profile picture she had was very different and the username was one that Lando didn't recognise at all.

What felt like an eternity, was really it was only 15 seconds of fumbling to figure out how to exit the app entirely. Lando set the phone down on the dining table as if holding it burned him and left the scene of the crime as quickly as possible. While he stood nearby Max and their friends, trying to look as though he as definitely paying attention to the conversation, his thoughts were elsewhere. His brain felt like it was going at warped speed, overthinking every little thing he'd just seen. Why did she have a secret Instagram that he didn't follow (when she followed his finsta) and more importantly, why she had she sent a link that looked suspiciously... familiar?

It had been so big and bold in her message, too obnoxiously obvious to ignore. And now he was obsessing over it. He had to be mistaken. Surely it was just something very similar. Because why the fuck would Y/N be sending someone an OnlyFans links on a secret Instagram? What on earth was going on right now? Had he fallen into an alternate dimension? Was this the Upside Down? Had he hit his head and this was all an elaborate hallucination? Was he having a fucking stroke?

Seeing Y/N in the corner of his eye made him stiffen. He dared not look in her direction, paranoid that she could read his thoughts, scared that she'd figured out what he'd seen. He mumbled something about going to the bathroom and dipped back into the house. "You alright, mate?" Someone asked as Lando made a beeline past them for the hallway and he tried not to stammer in his response.

"Yeah, mate yeah. Just dying for a piss." Lando replied, a little too quickly, before he legged up the staircase and into the sanctuary of the first floor bathroom. Locking the door behind him, Lando perched himself on the edge of the tub and whipped his own phone out. It had to be a misunderstanding. There had to be a logical, reasonable explanation for this. It couldn't possibly be what it seemed like. He was desperately trying to remember the format of the username from the inbox. There was some full stops involved and he was currently searching variations of what he recalled until he saw it - the same profile picture. It was the red and white gingham off-the-shoulder bikini top with white frills, like something you'd expect Sabrina Carpenter to wear and while you couldn't see her face as she lay on the bed, he recognised the background as the bedroom he'd been in earlier. Her small tattoos was visible too, but the thing that was really on show was her pert bum.

Lando's hammering heart had gone well past his stomach and was currently in arse.

The fizzy cocktail-from-a-can mix that he'd forced down his throat 5 minutes ago was threatening to come back up. He was scared to scroll, scared to move his thumb on the screen in case he accidentally interacted with something and revealed his presence. So he just sat there, staring at the screen below him, mouth ajar as he documented every little thing. The pepper and flame emojis next to a linktree url, the selection of Instagram-friendly reels and photos posted. And the alias she appeared to be using was "Bambi" and that alone sent a shiver ricocheting up his spine. Wasn't that something they jokingly called her, after ice skating at the Winter Wonderland in Hyde Park? Y/N could barely keep upright anytime they tried to skate towards the middle of the rink and so she refused to move away from the wall, irrationally terrified of "slicing off her fingers" if she fell.

Knowing it was pissing her off, they teased her for weeks afterwards. Lando even updated her name on WhatsApp to include a deer emoji and they'd occasionally drop a Disney's Bambi gif in their group chat just to annoy her.

He felt sick.

And not because Lando judged her for it or because he was disappointed. How could he, when he'd subscribed to various OF models in the past? He probably still had some subscriptions ongoing that he'd forgotten to cancel. No, Lando felt sick because his immediate reaction hadn't been disgust or disappointment and it hadn't been discomfort, like perhaps it should have been. It had been intrigue. It had had been curiosity.

It had been arousal.

And now he couldn't stop thinking about it. Not when he returned the party downstairs, not when he helped Y/N's housemates clean up empty bottles and cans into bags for recycling and not when he hugged Y/N goodbye and thanked her for having him at her home. Not when he sat in the back of the taxi, nor when he returned to his hotel room. Not even later, in the shower, could he get Y/N and her spicy link out of his head. It wouldn't be the first time that he'd rubbed one out to the thought of her, and he was realising quite quickly that it wasn't going to the last time either. Regardless of how guilty he felt about doing it, how dirty and dishonest it made him feel. It didn't stop him from having a quick wank in the luxury bathroom of the luxury hotel, before climbing into the luxury bed. If only he could get some luxury fucking sleep.

It would be disrespectful to check it out, Lando knew that. Disrespectful to Y/N, to Max, to Theo. To the whole family, really. He knew their grandma, for fuck's sake. He'd stayed at their house and eaten at their dinner table. Lando was a part of the family. And yet, here he was at 11pm, contemplating the ethical implications of checking out his best mate's little sister's Only Fans page. He absolutely hated himself right now for even considering it. But Lando knew that he couldn't let it go until he'd scoped it out, even briefly. He wasn't going to subscribe. No way. That would be beyond messed up, a truly unforgivable act. But a little peak couldn't hurt. Just to sate his sick sense of curiosity.

He regretted it immediately.

It was real. It was actually not a sick joke being played on him. Baby Fewtrell really had an OnlyFans account, with a list of what she offered, with a profile picture that knocked his socks off, with over 2 thousand likes logged. Lando had no idea about what he was supposed to do with this information. How was he supposed to be proceed? Did he tell Y/N that he knew? Did he tell Max about it?

Fuck. That.

He knew what he shouldn't do. The fact that he even considered it made him feel so guilty, so that was a good sign, right? Lando closed the tab before he could talk himself into subscribing and lay his phone down on the bed beside him. This was so surreal. Earlier they had talked about her plan to come and watch him race in Singapore as a birthday treat to herself, and he had already sent off requests for paddock passes so that she and her friend could accompany Max. He point blank refused to hear her argument, wanting her to enjoy the full experience as his guests instead of the GA tickets the girls had intended to use for the Sunday only.

How was he supposed to just pretend he didn't know, and look her in the face in a few weeks time? Act like he wasn't wondering about the webcam setup that he saw in her bedroom earlier. About the bed that he'd slept in today; was that the backdrop for her content? Did she work alone? Did she collab with other creators? Did someone film for her? Did her housemates know? Did they do online sex work too? It that why they could afford that fucking house? Was it actually an OnlyFans pad? Those Polaroids of Y/N kissing all her friends. Did she make content with other girls? Where was the safest place to masturbate in a 5 star hotel room?

He was exhausted just thinking. Lando didn't want to think about anything anymore, he just wanted to go to sleep and have very bland, ordinary, unseasoned dreams about cars or puppies. Absolutely no steamy, sensual nudie rudie thoughts about someone he'd known for almost 12 years which was more than half of her whole bloody life. Hand reluctantly sneaking under the waistband of his pyjama bottoms, thumb hovering dangerously close to that subscribe button. He paused briefly at the sound of a text and nearly knocked himself out with how fast his hand moved out of those boxers at the sight of her name. Lando's heart skipped several beats. It was like she knew. He swallowed thickly, unlocking his phone and reading the message quickly.

y/n: thanks for coming today, it all went just how i pictured it 🥹 y/n: and it was so great to see you!! 🥰 hopefully see you again some time before singapore? but if not, can't wait to come and see you race in september x

He'd send her passes to every race if Y/N wanted them. Hell, he'd invited her on holiday with him this week if he thought Y/N would say yes. He'd probably invite her over to his hotel room right now if that wasn't the most absurd thing in the world.

You know, if she wasn't Y/N fucking Fewtrell.

[utopiasship]

Mc moves to Devildom permanently, as does their cats

How the relationship between your cats and the brothers work

2395 words | gn reader

When Diavolo gave you the offer to permanently move to Devildom, you readily accepted. On one condition. 

Your cats. You lovely, darling cats you had in the over world. The cats you cried over abandoning until Barbatos comforted you, explaining the little creatures were to be well taken care of during your stay. 

But moving long term means you need your babies. Even if Lucifer looked less than pleased at your conditions. 

Lucky for you, Barbatos quickly arranged for your cats to be brought to their new forever home. 

Now the house is stocked with cat food, toys and treats for the tiny orange tabby, butter, and the large long haired Siberian ragdoll, Tofu. 

But… How well do they get along with everyone?

Lucifer

Lucifer had a hard rule: no pets. 

Which is notably hypocritically, considering cerberus. Also considering Mammons gaggle of crows he communed with could definitely be considered pets… and henry…

Okay, Lucifer told the younger siblings no pets while repeatedly breaking the rules for his and the older brothers' benefit. 

Alas, then came Butter and Tofu. 

Safe to say, the first two months were spent diligently avoiding the two fluffy kitties. 

Picking cat hair off his clothes with a disgusted face, using a spray bottle to stop them from scratching the furniture and ignoring when butter screamed his head off in an attempt to have some of Lucifer's food. 

However, Tofu is quite the charmer. 

A large yet tiny and delicate fluffy ball of love. A little shy but needy for affection. A sly bastard who can open doors. 

Specifically Lucifer's bedroom door. So she can lay on his pillows and stare unblinking, unmoving, and desperately adorable. 

With a soft knock you open Lucifer's study, it's late and a Friday, yet you haven't seen tofu for hours. 

“Sorry, but have you seen Tofu she didn’t come down for dinner and-” you stop dead in your tracks, looking at the opposing embodiment of pride frozen in a plush red chair. 

With a glass of demonus in one hand, and the other mid stroke along the purring cats back. 

“Oh-” You giggle a little, composing yourself, “Sorry, if you could show her where her food is later that’d be great. I’ll leave you too alone.” You begin to leave, closing the office door. 

“Wait!” Lucifer almost gets up, but tofu gently kneads his leg, causing him to stay put, “This isn’t-” You don’t hear him as the door clicks shut.

Smiling to yourself, you take a moment before speed walking to the planetarium to tell Belphie what you just saw.

Mammon

Listen, mammon is overjoyed you are moving in permanently. 

Obviously he won't ever tell you that. But the idea of you moving back to the human world where you will age and die and he will never see you again makes him genuinely sob into his pillow at least once a week. 

Just… cats? Really?

They are mean and shed everywhere and butter is notorious for breaking into his room and sleeping on the hood of his car. 

Genuinely, multiple times a week he’s shooing the little guy out of his room. 

And, he gets it, really. From a distance they are cute. But that's not his vibe. Until one night of course. 

It's dark, even for Devildom. The Mammons room is no different, room pitch black as he lays in bed. 

Shirtless and sweating for all the wrong reasons as he clutches a pillow tight to his chest. Lately… his nightmares have gotten worse. He awoke screaming, thrashing and already crying numerous times this month. 

This is one of those times. 

Where he's sobbing into a pillow, wings tucked close to his body as he cries over a dream he doesn’t even remember but it doesn’t stop the never ending tears. 

He's so distracted he doesn’t hear the little orange menace use his little paws to pull Mammon's door open. Only when a small pressure is placed on the bed does Mammon sit up, eyes blood shot. 

“Come on…” he mutters weakly, swatting at butter. Alas, butter merely dodges and walks closer, placing a small toy mouse. A black one with a pretty golden bell attached on the base of its tail. 

Gently nudging it towards the demon with his paw, Butter lays down, choosing Mammon’s bed to be the place to be tonight. 

Picking up the disgruntled mouse toy, Mammon sighs, laying down, a soft orange cat snuggled into his chest, purring and warm. 

Perhaps purrs are healing, because Mammon awakes in the morning from a dreamless sleep, no cat in sight but the little black mouse still sitting on his pillow. 

Leviathan 

He’ll be honest, they give him anxiety. 

What if they knock over his shelves? Oh no, what if they damage his limited edition figures?! Tear his manga?! No! No cats. None. 

You didn’t raise particularly obedient animals however. 

After a long day of attending R.A.D, Levi quickly scurries into his room, already stripping off the complicated uniform.

Kicking his shoes that way, throwing his jacket over there, all the way down to boxers as he looks for his hoodie and ohmydiavolo the cats are on his gaming chair. 

Unblinking, unmoving, as a demon stands practically naked before them, perfectly content as tofu sits on the back of the chair and butter sits on the seat. 

“Get- you-” Leviathan scrambles for a hoodie, a blanket, a pair of pants, anything. Eventually finding himself far more prepared in a blue hoodie and black plaid pajama pants. 

“Could you-” he stands nearly five feet away from the cats, almost scared to get closer, “just, leave? Like, out the door?” he gestures to the door, they don’t move. 

Frustrated and unsure of how to handle this situation Levi just sort of… stares at them for a few minutes, until eventually, by some miracle, Butter gets up. 

Stretching his little booty high in the air as his front claws gently prick the seat, making Leviathan wince, he jumps off the seat and makes his way to the tub. 

Gently placing his front paws on the rim, he looks over the edge before deciding this is the exact place he needs to be and jumps in, spinning around a few times before sitting down and placing his head on his paws. 

Leviathan, deciding to choose his battles, turns back to Tofu, "just don't move, okay?” 

Slowly and carefully, Levi sits in the gaming chair, putting on his headphones and botting up his system. 

Tofu doesn’t seem to mind, tail slowly flicking back and forth, occasionally brushing past Leviathan's cheek, causing him to tense for only a moment. 

In the end, she’s quite a good gaming partner and Butter has found his favorite bed. 

Satan

It was obvious how Satan was going to react when the brothers found out two cats were moving in. 

He was absolutely ecstatic, practically vibrating from excitement, and he was one of the first to meet the little critters. 

Due to the large environment change, you wanted Tofu and Butter to have the chance to slowly acclimate to their new homes. 

Understand the new smells, noises, temperatures, daylight cycle, everything. So for the first few weeks they stayed in your room, occasionally venturing into hallways when most people were out or exploring when the house was empty.

Satan happened to be home when they explored one time. 

Exiting his room and walking to the kitchen, Satan goes to prepare a study snack, yet he is stopped dead in his tracks when Butter and Tofu sit at the entrance. 

Lounging around, Butter has stretched himself as long as his little body can go, Tofu remains in a rather dignified loaf, both watching Satan. 

Safe to say all plans on food and studying get thrown out the door. Slowly, as to not make any sudden movements, Satan lowers himself to sit on the floor, barely two feet away. 

“Hello,” he practically whispers, slowly getting down to lay on his stomach, thank diavolo none of his brothers are home, “aren’t you two darling?” 

Satan tentatively reaches a hand out, placing it delicately on the floor in front of the kitties, close enough for them to sniff if they choose, far enough they can turn away. 

Butter seems to watch Tofu, who gets up from her loaf, stretching as he claws scratch slightly against the tiles. She takes a step and gingerly leans her head down, sniffing Satan's hand.

He sits there with batted breath, frozen in place. 

It's hard to tell how long Tofu judges his entire existence, but she decides he is worthy and licks his hand, rubbing against his arm as she walks closer. 

“Hi, honey.” Satan smiles, petting Tofu as she rubs all over him. Butter follows her lead, getting up and invading any form of personal space in an attempt to get as much attention as possible. 

The study session does continue, but now with two cats in his bedroom.

Asmodeus

Cats are cute, that's true.

But, much like Mammon, Amsodeus hates how much they shed.

Those sheets cost more than any mortal makes in their life and now there is cat hair all over it! 

Plus the smell, the grooming, and the shitting in a box has never been very… appealing to Asmo. 

Unfortunately for Asmo, Butter loves his private bathroom. Maybe Butter just likes tubs, but sitting on the porcelain, stretched out as he naps, seems to be a favorite pastime of his. 

Asmodeus hums to himself as he walks into his private bathroom, wrapped in a pink silk robe with feathers on the ends, a green face mask setting into his skin and fluffy pink slippers. 

Walking to one of the large and ordained shelves, he picks up a few different products for the water, flower petals, skin care products and hair care products. 

Sitting down on the edge of the tub and placing them next to him he moves to turn on the faucet but is stopped by an orange mass. 

“Oh!” taking a sharp intake of breath, Asmo pulls his hand away from the faucet, instead reaching out to gently tap butter's forehead. 

Letting out a small prrrrt, Butter blinks open his eyes, dilated as he looks at Asmo. 

“Well aren’t you a cutie?” Asmodeus giggles, watching Butter get up and walk to him, “I’m trying to take a bath here, ya know?”

Butter doesn’t seem to care, hopping up onto the large edge of the tub and making that his resting place instead. 

Deciding this little kitty shouldn’t be the reason he doesn’t complete his routine, Asmo continues to fill the tub, but changes some of his products out, unsure of what could hurt mortal cats. 

Butter exits the bathroom over three hours later, brushed and pampered, quite a handsome boy. 

Beelzebub

Beelzebub was rather indifferent about Butter and Tofu. although it did have to be explained a few times that they are not made of Butter and Tofu and ‘please don’t eat my cats.’

Fortunately, it seems they share a love for food. 

It’s late, like extremely late, but Beel’s stomach said it's food time, so now he finds himself in the kitchen, shirtless as he sits on a stool, eating his findings.

Halfway through, two sets of teeny tiny claws prick his calf. 

Quickly looking down, at his feet sit the infamous kitties of The House of Lamentation. 

Butter stands on his hind legs, reaching up Beel's leg and meows, begging as if two bowls of wet food and two bowls of dry food don’t sit right behind them. 

Tofu chirps, rubbing her body against his legs, looking up at him with big, begging eyes. Butter is far more dramatic, practically wailing and begging like he isn’t the most spoiled tabby in all of Devildom. 

But they are so cute… but they shouldn’t eat demon food… 

Beel stands up, trying not to trip over the cats who swarm him like sharks as he looks for their treats. 

There is definitely more of a variety than he thought, from salmon to chicken to soft to hard to teeth health to hair health, Barbatos really stocked up… 

He picks out a few, remembering the warning of not over feeding the cats as he pours some out into his hand, trying one of each himself (Not bad, he’s eaten worse, he gets why cat’s like them), before crouching down and placing two piles on the ground. 

As the two cats attack the piles of treats (that they will eat too fast and throw up in your room later), Beel returns to his munching. 

But!! Barely three minutes later they are begging again! Butter is practically climbing Beelzebub like a ladder to steal his food!

Are all cats like this? 

Belphegor

Belphie told everyone he didn’t care about the cats. Whether they liked him or not, he doesn’t give a fuck. 

But he really wanted them to like him. Like so bad. It's pathetic honestly.

He’s always seen videos of those cuddly cats who sleep in humans arms, and dogs who sleep at the end of the bed, and he really wants that.

He wants Tofu to snuggle up in his arms, she looks so soft and fluffy. And he wants Butter to lay on his chest, slowly kneading. 

One night, Belphegor is resting in the planetarium, laying on a nest he made on the ground as he lazily gazes at the night with half lidded eyes. 

Falling in and out of sleep as the stares pass his vision, unbothered and uncaring. Until a cat comes, obviously. 

Stepping her little feet carefully on the pillows and blankets surrounding the demon, Tofu tentatively walks over, rubbing her face against Belphie’s. 

Gently, he scratches behind her ear, feeling her purr and chirp before laying down, head nuzzled into his neck, tail curled to flick over his collar bone. 

A few minutes later, with the never ending need to annoy his older sister, Butter finds the pair, cozy and warm. 

Stepping his front paws onto Belphigor’s chest, he hoists himself up, gently patting Belphie’s cheek to get his attention. Content when an eye opens to peak at the orange cat.

Happy and pleased with the minimum disturbance he caused, butter lays down, Belphie’s free hand moving to rest on Butters back, gently stroking as they fall asleep.

[biteyoubiteme]

press play

hueningkai x fem!reader

synopsis: the one where you finally convinced your boyfriend to film a sextape with you. wc: 3.6k ✶ warnings: dom!kai, meandom moments, sub!reader, name calling (whore, slut, cumslut, baby), fingering, filming during sex, choking, dirty talk, overstimulation mentions (f! and m!), multiple orgasms (f!rec), no protection, no pull out mentions, like one spank, marking, manhandling, teeth use, dacryphilia, subspaceish, breast play, dumbification? I think thats it im so sorry if I left something out-

an: oh so this got so far away from me im a bit surprised well not really cause it’s huening I can't help myself- 2k of this is smut omfg but this is not proofread so sorry >< pls forgive me

[m.list] [summer collection m.list]

“We won’t show it to anyone, it will be just for us,” you had said it so sweetly, fingers twisting in the hem of Kai’s shirt as you asked, as if it was a casual conversation, when to him it was anything but casual. 

Standing in the kitchen of your shared apartment, he had been stirring honey into his tea, the jingling of your keys the soundtrack to your daily arrival. He could have listed the order of the next coming songs, the lock twisted, shoes kicked off with a soft thud, your bag next, keys in the bowl by the door. And you would come into the kitchen, the smile on your lips mixing with your words as you said hiii, always dragging out the word as if you hadn't been allowed to exhale all day, not until you were in his presence, in your safe space. 

But today you had not greeted him, no, you had found your words coming out far too fast as you turned the corner into the kitchen, “We should make a sex tape.” 

It had been a bolt of lightning, the words just as shocking, his body jolting enough to make the tea in his mug slosh over onto his hand, the burn of it lost to the track his mind had taken. “S-sex tape?” he hadn't stuttered on the word since he was in school, since he had learned to steady his fumbling hands, and calm his racing thoughts. But one sentence had pressed the rewind button of his hold on himself. 

He should have known, it was always you who had made him revert back to some love-sick puppy with limited experience. It had been written into the beginning of your relationship, because all at once, he had lost his confidence with one look from you. His knees weak, his ability to drag out his orgasm diminished, and his groans turned to whimpers. Your first time spent together had him breathlessly stating, I'm not usually like this, whining into your neck as he came from only a few shallow thrusts. 

It wasn't as if you had minded; you found it endearing to have someone as big and sweet as Kai fall apart for you, and finishing early had never been something you cared about when he kept going, determined to make it up to you. And as the two of you learned each other's bodies, he had found his footing again, dragging out nights until the two of you could hardly catch your breath, until you had collectively split several orgasms between you two. 

A sex tape only seemed like the next viable step. Because when he was gone, late at work or out with his friends, you couldn't help but think about how empty your bed was, how much you missed him. Your memory and your imagination only took you so far, and you're sure it's easier to imagine it's his fingers between your legs instead of yours when you have visual proof of it before your eyes and not behind them. 

The idea was appealing to him, albeit a little shocking; he could see it already, you on your knees before him, blinking up at the camera in his hand like you were now, begging for his cock like you begging him to say yes now. Standing in front of him now, finger light as it dragged along the waistband of his grey sweatpants before you slid it up under his shirt. His stomach flexed, feeling the way you traced his happy trail before scratching back down. “Don't you think it would be kinda hot?” 

He couldn't even get the word out, nothing but a shaking breath as he nodded, yes. 

And the two of you had all but dropped the idea altogether, at least for a while. Because it built up in his mind, snowballing into something that was far too constant on his mind when it didn't seem like you were jumping to start any time soon. You could have pulled out your phone, or he could have, but that isn't what he had wanted when he began to imagine it.  

In his head, he had seen the way the two of you looked on your shared bed, the camera just far enough away for the two of you to forget it was even there. So he had planned it, bought a tripod, and set it up in the corner of your room like a reminder or a place holder. 

But it had been you who brought it up again, in the heat of the moment, kissing in the elevator up to your apartment, your nose bumping his when you asked, “Do you think we could do it tonight?” because it had been weighing just as heavily on your mind, that damn tripod cutting into your mind at the worst and best of times. 

The question had Kai’s mind back in the kitchen that first time you had asked, his stomach a mess of knots, the cords of his lust and nerves braided together. It was as if he were standing at the edge of a cliff and everyone was waiting to watch him jump into the water, his excitement only blooming from his faint fear. Your desperate, “please,” making his decision for him because you were someone he could never deny, not when you were hanging onto him like this, a bundle of energy ready to be unraveled by him alone. 

You almost couldn't believe how prepared he was, how well he had planned, just because you had asked one question a month ago. The camera was placed a few feet from the edge of the bed, diagonally, to get the whole of the space, and you sat just in frame, legs hanging off the side as you tried to watch huening and not the way the lens felt like it was tracing your skin, and it wasn't even on yet. 

Suddenly, you were the nervous one, looking down at your clothes, ones you hadn't picked for something like this, you worried at your lip, rolling the flesh between your teeth when Kai looked up, finger just at the record button. “Ready?” and he looked almost excited, as if it had been at his suggestion that the two of you were doing this instead of your own. 

When you give a shy nod, Kai presses down starting the camera and the blinking light starts to capture your every breath. 

“Nervous, baby?” There was a gravel hint to his voice, low and prickling the hair on the back of your neck. Your hands twisted in the duvet, your shoulders stiff as you give the only response you've been able to think since coming back up and realizing that it was real. That you were actually doing this. It had nothing to do with Kai; the only way you could explain it was that you were camera shy. 

You had known this for a while, felt it as soon as any camera was faced your way, you could curl up like the edges of burnt paper, wanting to hide the flush creeping over your body. But it seemed Kai had the opposite effect. Because as soon as that light was blinking, you could see the switch in him, flicked with no sense of being turned off until the battery died or you had both found yourself worn out and hung out to dry. 

“You know I'll take care of you,” he prowled to you, his back to the camera as he moved, his fingers moving up to brush at your cheek. It worked to pull you in, to distract you from the blinking light, the ghosting of his knuckles making your lashes flutter, “I always do,” and in a flash, his hand was at the back of your neck, pulling you up from your spot on the bed, closer to him to crash your lips to his. 

You can taste the need on his tongue, feel it in the way he nips at your mouth, you reach out for him, fingers curling in his shirt. He doesn't care about how sloppy the makeout is, not when he loves to feel you gasp for air against his mouth; he would give you the air from his own lungs if he could. Leaving a hot trail of open mouthed kisses down from your jaw to your neck, he sucks bruises onto your skin, his free hand holding you at your waist, pulling your hips to his so you can feel just how badly he wants you. 

Your head lolls back as he angles your neck just right for him to graze his teeth, and you catch sight of the camera, your imagination running wild at how the two of you must look in the viewfinder. Because Kai was curved into you like your bodies were made to meld, and it made you dizzy to think about how true it felt when he had you like this. 

But when he pulls away, you're whimpering, the spots he's kissed over you growing cold without him near as he grabs the back of his shirt at the collar, tugging the fabric up and over his head. His jeans, belted, still hang so low on his hips, the waistband of his underwear clinging to him at every perfect groove. You reach out, nails scratching down the warm planes of his abs, fingers hooking into his belt when he grabs at your wrist. 

“No, no, not yet,” he tisks, his knuckle right under your chin to guide your eyes up from his body to meet his. “I want to take care of my girl first.” 

You mewl at his words, his hands coming to your shirt, pulling it off of you just as he had his own, tossing it in the same direction. You almost can't take it when he leans down to kiss you over your chest, your arms wrapping around his shoulders, when he bites at the thin skin not covered by your bra. His nose dragging down your cleavage as he unhooks the fabric and lets it slide as far as it can to reveal your peaked nipples for him. 

You're almost embarrassed when he turns the two of you to get a better view of your body for the camera. His tongue comes out to lick at the sensitive bud, slowly taking his time with each side, only to blow cool air onto trails he's left to watch you jump from the sensation. It's humiliating to think he had such control over your body but only for as long as it takes for his hands to push down your skirt, panties following, falling to a pool at your ankles. 

Kai leans into your neck, his nose digging into the space behind your ear, his hands coming up the back of your thighs, cupping your ass, and kneading the flesh. He groans low in his throat, the sound felt rumbling against your chest as he slides his fingers through your wetness, “so fucking soaked,” he hardly even touches you, just dragging his fingers over the outside of your folds, “all this for me?” You nod, nails digging into his shoulders. “Use your words,” he demands, his hand still cupping your ass, quick to give a harsh slap. 

You jolt forward, impossibly closer to him as you gasp out the word, “yes,” 

He pulls away entirely, and you're left far too cold after so much heat, “kai-” you want him back, need him back, but he only sits at the edge of the bed, the corner of the mattress between his legs, spread wide enough for you to stand between. Looking at him now, you're completely blocking the view of him from the camera, but it's exactly how he wants it. 

Walking into the space he's made for you, you stand just about to reach out for him when he grabs ahold of your hips and forcefully spins you around, your hands come up to block yourself from the lens as if it were eyes seeing far too much. But Kai is quick to pull you back, stumbling you sit down on him, ass flush with the bulge in his jeans, his groan heavy in the air. 

He spreads his fingers along your stomach, both hands taking up so much space as he squeezes you like he would one of his favorite plushies. “Don't hide now, this was your idea,” he mutters into your ear, his hands sliding to your thighs, hold strong as he leans back, lifting your legs to hook them over his own, spreading you wide for the camera. “I want to make sure we capture just how desperate you are.” 

Your knees try to pull, feeling so exposed, so dirty, spread out like this, your hands reaching out for his, where he holds you, his legs stretch even wider in retaliation. “Hyuka-” your head rolls back, resting against his shoulder, your face trying to find a space to hide against the side of his neck. 

“Hum? What is it, baby? You shouldnt be shy…” he drags one hand up, fingers ghosting over your clit until you're twitching, “we both know in a few minutes im going to have you begging for my cock like the little whore you are, i mean look at you now,” he slides his fingers between your folds, so, so, slow, collecting the wetness thats built up, enough so that its nearly dripping from his digits, “a mess.” 

He has you trembling, the teasing too much as he scissors his fingers, capturing the view of your cunt for the camera before he slides them back down, pushing them into your waiting entrance. Your body arches away from him, the moan ripped from you just as well as him, the choir of it so loud in your shared room. His free hand presses you down by your pelvis, the tips of his fingers just grazing your clit so that every movement from you has him rubbing against you. 

“Always so fucking warm,” he drags his fingers out and back in, curling them just right, “so fucking tight,” your eyes squeeze shut, your body having trouble with staying so spread open if not for the way he has you held in place, your scratching at his arms, nails digging into them as he slowly fucks his fingers into you, taking his time like he had planned to stay here all night. 

He groans as you dig your ass into his aching dick, trapped under the two of you as you roll into his fingers, needing more than the slow pace he's picked for you. Turning his head, he mutters against your cheek, “Are you going to finish on my fingers or do you think I should make you wait for my cock?” 

You're nearly in tears, shaking your head when he stops his hand from moving, still pressed deep in your cunt, the heel of his palm finding your clit as he reaches up with his free hand to wrap around your throat. “Use your words,” he demands, his fingers squeezing just enough to make the air catch in your lungs. “If you beg, maybe I'll let you finish on both.” 

Deperately, you fight for the words to come, gasping on them as you plead, for him to ruin you. He lays his palm flat, fingers sinking deeper, the pressure applied perfectly to your clit as you grind down, and you're falling apart, shaking as your toes curl, and your vision blurs. He lets you ride out your high, only pulling his fingers free when your sounds become more strained. 

He brings his hand to his mouth, sucking on the slick arousal he's collected, moaning at the taste of you. “God, I love how sweet you are,” he presses the fingers he's just had in his mouth to your lips, “open,” 

You listen without complaint, letting him slide them onto your tongue until he's fucking them into your mouth the same way he had your pussy, making you take them down until you have tears slipping down your cheeks. The camera is all but gone from your mind, all you can think about is him, about the way he closes his legs, but your thighs are still trembling. 

Moving you, he lays you out on the bed, your body half limp as you push yourself up onto your hands and knees, the lens of the camera head on as he walks around the bed. The sound of his belt buckle pulls you back, your head turning over your shoulder as you watch him unzip his pants. 

Kai's hair hangs in his eyes, his gaze catching yours, his smirk like a hand down your body, unzipping you until you're nothing but nerve endings ready for him to tie into place. “Look at the mess you made on me.” The wet spot on his jeans is shameful, but you don't even care anymore, not when he's pushing them down, his cock, heavy and thick, hitting his stomach. 

You arch for him at the sight, angling your already oversensitive cunt into his view. He climbs onto the bed, one hand coming to your hip and the other wrapped around him, tugging along the length of him, thumb collecting the precum already beading at the tip. “My pretty girl,” he slides his hand up your spine from your hip, “are you going to cry for me?” 

“Yes,” because you could already feel it bubbling in you; felt it as he rubbed his tip right against your slit, your hands curling in the fabric of the duvet, and you pushed back against him, looking to rush the process. He almost doesn't let you, almost pulls away again, but he can't, not when he's this hard, not when he can feel it all the way down to the base of his soul. 

“My greedy slut,” he pushes in, his hand on your back sliding down to your shoulder blades, pushing you down into the mattress, your arms giving out under you, face pressed into the sheets. Your yelp is loud, meshing with the moan that is ripped from him, his eyes clenching shut at the way you flutter around him, body sucking him in until he's dizzy. 

He had to hold you still, needs to calm himself before he finishes too fast, because he wants to, it's all he can think about. Kai can't stop himself for too long, not when you start to whimper, hips rolling again as he tries to keep you still. He grabs at your hips, tightening until he knows he's the one in control, before he slowly drags out of you until only the tip rests right at your entrance, testing his resolve. 

And it all breaks away when you whine low and needy for him, “Hyuka, please.” 

He fucks right back into you, pushing in all at once, not caring about the way you cry out, not when you feel this good underneath him. There is no slowing his pace the second he starts the cruel speed, no longer teasing but tiring. You're breaking open beneath him, the sound of the skin on skin the only other noise in the room to accompany his moans, gritting out between his teeth as he loses himself in you. 

Your mouth is caught open, drool pooling on the sheets, making a spot just as wet as the one you had left on his pants. It's only when he starts to slow, returning with a languid grind, that he demands, “beg,” 

“Please! Kai- please-” you're choking on your tears, body numb before he reaches down around you to press on your clit again. You all but strangle his cock, a cry ripped from you as he presses down. 

“Beg for my cum, show the- fuck!- show the camera how much of a cumslut you are for me.” You're making it so hard for him to stay sane, but he needs you there with him, needs to feel you finish with him. 

“I want it- please, Kai- please, I need it,” you're shaking your head in the sheets, tears a mess, words watery as you choke them out, rambling incoherently. And Kai is lost, hips slamming into yours so hard your legs give out, your body flush against the mattress as he angles himself to fit just right in this position. The new angle forces him deep enough to hit the space inside you that makes your mind shut off, and you're both cumming on the edge of a sob. 

Kai can't even keep up anymore, seating himself flush against your body with a groan that goes throughout his whole chest, as he cums inside you, cock twitching, so much you're clawing at the sheets, arching your hips to meet his, to take everything he has to give you. 

You're so warm and full it's hard to breathe, not when you think kais is done only for him not to be. Because he's back to fucking into you, slow and relentless, pushing his release as deep as he can get it. Both of you are trembling from the overstimulation as he wraps his hand around your throat, the other one pressing into your back, keeping you arched just right for him to make you squeal. He lifts you until you're looking at the camera, his mouth to your ear as he whispers, “You did so good for me.” 

The praise makes you preen, your body too weak to push back, too lost to a space inside yourself that you don't ever want to leave. And when he stills, laying his weight on you, you clench around him, content with staying exactly there for as long as he wants to keep you. 

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[wcnderlnds]

temporary fix ★ choi su-bong (thanos)

・❥・ summary: thanos is your best friend and roommate and he frustrates you to no end and after one particulary hard day, truths come out. ・❥・word count: 2.6k ・❥・warnings: 18+. mdni. shower sex, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, a little overstimulation. mentions of drugs. swearing. ・❥・authors note: ok i'm back, maybe. ive been having a little writers block so im hoping this helped me work through it. i was too scared to proofread it back so im sorry for any mistakes 😭

“I thought I told you to stop leaving your towels on the bathroom floor!”

“I didn’t.”

“Subong, it’s right there!”

An exasperated sigh left your lips, your fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of your nose in frustration. Living with this man was a nightmare. He was the messiest person you knew. No matter how many times you told him something whether it was to put the toilet seat back down, pick his towels up or wash his dirty dishes, he just didn’t listen. It was like he wanted to make you mad and, knowing the type of person he was, it wouldn’t be a surprise. Anything Thanos could do to get on someone’s nerves, he’d do it happily. It was almost like he lived to make your life hell. Why on Earth you’d agreed to let him live with you, you couldn’t remember. So what if he was your best friend, he was a complete and utter menace to live with.

The only times when he actually did listen to you were the days after the two of you hooked up. It had all started after an argument where you, once again, had to tell him to stop leaving his clothes lying around the place. It had blown way out of proportion, the two of you both yelling and, at one point, Thanos had got so frustrated with you that he’d kissed you to shut you up. It escalated from there. Clothes had been pulled off, he had you up against the wall, legs wrapped around him as he fucked you with a fiery passion. After that, it had been a regular occurrence. Neither of you ever really talked about it, it just happened. After it did, he’d be the perfect roommate – always cleaning up after himself, cooking you breakfast the next morning (more like making burnt toast but it still counted). He was like a whole other person, someone who actually gave a shit. It was like he was the Su-bong you’d known when you’d first met him, before the drugs had taken hold of him.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I have to go. I’ve got a g-” He started to rattle off his excuse but you cut him off before he could.

“A gig, yeah, I know but that’s no excuse to be a messy slob,” you huffed, crouching down in front of him to pick the towel off the floor. When you glanced up, you noticed the smirk on his face, knowing exactly what smart ass comment was about to come out of his mouth.

“Maybe I can spare a few minutes if you’re getting down on your knees like that for me.”

“Shut. Up.” You hissed, hitting him with the towel when you got back to your feet. “Get out of my sight.”

Subong only chuckled, taking a puff of his vape and giving you a salute before he walked off leaving you to clean up after him like usual.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The apartment was quiet without Subong around. The days he had gigs and was out late were some of your favourites because you didn’t have to deal with him or confront the myriad of feelings you were holding inside. Subong wasn’t the type of person you should fall for but you couldn’t help it. You knew him better than anyone else, knew the type of person he really was behind the facade he put up. When you’d first met him all those years ago, he’d been a broken boy, someone who just wanted attention and someone to care about him. You had been that person but as the years passed, he’d changed. His career had introduced him to the type of people you were usually told to avoid. That was when his drug addiction had started. The pressure of the fame and expectations that were thrust upon him in such a short amount of time was too much for him to handle. He went from a sweet, anxious boy to a loud, obnoxious, frustrating man. Underneath all that, he was still that man that you met years ago but it was rare he was vulnerable enough to show it. Those days after you hooked up were the only times you got glimpses of the real Subong. That was why your heart clung to him. It had only jolted into action and made you realise when you’d started sleeping with him. Never had you wanted to be that girl that caught feelings for the person you were casually hooking up with but unfortunately you were. He could never know. A relationship with him wouldn’t work out, not with the way he was these days. So, they’d have to be kept under lock and key.

Placing your empty glass of wine back down on the coffee table, you picked up the remote, turning the TV off and headed to the shower. You needed a clear head for when he came home and inevitably annoyed you again. You turned the shower on, letting the water heat up while you got undressed. Stepping inside, the warm water hitting your body, you instantly felt more at ease.

Too lost in your own world, you didn’t hear the front door slam shut, the water drowning out any and all noise. You didn’t even hear when Subong called out your name, your eyes closed as you relaxed under the water. It was only when you finally opened your eyes and saw his purple head of hair through the fog of the shower glass did you realise he was home. Before you could utter a single word, he was pulling his shirt off, followed by his jeans and boxers and stepping into the shower. There wasn’t a chance to get a word in as he grabbed your wrist, pulling you into his body and claiming your mouth with his. It took you by surprise but you soon melted into it as his lips moved furiously against yours, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips begging for entrance. He nipped at your lower lip causing you to gasp and that was the opportunity he took to slide his tongue into your mouth. One of his hands tangled in your wet hair, angling your head so he could kiss you better. It was all consuming, every nerve in your body lighting up as he claimed your mouth.

When he finally pulled away, his lips trailed along your jaw, down to your neck, sucking and nipping at the skin there. His hand slid down your back, resting on the small of it to press you flush against him as the water cascaded over both of you. 

“Rough night?” You managed to ask slightly breathless, one of your hands coming up to tangle in his hair now.

“Don’t wanna talk,” he mumbled against your neck. He bit down lightly, his tongue darting out to soothe the skin, leaving a trail of hickeys along the side of your neck and collarbones.

He was swift in his movements as he pressed hot, open mouthed kisses along your chest, across the top of your breasts. He took one of your nipples in his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud. It caused you to arch into him, your fingers tightening in his hair as you held him against you. A breathy sigh escaped your lips as he moved on to your other breast, making sure to leave a hickey there, too. Once he was done there, he moved down onto his knees, his lips pressing across your stomach until they reached the apex of your thighs. You watched with hooded eyes as he pressed a light kiss to the top of where you needed him most.

“Subong, please,” you said breathlessly. The teasing was driving you insane.

His tongue licked a long stripe along your slit, a deep moan coming from him as he tasted how wet you were for him – it had nothing to do with the water still falling on you both. He did it again, this time his tongue found your clit, flicking it to bring out a moan from you. His lips wrapped around the sensitive bud and in turn you bucked your hips into his mouth. Needing, wanting, more. He swirled his tongue, alternating between licking along your folds and teasing your clit. It was too much but not enough at the same time. He was purposely trying to drive you crazy and it was working. He dipped his tongue inside you and you could feel your release barreling towards you but he pulled back, getting to his feet again.

“I want to feel you cum on my cock,” he whispered in his deep, gruff voice, tugging at your earlobe. “I need to feel you fucking squeezing the life out of me.”

He spun you around, your hands resting on the tiles, your ass facing him. His hands ran along your spin, teasingly until they reached your ass, giving it a light smack. “You’re so fucking sexy.”

He pressed down on the middle of your back, making you arch a little. His hips ground against you, his hard cock sliding between your folds, making him hiss. You were so wet, so ready for him. Grabbing the base of his cock, he positioned himself at your entrance, his free hand holding your hip, making you stay in place. Then, without warning, he thrust into you with one hard thrust to the hilt. You moaned loudly, Subong groaning as your walls enveloped him. God, this was exactly what he needed right now.

No time was wasted as he pulled back, leaving the tip in before thrusting back into you. His hands were gripping your hips, his fingers digging into your skin hard enough to leave bruises as he set a hard, fast pace. “You feel so good.”

You could feel every drag of his cock as he pistoned into you, your hands almost slipping down the wet tiles but he grabbed them, his hands holding yours against the wall as he kept thrusting into you. His chest pressed against your back, his breath heavy against your ear. His grunts and panting were sending you closer and closer to another mind blowing orgasm.

“I’m… I’m gonna cum,” you managed to say between moans but he didn’t let up. In fact, it only spurred him on, angling his hips to hit that special spot inside you. Within seconds, your second orgasm crashed over you. Immediately, Subong wrapped an arm around your stomach to hold you up, never relenting in his movements. He fucked you through your orgasm, his name falling from your lips loudly in what could only be described as Subong’s favourite sound.

With your head foggy from yet another release, you didn’t realise that he’d pulled out, moving you around so you were pressed up against the steamed up glass of the shower. He grabbed your thighs, wrapping your legs around him and slammed back into you. His lips found yours again, swallowing the high pitched moan you let out as his tongue danced with yours. He slowed his hips down only for a brief moment just to speed right back up.

“Come on,” he panted against your lips. “I know you’ve got another one in you.”

His fingers found your clit, circling it in time with his frenzied thrusts. The overstimulation was driving you insane, your body squirming. Subong watched, transfixed, as your breasts bounced with every brutal thrust. His movements were becoming erratic but he was determined to make you cum again before he even thought about his own release. 

“Please, please,” you begged, the overstimulation almost bringing tears to your eyes. His thumb swiped over one of your sensitive nipples before moving up along your body to wrap around your neck. He squeezed slightly, only a little bit of pressure to try and throw you over the edge. He’d found out weeks ago that you loved the feeling of his hand around your throat and was using that to his advantage.

“Cum for me, senorita. Now.” He demanded with a harsh pant. He pressed down hard on your clit and that was all you could take. You screamed his name, your hips bucking wildly against his as your third orgasm washed over you. The feeling of your walls tightening around him was too much for him and with one more hard thrust, he stilled inside you, hips flush against yours as he came.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his eyes squeezing shut as he filled you up. His hips thrust shallowly, making sure that his release stayed inside you, his body relaxing.

All that could be heard was his harsh pants and the sound of the water falling. Coming out of his dazed state, he reached a hand out to turn the water off. And, then, very reluctantly pulled out of you with a hiss. Grabbing a cloth, he cleaned you up then picked you up bridal style, carrying you to his bedroom. He made sure to grab a towel, wrapping it around you once you were in the comfort of his room.

Laying in the bed in silence, Subong took a hit of his vape, one of his arms resting behind his head as he passed it to you. Happily, you took it, tasting the blueberry flavour he so often favoured.

“...what happened?” You finally asked, handing the vape back to him.

“They didn’t fucking pay me. Said not enough people showed up for them to be able to. Fuckin’ bullshit if you ask me. They keep doing this shit. You’ve seen the crowds I get. They’re ripping me off,” he ranted.

“They don’t deserve you,” you said softly, turning on your side to look at him, propping your head up with your hand.

“Nah, they probably realised I’m a piece of shit like everyone else does.”

“You’re not a piece of shit.”

He gave a hollow, self deprecating laugh. “Yeah, I am. Don’t kid yourself.”

“Do you really think I’d be in love with a piece of shit?” The words tumbled out of your mouth before you could stop them, your eyes widening in realisation.

He looked at you with equally wide eyes then shook his head. “You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Well, I do so for once in your life just accept that someone does actually love and care for you. I don’t even care if you don’t feel the same but I’m sick and tired of you acting like you don’t deserve it,” you sat up now, slightly frustrated at him that he was trying to deny your feelings.

He sat up too, narrowing his eyes at you. The vape had now been forgotten, resting on his bedside table. “Who the fuck said I don’t feel the same? Why the fuck do you think I cook you breakfast and get on your nerves all the time?”

“You make me breakfast because you got laid and you get on my nerves because… that’s who you are,” you raised a brow at the puzzled look on his face.

“...you really think I make you breakfast just because we fucked? I ain’t never cooked for anyone other than you. And, I get on your nerves because it’s hot when you’re mad at me. Of course I love you, dumbass. I’m not crazy. I just don’t know how to do this… so, that’s my way of showing it.”

“It’s a stupid way,” you huffed but curled into his side, Subong wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

He laughed. “Yeah, but you wouldn’t have me any other way.”

“I suppose not… but I would really like if you did start cleaning up after yourself more.”

“Didn’t I just do that in the shower?” He smirked at you, his fingers running over one of the hickeys he’d left on your neck.

All you did was roll your eyes but the smile on your face gave you away. He might not be the best guy in the world, he might not have the best ways of showing his feelings but you really wouldn’t have him any other way.

taglist (ask to be added!): @ldydeath @infinetlyforgotten @berfgrimm @loveesiren @justsisse @sherrayyyyy @aizshallnotbefound @fleabagspurplewife @bettelaboure @breakmeoff @babyrvis @flymetothexmoon @ttturnitup @szonyix6277 @riddlerloveb0t @youlikeex @septywitch @melanatedhorrorqueen @l5byrinth @tabibabib @thanosspills @moontabi @pinkpunkdynamite @zaaraaax0 @pepsicolapussi @charlenethecattt @smokingblossoms

[number4syndrome]

The Price of Gold | ln4

⛓️‍💥summary: fame gave him everything. but it cost him the one thing that truly mattered.

⛓️‍💥pairing: WDC winner!Lando Norrisxfem!reader

⛓️‍💥words count: 1k+

⛓️‍💥warnings: angst, shouting, jealousy, crying, swearing.

⛓️‍💥author’s note: hey there! so yeah i tried something different. in this scenario Lando just woned WDC (let’s manifest it) and yeah he’s kinda toxic but i really tried to show he’s not a villain. i hope you like it, and don’t worry i’m coming with more spicier stuff later! ;) kisses!! 💕

I still remember the day he won.

It was magical. He was the happiest I had ever seen him.

He’d worked his whole life for that moment.

I still remember the smell of champagne, the confetti in my hair.

I remember how he kissed me — tears running down his face — whispering “thank you, thank you,” like I had done it for him.

I was so proud of him. He deserved it more than anyone.

We celebrated for almost two weeks straight.

But we didn’t care.

This was something worth celebrating.

We were on cloud nine.

We were the happiest people on Earth.

We were in love.

We thought nothing could stop us.

How naive we were.

It was loud.

The party was loud.

Everyone was cheering for Lando.

It had been three weeks since he won the World Drivers’ Championship.

I smiled at him as he danced with his friends, a drink in my hand, something bubbly I didn’t even remember ordering.

He looked good.

The title looked good on him.

Too good, maybe.

And I wasn’t the only one who noticed.

I used to smile at fans. Take their gifts, hand them to him, pose for their pictures.

But lately… it wasn’t the fans that made me uneasy.

It was the models. The actresses. The celebrities.

The ones who looked at him not like a driver, but like a prize.

And the worst part? Lando liked it. A little too much.

I tried to talk to him about it. About how I felt.

But he always brushed me off with some cocky, half-laugh.

“Come on, can’t a guy enjoy a little attention these days?”

And I was happy for him. God, I was.

But sometimes it felt like he was chasing their attention now, and forgetting mine.

Tonight was no different.

I watched as a tall, model-looking girl approached him.

I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I didn’t need to.

Her hand was on his chest. Her lips near his ear.

And when she bit her lip, I knew she wasn’t asking where the bathroom was.

My chest tightened.

I hated this.

I trusted him. I did.

But it was hard to ignore his hand resting gently on her hip.

Fuck that.

I stood up and walked over, fury in my eyes.

When he saw me, there was a flicker of guilt in his.

“Sorry,” I said with a venomous smile. “Can I steal him?”

I looked at the girl.

She gave me a once-over with a smirk.

“Um, no,” she giggled. “We’re having a conversation.”

Her hand slid lower.

“Yeah, honey, I don’t fucking care. Leave my man alone.”

I grabbed Lando’s wrist and dragged him out of the club.

“What the fuck was that?” he snapped, turning me around once we were outside.

“That?” I shouted. “What the fuck were you doing? Flirting with that model, putting your hands on her like you’re single?”

I gestured wildly. “Lando, let me remind you — you have a girlfriend. ME.”

“I know!” he shouted back. “But fuck, you’ve been like this ever since I won. You can’t just be happy for me. You’re always yelling, always accusing me of something. So what if I talk to other people? It’s not like I cheated on you.”

Tears welled in my eyes.

“I can’t be happy for you? Are you fucking serious right now?”

“I cried when you won! I’ve celebrated you for three weeks straight!”

I grabbed his hands.

“Lando, those people don’t love you. They love your title. They see the fame, not you.”

He looked away. And then he said it.

“Yeah, well… nobody really loved me before I was WDC. Everyone only wanted me after I won.”

I stepped back.

Shocked.

I saw it — the instant regret in his eyes.

“Are you fucking serious?” I gasped. “I — I loved you through everything.”

“From your first F1 win, I was there. When you were struggling with McLaren, I was there. When you were breaking down over Oscar, I held your hand.”

“I brushed your hair. Took your phone away when the hate got too loud.”

“I loved you since forever.”

A single tear slid down my cheek.

“And now you act like I mean nothing.”

My voice softened, shaky.

“I know it’s a lot right now — the press, the fans, the attention.

But I’m scared you’re starting to lose yourself.”

He said nothing.

Just stared past me.

Then finally, he shrugged.

“Alright. I’m sorry. Can we go back in now?”

I laughed. Breathless.

He still didn’t get it.

“No. Actually… no.”

I crossed my arms. He looked at me, really looked now. Worried.

“I think I’ve had enough. I can’t do this anymore.”

“What? Like… the party?” he asked, confused.

“No.”

“This.” I pointed between us. “I think we should break up.”

His eyes went wide.

But only for a moment.

Then came the smug smile.

“Then go. You’re free to leave.”

He pointed to the street.

I bit my lip, nodded.

“Alright. Have fun, Lando.”

“I will,” he replied, grinning.

He thought I wouldn’t go.

But this wasn’t the man I fell in love with.

This was someone fame had poisoned.

So I walked.

Tears streamed down my face, legs weak, heart aching.

I wanted to turn around. I wanted to run back into his arms.

Let him break me again if it meant he’d hold me just once more.

But I couldn’t.

If I stayed, this would eat me alive.

And then — I heard footsteps.

Fast.

“No—no, no, please. Stop.”

He grabbed me from behind, arms around my waist, pulling me close.

“I’m sorry. Please,” he mumbled, kissing my neck.

“I’m such an idiot. I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry. Fuck, baby—please don’t leave me.”

His voice broke.

I felt the tears on my skin.

“I can’t do this without you. I need you. I don’t know who I am without you.”

He buried his face into my neck.

I almost gave in.

Almost turned around, wiped his tears, kissed them away.

But I couldn’t.

He would burn me alive if I stayed.

“You should’ve thought about that before you destroyed us with your ego,” I whispered, just loud enough for him to hear.

I gently unfolded his arms from my waist and walked away.

He didn’t follow.

He knew when I was serious.

And this time… I was.

So he stood there.

Frozen.

Watching me disappear into the dark.

He may have won everything.

But he lost me.

[besidesjustmyamour]

"if you want something done right, do it yourself."

in which you're pregnant and tired and ask them to do something then do it yourself.

tw: pregnancy, talk of losing the baby

inspired by this post

with g.satoru, n.kento, choso, f.toji, g.suguru, r.sukuna

satoru gojo was soooo glad that you were pregnant. it just came with so many bonuses. it was like after wife-ing you up, he had just unlocked the newest and greatest upgrade.

which was just as well. some new features included: staying in bed late and waking up whining for cuddles, wearing his shirts around the house with barely anything on underneath, and so much more.

but the best part was being able to flaunt it to others.

"did ya hear?" "yes, gojo." "my wife's pregnant." "we know. you told us three minutes ago." "okay... you could be a little happier for me." "honestly? i'm done being happy for you every time you tell me that your goddamn wife is pregnant. i'll be happy for her instead."

satoru gojo didn't expect the conversation to go like that. but either way, he was excited to be a father. more than that, though, he was excited for you to get into the tired phase.

dubbed the worst phase by all mothers. he had researched it online.

"'fellow hubbies, be warned.'" "satoru, put the computer down." "'once in the third trimester, your wife will be unable to do anything herself. you will have to help her into the shower, help her onto the toilet, and even help her get dressed.'" "so help me i will strangle you---" "i just want to be prepared. although you don't sound very tired." "that's because i'm always tired around you. you exhaust me." "i enchant you." "enchant yourself. preferably to sleep. it's three in the morning."

satoru gojo was still waiting for that, even a week before the baby was born. but you never asked for help. never asked anything more than what was needed.

he just wanted to baby you. to coddle you. to wrap you up in a blanket and never let you go. all you had to do was let him.

and the day you finally relented?

"saaaaaaaaaatoooooooooruuuuuuuuuu." "yes, my beautiful wifey?" "help me move the couch." "hey, sit down! the doctor said you shouldn't be moving around as much anymore." "the doctor said i should also remove all stress inducing stimuli from the nearby environments. but you're still here, aren't you?" "ouch. that hurts." "help me move the goddamn couch." "okay, okay, fine."

satoru gojo felt proud when you stepped back. less proud of the glare you shot him when he kicked it and it flew to the side by a few feet. he had grinned at you and you had slumped into the cushions, satisfied with the new angle facing the television.

but one night, he was out late running errands and was catching up with a friend. your texts buzzed at his phone, sudden and sharp.

"sorry, give me a sec. my pregnant wife's calling me."

when he heard that you were trying to move the couch again, by yourself? he dropped the conversation with his old friend and nearly crashed into a car on the drive home.

when he opened the door, panting and his jacket slipping down his shoulders, he caught you. your eyes locked with his.

"this... isn't what it looks like." "did you seriously move the couch across the entire living room?" "i wanted a new angle to watch she-ra and the princesses of power! i've watched that show the same way, like, at least three times." "how about you just watch a new show instead of straining yourself?" "are you... mad?" "you could've seriously hurt yourself, baby. or the baby, actually." "satoru---" "promise me you'll never do something like that again. without my help." "babe---" "promise." "... i promise." "good. now sit back down. i want my cuddles."

kento nanami truly was excited. not that he ever showed it. excited for the new beginnings. to live in your new house, with you in it. to shower you with all his love and adoration, now that you were getting closer and closer to your due date.

he had even taken time off of work. his colleagues couldn't believe it.

and frankly, neither could he.

"you're... staying home. like, seriously." "yes." "for real? you won't come back halfway through the week and ask for any jobs?" "no." "wow, nanami. you're a changed man. what happened?" "it was either take care of my wife or come here. the choice is apparent."

kento nanami didn't mean to make him cry. his intentions were pure. well, aside from wanting to flaunt that he had a loving wife waiting for him at home while the rest of the workforce went home to empty houses.

but that didn't matter. all that did was getting prepared for the baby.

"article one says it should happen around the sixth to eighth week. but article two is more specific on which day." "ken, you're overthinking this. i'll be tired when... when i get tired!" "but what if something's wrong? we should head back to the doctor and---" "ken. listen to me. it's going to be fine. now shut up and let me get some sleep."

kento nanami didn't want to do that. all he really wanted to do was take care of you and shower you in all the adoration he had missed out on during his time at work.

the day you asked for his help was honestly majestic.

"ken kenny kensington kennedy---" "what is it, dear?" "good! help me move these boxes to our room." "the... the boxes?" "these have been here since we moved in! i figured it was about time i started unpacking all my stuff." "okay, okay, whatever you'd like. just... please, put the box down. tell me which one you want upstairs first."

kento nanami carried half of the boxes upstairs that night. you were pouting that he wouldn't let you lift a single finger, but it was some kind of pride and warmth blooming in his chest that warred against the nature of your rebellion.

he hadn't thought you would try it yourself.

it was supposed to be a simple run for groceries. kento nanami checked off a mental list of all your favorite foods, trying to rearrange them in his mind when you called.

"ken," you grunted, voice crackling through the phone. "help."

his heart dropped. "what? my love? what's wrong? is something happening? is the baby coming?"

"nooo..." your voice was breathy and shallow. "i just... wanted a dress... to look nice for you..."

"darling, what exactly are you doing right now?" the cashier gave him a confused look as he dropped a fifty-dollar bill onto the counter and nearly ran all the way to his car.

no, not nearly. kento nanami damn near turned into the flash.

and when he got inside? to see you heaving a box across the living room, struggling to get a foot on the stairs? he grabbed the box from you immediately and steered you back onto the sofa.

"ken, please don't be mad---" "mad? i'm beyond mad. i'm... disappointed." "w-what?" "i thought you knew that you could rely on me for... anything at all." "i can! you know i do! but..." "but?" "i just.. don't feel pretty anymore. all my dresses are down here, and you do all the work and i just... i'm not enough for you." "who told you that?" "nobody... i was just reading through the comments of that article you sent me---" "and did you read the title? it said '10 things expectant mothers look absolutely ravnishing in'. and i asked you what you wanted." "it did not say that." "something along those lines. you'll always be more than enough for me, darling. i promise. but you need to promise me that you will never, ever do something like this again." "okay, ken. i promise. i love you." "I love you too."

choso promised he would be better. better than the father he never knew. the one that made him like this. and he promised that you would never go through the pain he felt his mother suffer through during her pregnancy.

"this is the third time you've bailed on us, man." "i know, i know. but she needs me." "i think it might be the other way around." "if you want, you can come over and we can play at my place?" "so i can watch you leave the game every three seconds to coddle your wife? i'd rather exorcise myself, thanks."

he didn't mean to be so overbearing. choso just wanted the pregnancy to be absolutely perfect with no bumps along the road. unflawed, just like you were for him.

but something was wrong. you were never quite... tired. always bursting with energy, pattering around the house, refusing to stay still. he was worried for the longest time.

"this is so stupid, cho." "something must be wrong. the doctor said you should be experiencing something called... pregnancy fatigue?" "that's normal fatigue, and she also said everybody has different symptoms." "but you should be tired. you should let me take care of you while you do nothing." "i hate doing nothing." "i love taking care of you." "one of those things is stronger than the other."

choso didn't say it, but when he pulled into the doctor's office, he knew his love for you would always be stronger than any complaining you ever did. especially when you knew he was right.

so, just to please him, you decide to play along.

"choooooosooooooooo!" "yes, my love?" "i can't reach the cereal on the top shelf." "you... you want me to get it for you?" "yes please."

instead of getting the cereal like you asked, choso grinned, swept you up into his arms and spun you around the kitchen, planting you on the kitchen island and smothering your face with kisses.

he was truly happy. in a way that he couldn't quite describe. it was something about feeling needed by you even when you insisted that you could do everything yourself.

so imagine his horror when choso comes home to you scaling the fucking cabinets like some kind of deranged spider-monkey, one arm half extended out to the new box of cereal at the top.

"my... my love? what... what are you doing?" "uhm... i ate all the cereal." "why... why are you up there?" "i thought i shouldn't bother you and decid--- choso, are you crying?"

choso wanted to say no. but instead he collapsed to his knees and started to sob like a child on the hardwood floors. he wanted to protest and turn away from you.

but your hand on his cheek stilled him and the look in your eyes softened at the tears running down his face.

"y-you could've hurt yourself!" "but i'm fine, see? i got down just fine. i'm fine, cho. look at me." "i... don't want you putting yourself in danger." "okay." "okay?" "yes. okay. just... please never cry like that again." "i just... i can't even think about what i'd do without you. or the baby." "we're not going anywhere, m'kay? we'll always be here. i love you." "i love you too. but seriously, don't do that again. i almost just died."

toji fushiguro wanted to do it right this time. after all, he didn't put a baby in you for no reason. he wanted to cherish you, to hold you tight, even when the nights were long and he knew the bed was cold.

"you sure? don't think i'll have the job waiting for you in three hours." "yeah. gotta take care of my girl." "damn. never seen you whipped like this." "what can i say? she's got me doing cartwheels around her."

and it was true. you really did have toji fushiguro doing the most absurd things for you. running out to the grocery store to buy pickles and peanut butter? done. listening to you complain about how the soap opera female lead was an absolute idiot? his ears were yours.

but it was more about how you depended on him. how you needed him. how megumi and you got along in a way that made him feel like he was actually meant to be a father, for once.

so of course, toji fushiguro indulged in everything you asked.

"toooooooooooo---" "yeah?" "where the fuck did you just spawn in from?" "i've been standing behind this door for the last five minutes." "uhm... what?" "i used the last of the toilet paper." "... and you didn't think to replace it?" "nah. i knew you'd come begging for me. just a chance for me to see my girl---" "okay, that's enough. just get the toilet paper down from the closet before i use your shirt to wipe my ass."

toji fushiguro had laughed and handed you a roll. a few weeks later, there was a mission he couldn't ignore. after making sure the house was stocked until he could come back, he pressed kisses to your face, ruffled megumi's hair, and was off.

but he didn't expect to be faced with this when he got home.

"are you out of your goddamn mind?" "did you hear megumi? he was screeching his head off." "then you ignore it! you don't climb up the wall like a fucking spider and get yourself stuck on top of the refrigerator! how the fuck does that even happen?" "your son has a pretty good throw." "you're dodging the question." "i just wanted to do something for him. with all this fuss about the baby... i think he feels left out."

leave it to you to be thinking about megumi when you're literally microwaving another baby in your stomach. toji fushiguro couldn't chastise you about that.

"as long as you promise never to do that again." "but what if he throws---" "then you slap him across his face and wait for me to get home so i can properly beat his ass." "toji! he's only five!" "that's five years too old to be making his mother do all that." "fine. i'll wait next time." "you better. i love you too much for you to fall and die like that." "i wouldn't die. i'm more flexible than you are, old man." "oh, yeah? how about we test that theory?"

suguru geto was ready. the hospital bag was prepped months before you were even aware of the hospital you were choosing to have your babies at. twins! he couldn't keep his mouth shut.

"take another look." "geto-sama... i've looked at them already." "my pretty little girls..." "you... can't even see anything in this picture." "well, i can recognize my darling girls just fine." "girls? you already know the gender?" "consider it a feeling. i know my girls already."

he was obsessed with them already. and they weren't even born! his duties with the cult kept him away from home enough, so he wasn't about to let the time with you decline as you grew brighter and brighter when you were supposed to be tired.

"ugh, let me go!" "can't i spend some time with my lovely wife?" "you can, but this is too much. you've kept me locked in the bedroom for three hours already!" "and i'll keep you here until my girls are ready to come out." "i wanna go out and see the world! being a mother takes the spark out of so many people!" "it won't for you, pretty. trust me." "you aren't the one carrying our children." "i hope you know that if i could, i would do it in a heartbeat." "you would make a lovely seahorse husband."

you had been joking, but suguru geto wasn't. he truly and seriously would do anything you asked with his whole heart... even if your requests were a little... strange.

"is... this... high... enough..." "yes, sugu! it's perfect! thank you!" "anything... for you... pretty..." "you sound out of breath. let me get you a glass of water." "no... i've... i'm fine."

it was a painting of the two of you, commissioned to a curse that had a particularly keen eye and a swift hand. you were radiant and glowing and his hand was on your stomach, eyes fixed on you.

they had demanded his attention. suguru geto had none to spare.

especially not when he had returned from a meeting late at night, cold and aching for your warmth, only to find that you weren't where he left you in the bedroom.

instead, you were heaving a painting back across the room.

"what were you thinking?" "it was pissing me off. it wasn't at the right angle." "you said it was perfect!" "it was. but then it started pissing me off." "god, why do i do this to myself?" "i didn't like it there! it looks so much better where it is now." "yeah, after you nearly broke your back to move it! you endangered yourself! not to mention our little girls!" "well, i don't appreciate you breathing down my neck like some kind of mother hen! i can still take care of myself!"

your anger filled the silence, strung his lips together. suguru geto watched as your trembling subsided, your fists unclenched and your expression softened.

"i appreciate everything you do for me, i really do. it's just... suffocating." "what do you need me to do?" "just... space. please." "i can do that. i might claw my eyes out, though." "don't do that. and... thank you. for not getting mad." "oh, don't get me wrong, sweet. i'm definitely still mad at you." "but?" "but i love you more than that. so just promise me this. you'll never do something like that again without someone's help, okay? that's all i ask." "okay. i can do that." "i know you can. just like i know you'll be everything my girls could wish for."

ryomen sukuna demanded only the best for his wife. for his queen. for the love of his life. anything less meant that he wasn't worth it. that he didn't deserve you.

and perhaps he didn't.

"are the preparations done?" "they are... coming along, sire." "what are you trying to say?" "the child isn't due for another five months. isn't this all a bit... hasty?"

ryomen sukuna would've killed that guy if you hadn't stepped in. he watched as the decorator trembled as you led him into the newly built nursery and offered your thoughts on a particular color scheme.

he got lectured that night, told it wasn't okay to murder people just because they made a mistake. ryomen sukuna held back the urge to scoff and just nodded at you.

"i am beginning to think something is wrong." "with me? wow. you didn't realize that when you married me?" "with the child. you should be tired at this point." "you're worried because i'm not... tired?" "yes." "i feel fine." "precisely the problem. you will not allow me to carry you around the estate, nor feed you by hand." "because i'm perfectly capable of doing those things on my own."

but if the king of curses couldn't even serve his own wife, what was he meant for? ryomen sukuna pondered that question for a long time as the weeks passed. eventually, you offered an answer.

"sukuna. kuna. ryoooo." "what do you want, wife?" "well, husband, i happen to have misplaced my robe at the top of the cabinet. would you mind fetching it for me?" "... thousands of servants walk the palace grounds and yet you call me for this trivial task." "you said you wanted to be involved more." "i did not." "yeah, when you were whining about me not being tired---" "i do not whine." "i beg to differ. now, be a good boy and fetch that for me, will you?"

and even as he scowled and grumbled under his breath, ryomen sukuna reached up and grabbed it for you. because the truth was that he would do anything for that bright grin on your face.

especially when it was faltering under the same situations, just slightly shifted. and the look of horror and awe on your face was priceless. he would've taken a picture if a strange sensation wasn't spreading across his own chest.

"what do you think you're doing?" "uhm. threw the robe back up here. thought i'd get it down." "are you stupid? do you know the consequences of---" "hey, calm down. what's wrong?" "what's wrong? are you seriously asking me what's wrong? you could've just killed yourself! or just as worse, the child!" "but i'm okay! see?" "we have servants for this exact purpose. just one call to assist you at any means necessary. but of course. i should've expected this from you." "woah, wait. what's that supposed to mean?" "it means that i knew you would try and prove that you can do things yourself even if it means putting yourself and our unborn child at risk." "that wasn't what i---" "no, it might not have been, but it happens to be the very situation you are painting at the moment."

fear. the hand that squeezed his heart was fear. he recognized it and refused to acknowledge it because the king of curses was unafraid of everything. ryomen sukuna had to be.

"swear it." "swear... what?" "that until the child arrives---no, even after the child is here, that you will not lift a single finger until you are able-bodied and completely healed." "sukuna, i---" "no. you must swear it." "... fine. i swear i won't do anything by myself again." "good. and i will hold you to that." "... what is that supposed to mean?" "it means that i will indeed be trailing you around the estate. i will always be watching. do not attempt to defy my orders." "ooh, scary." "what's scary is the thought of losing you and our child."

a/n: idk where i decided that this was going to be angst but whatever it's been in my drafts thought i'd release it. likes and comments always appreciated! love ya!

[demonboysdelight]

Rusty-spotted cat x poly saja boys

can the reader be a rusty-spotted cat and they like to be carried and taken care of by Derpy

She has the habits of her cat species and like to be up at night and is a solitary creature

The rusty- spotted cat are known for being the smallest cat on earth with amazing climbing abilities to escape from predators

Ofc!! Such a cute idea, here you go. (3

PS!! Sorry for the lack of updates, I have some sort of flu that makes me bed sick and I had no energy to write, but I'm slowly starting to be better. :)

Poly! Saja Boys x Rusty-spotted Cat! Reader | Midnight Bonds

The clock struck midnight as you perched silently on the windowsill of the Saja Boys' shared penthouse apartment, your enhanced amber eyes easily cutting through the darkness that would blind most humans. Your compact frame—barely reaching most people's shoulders even when standing—made it effortless to balance on the narrow ledge, your incredible climbing abilities allowing you access to places others could never reach. As the world's smallest wild cat species in hybrid form, you possessed all the traits that made rusty-spotted cats legendary: nocturnal instincts, solitary nature, and an almost supernatural ability to scale any surface when danger threatened.

The soft patter of your bare feet against the cool marble floor barely registered as you slipped through the window Jinu had left open for you—a nightly ritual you'd both established months ago. Your rusty-brown spotted fur pattern, visible along your arms and legs in your hybrid form, seemed to shimmer in the moonlight filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The white markings around your large eyes helped you navigate the darkness with ease, though your boyfriends had long since learned to accommodate your nocturnal schedule.

"You're early tonight, little wildcat," came Jinu's familiar voice from the shadows. Even after all this time together, his charismatic presence still made your heart skip. The demon leader of the Saja Boys stepped into the moonlight, his straight black hair slightly mussed from what had probably been another late-night strategy session. His dark brown eyes held that familiar warmth reserved only for you and the other boys—so different from the calculated coldness he showed the outside world.

You approached him with the characteristic cautious grace of your species, still maintaining that instinctive wariness even around those you loved most. "The city's too loud tonight," you murmured, your voice carrying that soft, almost whispered quality that came naturally to you. "I needed somewhere quiet."

Jinu's expression softened immediately. Despite his duplicitous nature with others, he had never once lied to you about his feelings. His arms opened in invitation, and you found yourself gravitating toward him like you always did. When he pulled you against his chest, you couldn't help the soft purr that rumbled from your throat—a sound that never failed to make him smile.

"The others are in the living room," he said, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. "Mystery's been worrying about you since you disappeared after dinner."

Your ears twitched at the mention of Mystery, the enigmatic lavender-haired vocalist whose reserved nature matched your own solitary instincts perfectly. Unlike the others who sometimes overwhelmed you with attention, Mystery understood your need for space, your preference for quiet moments and gentle touches. His hidden eyes behind those perpetual bangs had seen you at your most vulnerable, and somehow that made you feel safer rather than exposed.

The living room was dimly lit when you and Jinu entered, exactly how you preferred it. Your enhanced night vision immediately picked out each of your boyfriends scattered across the expansive space. Baby was curled up in an oversized armchair, his fluffy turquoise hair catching the soft glow from the television screen. Despite being the group's main rapper with the deepest voice, he looked impossibly young in the low light, and your protective instincts flared even though you were technically the youngest in the relationship.

"There's our night owl," Romance called softly from the couch, his heart-shaped pink hair making him easily identifiable even in the darkness. His naturally flirtatious nature had been toned down to gentle affection when it came to you—he'd learned early on that your skittish nature didn't respond well to overwhelming displays of attention.

Mystery looked up from where he'd been reading in comfortable silence, and even though you couldn't see his eyes, you felt the weight of his concerned gaze. Without a word, he set his book aside and patted the space next to him on the couch. It was an invitation, not a demand—something all of them had learned was crucial when dealing with your independent nature.

You hesitated for only a moment before padding over to him, your feet making virtually no sound against the floor. The gracefulness of your movements never ceased to amaze them, like watching a wild creature navigate its natural habitat. When you settled beside Mystery, he immediately draped a soft blanket around your shoulders, understanding without words that you sought comfort rather than conversation.

"Rough night?" Abby's voice came from across the room, where the group's main dancer was doing stretches by the window. Even in casual clothes, his muscular frame was evident, but there was nothing predatory in his posture—just genuine concern for your well being. Unlike his vain stage persona, Abby had always been surprisingly perceptive when it came to the subtle signs of your discomfort.

You nodded, unconsciously pressing closer to Mystery's warmth. "Too many people today. Too much noise," you whispered, your voice barely audible even to their enhanced demon hearing. "I needed to climb somewhere high, but everything in the city is glass and steel."

It was Baby who spoke up from his chair, his usually playful demeanor replaced by something gentler. "The rooftop garden," he suggested quietly. "Jinu had those climbing walls installed last month."

Your ears perked up immediately, and you looked to Jinu with hopeful eyes. He'd mentioned the addition to their penthouse but hadn't shown you yet, claiming he wanted it to be perfect first. The thought of having a safe place to climb—to exercise the instincts that made you feel most like yourself—sent a warm flutter through your chest.

"Show me?" you asked, the first genuine smile of the evening crossing your face.

The transformation in your boyfriends was immediate. Jinu's manipulative mask completely dropped, replaced by something soft and devoted. Mystery's hidden smile was evident in the way his shoulders relaxed. Romance sat up straighter, his flirtatious energy shifting into something more nurturing. Baby abandoned his chair to join the group, and Abby finished his stretches with renewed purpose.

"Come on then, little wildcat," Jinu murmured, offering you his hand. "Let's go climbing."

The rooftop garden was breathtaking in the moonlight. Jinu had clearly spared no expense, creating an environment that catered specifically to your hybrid nature. Natural stone climbing walls wound between carefully cultivated plants that would thrive in Seoul's climate, and the entire space was designed to mimic the rocky outcroppings and dense vegetation of your species' natural habitat.

But what made your heart truly soar was the sight of Derpy lounging contentedly near a small water feature, his blue-furred form unmistakable even in the darkness. The demon tiger's perpetual grin widened when he spotted you, and he immediately began that endearing obsessive behavior of trying to straighten a small potted plant that had been knocked slightly askew.

"Derpy!" you called softly, and the gentle giant's head snapped up immediately. Despite his intimidating size and demonic nature, Derpy had always been incredibly gentle with you. His cat-like behavior resonated with your own feline instincts, and there was something deeply comforting about his simple, loyal nature.

You approached him slowly, respecting the territorial instincts that all cats—demon or otherwise—possessed. When you were close enough, you extended your hand for him to sniff, a greeting ritual that felt natural to both of you. His massive head butted gently against your palm, and that familiar creaking bamboo sound accompanied his movements as he settled beside you.

"He's been waiting for you," Jinu said softly, settling cross-legged on the ground beside you both. "Every night since you started coming by, he positions himself right here."

The revelation made your heart clench with emotion. In your human life before meeting the Saja Boys, your solitary nature had often been mistaken for antisocial behavior. People didn't understand that you weren't unfriendly—you simply processed the world differently, needed space to recharge, functioned best in the quiet hours when the rest of the world slept.

But these five demons and their faithful companion understood you in ways no human ever had. They'd adapted their schedules to match your nocturnal preferences, created spaces where you could indulge your climbing instincts, and never once made you feel like your needs were burdensome or strange.

"Can I climb?" you asked, already eyeing the carefully constructed stone walls with excitement.

"That's what it's here for," Romance said, settling onto a cushioned bench where he could watch. "Show us what our little wildcat can do."

The first touch of natural stone beneath your fingers sent a thrill through your entire body. This was what you'd been missing, what your instincts had been crying out for all day. With fluid grace, you began to ascend the climbing wall, your compact size and incredible agility making the seemingly difficult route look effortless.

Your boyfriends watched in fascination as you moved, understanding now why you'd seemed so restless lately. In the city, surrounded by glass towers and concrete, you'd been unable to properly exercise the instincts that were as much a part of you as breathing. Here, scaling the carefully crafted stone surfaces, you were completely in your element.

"She's incredible," Baby murmured, his usually deep voice filled with awe.

"Our little escape artist," Abby added with affection. "No wonder she can disappear so easily when she wants to."

Mystery said nothing, but his posture radiated contentment as he watched you climb. Of all of them, he understood best the need to retreat, to find solace in solitude when the world became too overwhelming. Your nocturnal nature and his mysterious persona had created a bond built on comfortable silences and gentle understanding.

When you finally descended from the highest point of the climbing wall, your movements were liquid smooth, demonstrating the arboreal skills that your species used both for hunting and escaping predators. You landed silently beside Derpy, who immediately began purring—a sound that rumbled through his massive chest like distant thunder.

"Better?" Jinu asked, though the answer was written clearly in your relaxed posture and bright eyes.

"Much better," you confirmed, settling between Mystery and Derpy with a satisfied sigh. "Thank you. All of you."

Romance moved to sit beside you, his usually flirtatious energy subdued to something warmer and more intimate. "We want you to be happy, sweetheart. All of us do."

It was true, you realized as you looked around at your unusual family. Despite their demonic nature, despite Jinu's complicated past and the others' lost souls, they had created something beautiful together. Your polyamorous relationship worked because each of them brought something different to the table, fulfilled different needs, understood different aspects of your complex hybrid nature.

Jinu provided stability and protection, his charismatic leadership making you feel secure even when your solitary instincts urged you to flee. Mystery offered understanding and quiet companionship, never pushing for more than you were comfortable giving. Romance brought gentle affection and emotional warmth, his flirtatious nature tempered into something soft and nurturing just for you. Baby's youthful energy balanced your more serious nature, while his competitive spirit encouraged you to embrace your own strengths. Abby's perceptiveness helped him anticipate your needs before you even voiced them, his confidence providing a steady anchor when your anxiety peaked.

And Derpy—sweet, loyal Derpy—offered the kind of unconditional affection that resonated with your feline instincts on the deepest level.

"I love you," you whispered into the quiet night, the words encompassing all of them. "Even when I need space, even when I disappear for hours—I love you all."

The response was immediate and overwhelming. Jinu's arms tightened around you from behind. Mystery's hand found yours beneath the blanket. Romance pressed a gentle kiss to your shoulder. Baby moved to sit at your feet, his head resting against your knee. Abby settled beside Derpy, completing the circle of your chosen family.

"We love you too, little wildcat," Jinu murmured against your hair. "All of you. Your independence, your nocturnal schedule, your climbing obsession, your need for quiet—every part of you."

As the night wore on, your boyfriends took turns sharing the space beside you, respecting your need for individual attention while maintaining the group dynamic that made your relationship work. Baby entertained you with quiet stories about his day, his deep voice a soothing rumble in the darkness. Romance serenaded you softly, his beautiful voice carrying across the rooftop garden like a lullaby. Abby demonstrated some of his quieter dance moves, the flowing motions almost meditative in the moonlight. Mystery simply held you, his presence a comforting anchor in the peaceful night.

And through it all, Derpy remained a steady, purring presence beside you, occasionally grooming your hair with gentle swipes of his massive tongue—a gesture that should have felt strange but instead felt like coming home.

As dawn approached, you felt your natural energy beginning to wane. Your species was primarily nocturnal, most active during the dark hours when the rest of the world slept. The approaching sunrise triggered your body's natural inclination to rest, to find a safe, quiet place to sleep away the daylight hours.

"Getting sleepy, sweetheart?" Romance asked softly, noticing the way your eyes were beginning to droop.

You nodded, unconsciously pressing closer to Mystery's warmth. "The sun's coming up soon."

"Inside then," Jinu decided, his protective instincts kicking in. "We'll darken the bedroom, make it comfortable for you."

The migration back inside was conducted with the same quiet efficiency they'd developed over months of accommodating your schedule. Blackout curtains were drawn, the air conditioning was adjusted to the cooler temperature you preferred, and soft music was set to play at barely audible levels—just enough to mask any daytime city sounds that might disturb your rest.

In the massive bed they all shared, you found yourself in the center of a protective circle. Your polyamorous relationship had its own rhythm and rules, developed through trial and error as you all learned to navigate the complexities of loving multiple people while honoring each individual's needs.

Mystery settled on your left, his quiet presence immediately soothing your settling instincts. Romance curled up on your right, his natural warmth perfect for your cat-like need for comfortable sleeping conditions. Jinu positioned himself as the outer guard, his protective nature ensuring you felt safe even in your most vulnerable state. Baby claimed the spot at your feet, his smaller frame fitting perfectly in the remaining space. Abby arranged himself near the edge of the bed, always alert to any sounds that might disturb your rest.

And just outside the bedroom door, Derpy had already settled into his favorite guarding position, his loyal nature ensuring that no disturbance would reach you during your daylight rest.

"Sweet dreams, little wildcat," Jinu whispered as your breathing began to even out.

"Sleep well, sweetheart," Romance added, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

Mystery said nothing, but his hand found yours beneath the soft blankets, his thumb tracing soothing patterns against your palm.

Baby's soft humming provided a gentle soundtrack as you drifted off to sleep, while Abby's steady breathing created a rhythm that your own lungs naturally synced with.

In the space between waking and sleeping, you marveled at how perfectly your life had aligned. Your solitary nature hadn't been eliminated by love—instead, it had been understood and accommodated. Your nocturnal schedule wasn't seen as an inconvenience but as simply another part of who you were. Your need to climb, to escape, to find quiet spaces wasn't viewed as antisocial behavior but as necessary self-care.

The Saja Boys had created a space where you could be completely yourself—hybrid instincts and human emotions, wild nature and domestic affection, solitary creature and beloved partner. In their arms, surrounded by their love and Derpy's protective presence, you had found something you'd never thought possible: a home that honored every aspect of who you were.

As sleep finally claimed you, the last thing you felt was the gentle rumble of Derpy's purr echoing through the walls, a sound that spoke of contentment, safety, and unconditional love. Tomorrow night would bring new adventures, new opportunities to climb and explore and be wild. But for now, in the quiet darkness of the early morning hours, you were exactly where you belonged—surrounded by the demons who had become your chosen family, loved for every fierce, independent, beautifully feline part of your soul.

The rusty-spotted cat had found her pride, and they had found their perfect missing piece.

[mona-risms]

(P.S SORRY IF ITS LONG, EVEN I DIDNT EXPECT IT) the polytrix x bodyguard reader WAS SO GOOD. You and anon were cooking fr. But i wanted to add a little smth thats been at the back of my head for a while^^

bodyguard!reader who finally gets a day off, (either while the girls are on hiatus or not) and polytr/x and reader have different plans so they would'nt be able to be all googly eyes with them...

Now the girls originally planned to just maybe have a food trip them shop for some stuff... until they saw a familiar figure, they saw reader in a restaurant! And with another girl!

ofc having feelings for a person, the first instinc is to be jealous, but zoey, having the smarter part of their shared braincell says:

Zoey: Guys what if its just a friend...

mira: yea, a friend that takes OUR bodyguard on a date!😡

Rumi: not to mention how she makes yn laugh like that. It surely cannot be THAT funny.

they forget their initial plans for the day when they saw reader and their friend get up from the table, and followed them around for their assumed date. They follow them as they walk in a clothing store, makeup store and even buying a plushie on the way.

needless to say the girls have had enough bcs their hearts could't take it that you're taking another girl on a date🥺. But when they get back home, with the reader following right after, they were surprised to see the stuff reader bought was actually for them! A new turtle plush for zoey, matching coats with mira, and some makeup rumi's been talking about lately! Oh how their hearts melted at that moment...

FIRST OF ALL THANK YOU 🤗🤗🤗🤗 hehehe I'm glad you thought so. Second of all okay so I know I did say I was gonna delete anything that came through after closing my requests inbox to catch up but this was just so cute to not acknowledge ☹️ I can break my own rules a little every once in a while okay Anywayy

THEY FEEL SO FUCKING BAD FOR GETTING JEALOUS LMAO. You don't even know why but the three of them like simultaneously start to burst into tears after a moment of silence, and you're left to basically flounder bc WHY are they crying??? Did you do something wrong? Are you getting fired? What's going on?????? You may or may not have been trained to handle emotional distress too but this one, you have NO clue why they've just suddenly started crying together. But they all dogpile you into a hug, and it just gets even more confusing

They Swear to you that you haven't done anything wrong, they're just so very touched about the gesture that they felt so overwhelmed!! Bc it's coming from you!!!! But then they start crying again when Zoey overthinks and asks if this is your LEAVING GIFT and you gotta reassure all three of them that No you are Not Leaving what are they even on about 😭

They get kinda even more embarrassed, not just for the jealousy (esp since they have Not even asked you out like at all yet so technically they don't have much of a right to be jealous HAHAHA) but bc of their emotional outburst. But atp working w them means that you're more than used to every single facet of them, including the way they seem to share emotions like a single braincell passed along the three of them

Needless to say though that they cherish your gifts forever :3c Zoey sleeps while cuddling your turtle plush every night, Mira now has a main coat she uses whenever possible (and she WILL find a way to fashion it into most of her fits), and Rumi actually never uses your gifted makeup unless it's for special occasions BUT she DOES carry the lipstick/tint/gloss you've bought her everywhere like an essential item on her person

[mangooes]

He didn’t know when it all started, he kept seeing visions of (Name). Every dreams, nightmares, it always ends with the same vision, whispers of death, cries of her in his arms, and…a tear rolling down his face evaporating, non human. His scream of agony.. ‘just what is wrong with me?’ He thinks.

The deliverer question this day by day, those visions, those endings disturbing him, taunting him. His deepest fear.

Come to think about it, he has known (name) for his whole life. Both from the same hometown, it used to be a trio. With a little girl named Cyrene. (Name) used to be his neighbor next door, for as long as he knew, (Name) was adopted by an old granny, with this no one knew of her origin. Yet the past was never important isn’t it?

The first time he met her was when he caught her crashing into him, the girl with a carefree laugh came tumbling into the grassland with him pinned down under.

There marks a friendship, a sign of companion.

Back then they would gather together and play with each other, just like innocent children. Catching fairies, eating skewers, hide and seek. Opening cards, that is told to tell the future. From the ‘deliverer card’ to the ‘sacrificial card’ it was some tales that kids used to believe, after all Aedes Elysiae is peaceful as ever. May this world have no need for a deliverer nor a sacrificial.

That is until the black tides took everything from him, except for (Name). Even she was the one who rescued him, refusing to let him die of exhaustion after defending against those monsters. Despite being such a small girl, she has always gained his respect for being so mature. But alas, human emotions are unpredictable, as days gone by after figuring out that he is apart of the prophecy, he began his journey as a chrysos heir. Leaving the girl from his childhood behind, too afraid to entangle such an innocent soul to this corrupt world.

So the deliverer began to ignore her, he set out on his journey to okhema alone, without saying anything, no goodbyes, no arguments, he just.. leave. He didn’t know what he was thinking at the time.

‘I’m so sorry (Name) this way, you can stay away from me.’

As the year gone by, they met again when both are adults. The girl welcomed him with warmth smile, ready to hear an explanation on his past deeds and yet, she was faced with such cruelty. As if their childhood burden, the scene they witnessed was just a mere passing memory with no significant. Their partings, their goodbyes. Their broken bond.

Yet, the soft tug of his heart, the soft plea of wanting to embrace that warmth again. The childhood self peeking behind his heart, crying. Phainon had to keep up his usual self in front of everyone, he has expectations, a reputation as the warrior turned hero!

Most days he is full of regrets, on how he should have faced this problem with a different solution, it was too late even.

‘Will she forgive me? Will she accept me again if i come running back to her arms?’ His inner turmoil debates.

At last before he can even give his answer, it was already too late.

That day, they were out on an expedition to look for remaining survivors. Phainon was the chrysos heir sent to lead. (Name) was the medic. She may not be apart of the prophecy but she also has her strength, this is what phainon admires about her alot.

The rain falls as the monsters kept closing in, due to the large amount of victims, he had to ask lady tribbie to bring a backup plan. Their priority is the citizens after all. Hours after hours he fought tirelessly, every now and then his vision came looking for his childhood best friend and crush. Checking in on her, his guards up to protect her, if anything happens he blames himself for being so weak.

Even chrysos heirs are still human, just when the spear of a monster about to pierce him, a girl pushed him away, the sound of flesh being torn and a blade plugged into her.

His blue eyes widden in horror, ‘ah i’ve seen this before’ he thinks. He panics, and in pure rage defeated the remaining ones in seconds, as he ran toward the girl now lying on the ground. His emotion stirred, anger, devastation, his blue eyes started to ommit a dangerous golden hue.

Tear drops evaporating into nothing when it reaches a solid ground.

“You cryin?” She teased, her voice weak.

“I- i, why are you so reckless?!? Why take that hit that was meant for me! You couldn’t- no i won’t let you! This is no time for a joke, please save your last energy to stay awake. You have to stay with me. Please.”

“Begging doesn’t suits you well phai.”

“This will be the last time i beg of something from you.. just please.”

He hears her laugh, “This is new, why such a request? I’m affraid I can’t full fill your wish.”

His heart stops, ah so this is what heartbreak feels like is it? This is his karma all along, how foolish was he? He closes his eyes, feeling the warmth and soft hand of hers, wanting to savor every last bit of it.

Then he sees her eyes dropping, his heart drops along with it.

“So long, phainon. Khaslana. I hope in the next cycle, i will never cross path with you.”

His eyes widen, it felt like he was stabbed for million of times. A bittersweet farewell. An ending to a story.

“(Name)? (Name)?” He shakes her violently, he knew she was dead. Yet he refused to accept it. “Please please please no no i’m sorry i’m sorry i’m sorry, you will forgive me right? I’ve been a bad person to you. Please anything?” And yet he was met with silence.

And so he stayed there, cradling his loved one’s fragile body, rainfalls down his eyes as they evaporated into nothing when it reaches her soft plump cheeks.

He takes a hold of her hand, giving it a gentle kiss, like a lover would. As he made a promise, a vow.

“Even if amphoreus never meets a new dawn, i will never let you go, my dearest (Name).”

In the previous cycles, she would always say “I’ll see you in the next cycle, Phainon.” Yet something is different in the 33550334th.

And so began the eternal recurrence of the 33550335th.

~ Spring woven, Act 0 Interlude Prologue

Phainon’s POV

“My dawn, please wait for me.”

Spring woven :

In which a tale of an isekaid fangirl who tries to help the main protagonist (even catching feelings ehm) but fails everytime, so this time she stops intervening and decided to let go, well that is if the said protagonist is willing to even let her go 🏃‍♀️

(Name)’s pov

[ethe-realfantasy]

How Simon “Ghost“ Riley falls in love with his new neighbour (Part IV)

(slow burn, a little angst??? when your controlling ex appears, Simon gets really protective over you and makes you spent the night over at his house…

guys he is just so soft but dominant in this one!!!! (っ ᵔ◡ᵔ)っ I am in love ughhhh)

❁˖⁺‧₊˚❁˚₊‧⁺˖‧₊˚❁˚₊‧⁺˖‧₊˚❁˚₊‧⁺˖❁˖⁺‧₊˚❁˚₊‧⁺˖‧₊˚❁˚₊‧⁺˖‧₊˚❁˚₊‧⁺˖❁

The week drags like a half-slept dream, the kind where you wake up more tired than when you went to bed. Work’s a grind, case after case, your phone glued to your ear, your heels beating against courtroom floors, late nights hunched over glowing screens and endless red-lining. By the time Friday comes, you're barely hanging on.

You see him in slivers now. Brief flashes through the window in the early mornings as you see him jogging down the street, breath fogging in the dawn air. He's never glancing toward your house.

Then comes Saturday morning. You take of your clothes, reach into the shower and turn the handle, ready to sink into the comfort of hot water washing away the stiffness of sleep.

But nothing comes.

You tilt your head, frowning, and turn the knob again. The pipes give a weak, echoing groan somewhere inside the wall and a few drops spit from the faucet. Then... silence.

“No, no, no,” you whisper, turning the handles back and forth in every combination you can think of. The shower stares back at you, dry and unbothered. With a sigh, you reach for the towel you left on the counter and wrap it around yourself. You pad barefoot into the living room and grab your phone.

In these moments, you know exactly who to call.

It rings once, then again, and then comes the familiar, elderly voice. “Sweetheart? Everything alright?”

“Hi, Joe. I’m sorry to bother you, my shower’s not working... again.”

There's a little chuckle on the other end of the line. “Sounds like your pressure valve’s throwing a fit again.”

“I had a feeling,” you chuckle.

“Well, that’s good news for me then, sweetie,” he says kindly. “Let me see what I can do. I’m helping Mrs. Ellis with her cabinet door right now, but I can come by soon?”

You sink onto the couch, still wrapped snug in your towel. “Of course, Joe. Thank you. I don't know what I'd do without you.”

“Anytime, sweetie.”

You laugh softly and hang up. Joe always comes through. He's the kind of neighbour who makes this place feel more like home, he feels like family already. You lean back, tugging the towel tighter around yourself and enjoy the quiet moment.

—————

You're curled up on the couch now, towel still wrapped around yourself. You didn't see the need to change, when Joe was about to fix the shower in a flash anyway. While you waited, you even made yourself some breakfast and enjoyed it with a cup of coffee. You're expecting him any minute now. So when the knock on your door finally comes, low, solid and intentional, you pop up with ease and head to the door.

You open it door without thinking and immediately wish you hadn’t, because it isn't Joe.

It's him.

Tall, broad, and brooding like someone forgot to pick him up from your porch. He stands there with a tool bag in hand and that familiar, unreadable look on his face. His eyes land on your towel-wrapped form and hold there for a second.

You freeze, blinking in disbelief. Then you blush... hard.

Your arms fly instinctively to your chest, pulling the towel tighter around yourself. “Oh, um, hi, I… I was expecting ...Joe.”

Simon’s face doesn't change, not even a flicker of amusement or surprise is to be seen. His eyes don't trail over you. If anything, he looks past you, like you being nearly naked doesn't even register. Like he doesn't dare let it.

“Joe’s tied up. Asked me to have a look," he says flatly. “Said your water’s out.”

You swallow thickly, completely unsure what to do with your hands. “Yeah, it is, it just stopped this morning. I was, um, I was gonna shower, and then…” You trail off, gesturing vaguely at yourself in a way that only makes it worse.

Simon doesn't blink. “Shouldn’t take long.”

You give him a small, shy nod, while your heart hammers in your chest, and step aside quickly.

“Thanks,” you murmur as he steps in.

He doesn't respond. Instead, he stands still as ever, eyes calmly scanning the space.

“Bathroom?” he asks matter-of-factly.

“It’s down the hall, last door on the left.”

He gives you a faint nod and steps past you. Before he disappears down the hall, you catch the scent of him and curse yourself for noticing it at all.

You exhale, your hands smoothing over your towel like it's going to help you calm down. It doesn't. Your pulse is still fluttering like mad, and you walk into the living room and sink onto the couch, facing the hallway, trying not to imagine him in there... rolling up his sleeves, kneeling by your pipes, forehead slightly furrowed in thought.

He's quiet, of course he is. You only hear the faint sounds of shifting, tools clicking and a soft huff under his breath as he gets to work.

And so you wait.

—————

After twenty quiet minutes, you pad softly down the hall. You lean against the doorframe and see him crouched beside the tub, sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms, muscles taut beneath the fabric as he works. His back flexes slightly with every movement, calm and steady, like this is second nature to him. The toolkit lays open beside him, and a few droplets of water bead along the rim of the tub where he already started sorting the issue.

You stare for a second longer than you mean to, lips parted slightly.

“It’s really impressive that you can just fix things like that," you say softly.

Simon looks up, his brow twitching slightly. His eyes meet yours, and there is a flicker of confusion behind them.

“S’just pipes,” he mutters, eyes dropping back to the wrench in his hand.

You tilt your head, still smiling, like you can’t help yourself. “I think it’s really nice.”

He exhales through his nose, hand still steady on the wrench as he gives it one last firm twist. A slow drip echoes into the tub, and then the water runs smooth and quiet again. He mutters something under his breath and when he looks up, you're still standing there.

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

Your smile grows, bright and effortless. “You’re welcome.”

Simon stares at you and then, because he can't figure out why you look so… pleased, he huffs out a small laugh.

“Dunno why that impresses you,” he says, shaking his head and turning back toward the pipes like he needs something else to focus on.

You lean a little against the doorframe, the towel still clutched tightly around you. “Because most people can’t do that,” you simply say. “I definitely can’t. I'd be lost if it weren't for Joe... or you, apparently.”

He glances back at you again, brows slightly furrowed, but your expression doesn't waver. There is no teasing, just that same warm-eyed sincerity that has been driving him mad since the day you first smiled at him across the porch.

“Right,” he murmurs. “Well… it’s fixed now."

He stands up from the crouch near the tub, shoulders shifting beneath his shirt as he rises to his full height. You haven't realized just how close you stepped toward the bathroom until he turns and you are suddenly facing one another, barely a breath apart.

You suck in a quiet inhale and then it hits you.

You're still in your towel.

Warmth rushes to your cheeks immediately, and Simon’s gaze flicks over you. It's quick, restrained and nothing obvious, but the realization registers in his eyes, too. His jaw ticks, just slightly.

The air feels heavier, loaded with something neither of you acknowledges out loud. You just look at each other and neither moves, until, finally, his voice cuts through the silence.

“Well,” he murmurs. “Guess you can take your shower now. I’ll, uh… see myself out.”

You blink, trying to find your voice. “Yeah, thank you, I’ll... I'll walk you to the door.”

He gives you a slight grunt of acknowledgment and follows you quietly down the hall. At the front door, you turn, smiling up at him, still flushed and flustered, but so grateful.

“Thanks again, Simon.”

He looks at you like he can't quite figure out why you're so sweet to him, why you thank him like that, why you smile at him like that. And he feels it again, that strange warmth, that pull. He shakes his head slightly and exhales.

“Well, see ya.”

Then he turns and leaves, the door clicking shut behind him.

You pad toward the bathroom, your steps light, like your heart has taken up residence somewhere in your throat. The water rushes out perfectly when you turn the handle, warm and steady. It makes your smile widen, something soft blooming inside you, gratitude, affection, maybe even a little awe.

He just did that... without expecting anything.

Your cheeks warm as you step under the water, steam curling around you. You wash your hair slowly. You take your time with everything, you feel calm, feminine. You're also a little turned on, still, if you're being honest, by the way he crouched there, sleeves pushed up, arms flexing while he worked.

As you dry your hair, you're thinking about what to do next. You always bake Joe something when he helps you. It's a small gesture, but heartfelt and something about Simon’s help this morning, unexpected and selfless as it was, makes you want to return the kindness.

As you start baking, the kitchen smells like home. It smells like warm sugar, browned edges and chocolate just beginning to melt into gooey pockets. You pull the tray from the oven, your face flushed from the heat. The brownies look perfect and you can't help yourself... you break off a tiny corner and taste it. A hum of pleasure leaves your lips. They're sweet and rich and definitely edible. You let them cool for a bit before carefully placing a few into a small box. Then you tie the box with a soft cream ribbon you found in your drawer. It's nothing fancy, but it comes from your heart.

The moment you step out, your dress flutters around your knees in the warm afternoon breeze, and your hair catches in it too. The sun kisses your skin, and it makes everything feel a little softer.

When you reach his porch, your heart stutters. The door opens just before you can knock and Simon steps out, leash in his hand, Riley trotting dutifully beside him. He stops short when he sees you, his brows lifting just slightly, like he didn't expect... this. He didn't expect to see you, with the sunlight behind you and the box in your hands. Your hair is glowing and you have a smile on your face that's so genuine, so sweet, it does something… unsettling to him.

He just stares.

You blush at the intensity of his gaze, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear before holding out the box toward him, both hands offering it gently like a peace token.

“I baked these,” you say softly, your voice lighter than air. “For you. As a thank you for this morning.”

“Ya baked?” he repeats a little confused.

“I bake a lot,” you smile, your eyes still warm. “Joe gets the best of it usually... but today they're for you.”

He takes the box almost reluctantly, like he isn't sure what to do with it.

“They smell good,” he finally mutters, gaze flicking to the box.

“They taste even better," you whisper.

He gives you an awkward little grunt and clears his throat.

“Right. Well. I was about to take her for a walk," he says, gesturing to Riley.

“Oh sure. Thanks again,” you say softly.

Riley, who now registered you standing there, instantly perks up. Her tail is wagging and her body is wiggling. Simon barely has time to react before she tugs on the leash, excited little whines breaking through as your face lights up. You let out a breathy laugh, already crouching down instinctively, your hands reaching to scratch behind Rileys ears, cooing and giggling like you've been waiting all day just to see her.

Simon stares.

Not at Riley, not really. But at you and at the way the sunlight falls across your skin and the way your dress gathers around your knees as you kneel on the porch. Especially at the way your face, your voice and your smile soften when you look at his dog like you love her already.

It does something to him, makes something inside him shift. Before he can stop himself, he mutters, "You can walk with us, if y'like."

You look up instantly and your fingers are still on Riley's fur. Your lips part slightly and a smile blooms behind your eyes.

"Really?"

He just shrugs like it doesn't matter. "Yeah."

You smile and Simon can barely meet your eyes. As you stand slowly, your phone starts to buzz. You look at the screen and your expression changes instantly.

"I'm so sorry, I have to take this call," you say, like thinking about answering the phone makes you uncomfortable. "You two have a nice walk."

He just nods and watches you hurry back to your porch, with your phone already up against your ear.

—————

Simon walks at an easy pace down the sidewalk, one hand in his hoodie pocket, the other loosely holding Riley’s leash as she trots contentedly beside him. It's been a decent walk, long enough to tire Riley out, short enough to keep Simon in his head.

He turns the corner toward his street and slows just a little when he sees you.

Your sitting on the steps in front of your house, hunched slightly with your phone still pressed to your ear. Your legs are pulled up to your chest, and your arms are looped around them, one hand fidgeting with the hem of your dress. Your voice is choked, muffled by the wind and distance, but he doesn't need to hear every word to know something is off.

Simon’s brow furrows. Just an hour ago, you were smiling, laughing even, when you brought him the brownies. Now you look like you're barely holding it together.

Your eyes meet for just a second and in that fleeting moment Simon sees it. The shimmer in your lashes and the unmistakable red in the corners of your eyes. He sees the tears in your eyes and you know full well he saw them.

Your expression changes in an instant: your shoulders straighten and your mouth pulls into a tight, practiced smile, though your eyes give you away. And then, without saying a word, you stand up abruptly with your phone still pressed to your ear, and slip inside your house, shutting the door behind you.

He wants to ask: Are you alright?

But it’s none of his business, he tells himself. He’s not that man. He just stares for a second longer than he means to and his jaw tenses. What the hell happened?

And when he finally makes his way back to his house, his eyes linger on your door the whole time.

—————

It’s late when Simon gets home from base the next day. The drills were brutal, the weight of too little sleep and too many thoughts heavy on his shoulders. He drops his duffle by the door, shakes his boots off with practiced ease, and heads straight for the shower.

Water pounds down over his back, hot, relentless. It should help…

It doesn’t.

Not when your face keeps pressing in behind his eyes. That damn smile.

He towels off roughly, throws on a shirt, and heads into the kitchen to force down something, anything. It doesn’t matter. A half-cold plate of leftovers, barely touched, sits in front of him when he hears it.

The sound of tires. Too fast, too loud. It's a screech of impatience and temper.

He doesn’t move at first, he just freezes mid-bite. His eyes flick toward the window and his instincts sharpen. Everything in him is going still the way it always does before something breaks.He steps closer to the window, movements silent, just like he was trained.

A car idles near your house, it's a black sports car. A man in a suit steps out, hair too neat, shoes too polished. He's corporate, smug, confident.

Simon narrows his eyes.

The man walks straight to your door, not hesitating. He knocks once, sharply. Then again, louder. He says something. Simon can’t hear it from this distance, but he watches. Always watches.

No one answers the door and the man starts calling your name. Then, after a few seconds, the door opens and Simon sees you. And everything about you says you didn’t want to open that door. Your arms are crossed over yourself, face tight, expression wary, like you knew this was coming and you opened the door only because you had to.

The man speaks fast and animated. Simon can’t make out the words, but the tone is clipped, almost frustrated. You shake your head and your brows draw together. You try to speak, but the man cuts you off. Then he steps forward.

Too close, Simon thinks and straightens, jaw tight. His fingers curl slightly at his sides and the plate on the table is suddenly forgotten. His eyes don’t blink.

The man reaches for your arm.

Big mistake.

Because you jerk back, clearly startled, clearly uncomfortable and Simon’s already at the door before he even registers the decision. He steps out onto the porch without hesitation, calm and controlled, without making a noise.

He doesn’t say anything, he just sinks down into the chair with the same deliberate calm he uses before clearing a room. One boot hooked over the other knee and one arm resting on the armrest, the other loose by his side.

But his eyes... they're sharp and fixated right on him.

The man doesn’t notice at first, he’s too busy gesturing wildly.

“You don’t want to do this right now,” you say, soft but firm. Your voice carries across the lawn, a single note of steel laced through honey. “Trust me.”

You're looking the man in the eye. And even from this distance, Simon sees the tears clinging to your lashes, the tension in your shoulders.

The man scoffs, but something falters in him. He follows your eyes, turns and sees Simon.

Simon doesn’t flinch, he just stares, dead still, broad-shouldered, his jaw set and his expression unreadable but unmistakably lethal. His eyes speak for him:

Try something. See what happens.

The man bristles. “Now you scamper dogs at me?” he sneers, half-laughing but it lacks bite. It’s rather forced.

You shake your head, slowly, without a word. It's just a bare, exhausted shake, as if to say: Enough. Please, just go.

The man lingers, clearly rattled now, his shoulders are tense and his eyes are flicking from Simon back to you and then to Simon again. Then, finally, he turns and walks off stiffly.

Not because he wants to, but because some part of him knows, because Simon’s stare made something cold crawl up his spine.

The car door slams and the tires screech again, tearing down the street in retreat.

And then... silence.

Simon doesn’t move. You shoot him a glance, just a small one. It's grateful and heavy and broken at the edges. He watches you like he’s trying to understand something you won’t say out loud and you just give him a small, aching smile and close the door with tears still in your eyes. Simon stays there a moment longer, jaw clenched and something burns under his skin. It's not anger, not yet, but something deeply personal.

—————

The next day is brutal. Simon was cranky all day, snapping at everyone and anyone. His head pounds, his shoulders ache and he just wants a shower, maybe something cold to drink and just to be left the hell alone.

His truck growls into the driveway and the moment he shuts the engine off, his eyes cut to your house.

Something’s off.

He doesn’t know how he knows, it’s instinct. It's a bone-deep tension in his gut, a low alarm sounding beneath his ribs.

Just as he pulls in that same car from yesterday is pulling away again, tires biting into asphalt like it’s fleeing a crime scene. Simon’s grip tightens on the steering wheel and his eyes drop.

There are tire tracks dug onto the edge of your lawn. They are too fast, too angry. Then he sees the door, barely cracked open. A breeze ruffles the curtain inside, and no one is in sight.

Except for two neighbours, halfway down the block, standing on their porch whispering to each other with their ands over mouths. Their eyes are flitting toward your house like it’s a car wreck they’d rather not get too close to. But none of them are moving, not one of them is checking in to see if you're alright.

Simon’s already out the door.

He doesn’t think, doesn’t question it, he just strides cutting across the space between him and your house like a soldier breaching a door. He taps the door once and calls your name. No answer. He pushes the door open carefully, and calls for you again. Still nothing. He steps inside, quiet and sure, rounds the corner and stops dead immediately.

You're on the kitchen floor with your back against the wall, knees pulled to your chest, face buried into your arms. Your shoulders are shaking. There are plates shattered on the tile around you, splinters of ceramic surrounding you.

They must've fallen down from the counter... or they've been thrown.

You're not making a sound. It's just the small, hitched breathing of someone trying not to fall apart even though it’s already too late. Simon's jaw clenches as he slowly steps forward and calls your name almost softly.

You jerk slightly, just a flinch, and lift your head like you didn't even know he was there. Your eyes are red, lashes wet, cheeks blotchy with silent tears. The moment you see him standing there at your doorway, his breath steady and his eyes on you, your lips part like you're about to say something, but nothing comes out.

Just more tears.

Simon crosses the floor slowly and crouches beside you. His presence is silent and solid, his voice steady despite the pulse roaring in his ears.

“S’alright,” he murmurs. “You hurt?”

You don’t answer at first, you just stare for a moment, wide-eyed and crumbling. And when he shifts closer, with his hand out like he’s approaching a wounded animal, your breath hitches and you latch onto him.

Your fingers are bunching tight into the front of his shirt, like something in you finally gave up fighting it. Your sob escapes all at once, raw and small, and it carves something straight into his chest.

“Careful,” he mutters gently. His arm comes around your shoulder, steady and solid, as he nods towards the shards on the floor. “Don’t want you cutting yourself on all that.”

He’s careful, really careful, as he maneuvers you up and around the splinters of broken ceramic. He doesn’t think, he simply moves, the years of training kicking in, guiding you away from danger with the kind of efficiency that makes it feel automatic.

He gets you to the couch and you sink into it, still clinging to him, still trembling and something tightens behind his ribs at the sound of your sniffle. It's small, broken and real.

“I’m pouring you a water,” he says, his voice gruff but not unkind. “A'right?”

You nod.

He disappears into the kitchen and returns a few moments later with a glass of water in his hands. You're sitting upright now, with your knees still pulled in and your hands resting against your legs. Your whole body suddenly seems so small, too fragile.

Simon hands you the glass and your fingers tremble around it, as you take a sip. He watches in silence, his eyes scanning you, looking for bruises, for cuts, for any clue of what the hell that man did or said. He doesn’t say another word. Instead, he rises silently, shoulders squared, body moving like instinct. His eyes are sweeping the room. You don’t notice at first. You don’t understand what he’s doing when he steps away and moves through the house, slow and methodical. But he’s not just walking... he’s clearing it.

One room at a time. Quiet footfalls, careful glances. He checks the windows, the locks, the back door. There are no more threats, no more signs of forced entry. He doesn't do it because he thinks you're in danger right now, you're not when he is around. He does it because he needs to be damn sure and because doing something is better than standing still with that image of you, shattered and silent on the floor, seared into his skull.

By the time he circles back to the living room, the glass of water rests in your lap and your breathing is steadier.

He watches you for a second and then he finally clears his throat.

“Think you should come over for a bit," he says with a low voice.

You blink and your head is tilting just slightly like you didn’t quite expect him to say that.

He rubs a hand along the back of his neck and doesn’t look at you when he adds, “Gotta check on Riley anyway. Can’t leave you here like this.”

There’s something in the way he says it, like it’s not up for debate, like it’s just the right thing to do.

You nod, barely at first, then more surely.

“O-Okay,” you say, voice quiet and still rough from crying. “I’ll just go to the bathroom really quick.”

He nods and doesn’t hover. He just waits, arms crossed, eyes trained loosely toward the front window.

He tells himself it’s about your safety, that it’s just procedure and that anyone would do the same if they found a neighbour collapsed on the floor like that.

But even he knows that’s not true.

You come back with your face washed, but there’s no hiding what you've been through. Your cheeks are flushed from crying, and your eyes are red and glassy. You're holding yourself together, even if it’s just barely.

Simon doesn't say anything when he sees you. He just gives you a small nod, you nod back and you both pretend like there’s nothing you're not saying. It’s easier that way... for now. You lead the way to the door with the keys in your hand, locking up behind you as your fingers still tremble around the lock.

Outside, a pair of neighbours linger on their porch, the ones who were whispering when he pulled in. Their voices drop as soon as they spot the two of you and suddenly they’re very interested in their plants or their phones or the cracks in the sidewalk.

Simon doesn’t look at them, he just stays close as you step off your porch and cross the short space between your houses.

When his door swings open, the stillness inside wraps around you.

It’s clean, simple, sparse. The walls are a neutral tone, the furniture is functional and there is not a single picture on the walls. No clutter, no softness, except for the dog bed in the corner and the big ball of fur hurtling toward you with a happy chuff. Simon barely has time to move before Riley’s already at your feet.

You let out a broken little sound, half sob, half laugh as Riley presses into your legs.

“Hi, baby,” you whisper shakily, kneeling down and burying your fingers in Rileys thick fur. “You’re so sweet."

You press your face into Riley’s neck, your voice wobbling. “You’re gonna make me cry again.”

Soft tears slip out as you pet the dog, as Riley gently noses you with concern, tail still thumping.

Simon just stands near the door, keys still in hand, and watches. There’s a storm of something in his chest:

You're in his space, on his floor, crying into his dog. It feels like the only thing that makes sense. He swallows thickly, rubs a hand over his mouth and looks away, just for a second, because watching you come undone so softly, so trustingly, under his roof is nearly too much.

“Riley,” Simon says dryly, crouching to catch the dog’s attention as you continue gently running your fingers through Rileys fur. “Give the girl a minute, yeah?”

You let out a soft, tear-wobbled laugh and Simon gently reaches to tap Riley’s side. She listens with a wag of her tail, stepping back just enough to let you stand.

“C’mon,” he says quietly, voice still rough but careful now. “Let’s get you off the floor.”

He reaches out, hesitating just a second before brushing his fingers near your elbow, guiding you toward the living room. Once you're seated, arms wrapped around yourself loosely, he looks down at you for a second.

“I’ll be right back,” he mutters. “Just need to feed her.”

When Simon returns from the kitchen, Riley trotting behind him with her belly full and tail still wagging, he finds you curled up small on his couch.

You look over at him when he enters and he sees the effort of trying to be okay in the tiny smile you offer.

He clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “So, uh…” he mutters, glancing toward the remote on the table, “what d’you wanna do? Watch something?”

It sounds unnatural in his voice, casual words that don’t sit naturally on someone like him. He’s not used to hosting people. He’s not used to any of this. You shrug softly and he nods like he gets it, because he does.

Suddenly his stomach growls... loudly.

He grunts under his breath, annoyed at himself, and shifts his weight, half turning back toward the kitchen.

“Bet you’re hungry,” he says, glancing at you again. “Let's get you something to eat."

He walks into the kitchen, opens the fridge and stares at the shelves like they might magically change. Of course they don’t.

The fridge is filled with raw chicken breasts, leftover rice, eggs and a few sauces. It’s all exactly what he needs... it's clean, efficient and basic fuel. Nothing comforting, nothing soft.

He grunts under his breath, shuts the door with a bit more force than necessary, and glances over his shoulder toward you.

You're still curled up on the couch, watching him. Your face is gentler now, less puffy, though the signs of the day still linger in your eyes. Yet, when he meets your gaze, you give him a tired smile.

He exhales. “Right. I’ve got meat and rice.”

Your brows lift, but you don't say anything. He immediately knows what you're thinking about.

“S’how I eat," he mumbles under his breath as he shifts his weight. “Could order something, though. If you’d rather.”

Your eyes light up the tiniest bit. “Really?”

“Sure.” He grabs his phone off the counter, rubbing the back of his neck. “What d'you like?”

You smile and straighten a little. “Anything warm... maybe chinese?”

He nods slowly. “Alright.”

And as he scrolls through the usual places he barely ever uses, he thinks of how strange this all is, you in his home, your voice in the air, your warmth on his damn couch. It’s too intimate, too damn close.

—————

The food warms the space between the two of you, as you're curled into the corner of the couch again, your knees tucked close. Simon is sitting beside you with his plate in his lap. The TV hums in the background, some random show neither of you is really watching. It’s peaceful.

You're still a little quiet, your voice soft when you thank him for the food, but there’s more color in your cheeks now. You take a bite, hum like you're actually enjoying it, and for a second he lets himself believe he’s done something right.

But then your phone on the coffee table lights up and buzzes. Your eyes drop immediately, the muscles in your face tightening. You reach for it and press decline. You don't even bother to look at the name.

Simon watches you from the corner of his eye. The silence stretches too long, but just when he opens his mouth to say something, your phone buzzes again and you press decline... again.

This time, you press your lips together and your fingers tremble slightly as you set the phone down. Simon stiffens and a sharp edge of something cold curls in his chest.

It buzzes again and you flinch. Simon’s jaw locks. “That him?”

You stare down at your food like it might hold a better truth.

“Yeah,” you finally breathe. “It’s him.”

The phone starts buzzing again and again. Simon exhales through his nose, tight and slow. “Sounds urgent.”

You look up at him with red eyes, they're a little glassy, but calm. “He’s always urgent when he doesn’t get what he wants.”

Something deep in Simon twists at that.

When the phone buzzes for the hundredth time, you don't move, you don't even blink. Simon watches you from the corner of his eye, how you push a piece of rice around with your fork, then exhale like you're deciding something.

Then, you pick up your phone, unlock it, and swipe into airplane mode. Your fingers hover for a second, and then… you set it aside, face down.

He doesn’t say anything, he just watches. The way you smile like everything’s fine... when it's not.

An hour passes and you moved a little closer on the couch. Not much, just a shift. Riley doozes at your feet and the show on TV has changed twice.

Then you quietly lift your phone again and Simon sees your eyes widen before you can even react.

He doesn’t ask immediately, he just watches the flicker of panic stiffen your spine. The way you blink, then lock the screen.

“Something wrong?” he asks evenly, voice low but sharp with attention.

You're already shaking your head. Too fast and too forced. “No. no. Everything’s fine.”

You set the phone back down again, face down, of course and push up off the couch with a small, trembling breath. “Could I use the bathroom?”

Simon just nods, gestures toward the hallway. “Second door on the left.”

“Thanks,” you say softly, then disappear down the hall.

He exhales slowly, leans back on the couch and watches Riley twitch in her sleep.

And then he hears it.

Yelling... from outside. A man’s voice. It's slurred and raised and furious.

“You fucking bitch, where are you?! Now you don’t answer your damn phone?!”

Simon’s body goes still, military still. No panic, no hesitation, just precision. He crosses the living room in two strides, peering through the blinds without so much as moving the curtain.

It's that same man, same suit, only this time it’s rumpled, undone. The tie hangs loosely around his neck. His face is red and angry, he's unstable and drunk, pacing outside your front steps like he owns them, like you belong to him.

Simon’s jaw clenches, his blood surges, slow and deadly and cold. His fingers flex at his sides.

Suddenly he hears a sound from the hallway, they're sobs, small, but too sharp to be held back. Simon turns and walks down the hall. He stops outside the bathroom door, but he doesn’t knock, he doesn’t want to frighten you. Instead he lowers his voice, gravel soft.

“y/n?”

You don’t answer… he’s not sure you even heard him.There’s a hitch in your breathing.

He wants to break that man’s jaw. Wants to drag him off your porch by the collar and make damn sure he doesn’t come back again.

You step out, rubbing your eyes. Your face is flushed, eyes red and tired. Then you look up and jump.

Simon’s standing right there, silent and unmoving, broad frame filling the narrow hallway, expression unreadable but focused, watching you. You didn’t hear him approach.

“Jesus,” you gasp, hand to your chest. “You scared me.”

His voice comes out low, steady. “‘m sorry.”

You exhale, heart still pounding from the sudden start, but before either of you can say anything more, you hear a voice from outside.

“Don’t act like you’re better than this, you fake little...”

You flinch, you whole body going stiff. Shame floods your expression, eyes darting downward as if you could somehow disappear into the floor. Your shoulders hunch, trying to make yourself smaller. Simon’s jaw ticks, quiet controlled and dangerous.

You can't get yourself to look at him, but he speaks anyway.

“Best if you stay here tonight.”

You blink. “What?” you whisper, half-shaken. “No, it’s fine. He’ll leave eventually. He always does.”

Simon’s stare sharpens. That’s not an answer he likes.

“Still,” he says, voice firm now, almost clipped. “I’m not takin’ that risk.”

Your head lifts, eyes wide and surprised by his conviction, by how sure he sounds.

“You’re not safe with him out there.”

Something in his tone stops you from arguing. He’s not asking, he’s telling you and not in a way that makes you feel small... in a way that makes you feel… safe.

“I’ve got the couch,” he adds, softer this time, like he’s offering you room to breathe. “Riley can sleep in your doorway. You’ll be alright.”

You just stand there, heart caught in your throat. All you can do is nod.

Because you want to stay... because you don’t want to face that door, because something about Simon, his quietness, his certainty, makes it feel okay not to pretend tonight.

“Okay,” you whisper.

Simon gives one small nod in return. Outside, the man’s voice rises again, drunken and pathetic. But Simon doesn’t flinch… not tonight.

❁˖⁺‧₊˚❁˚₊‧⁺˖‧₊˚❁˚₊‧⁺˖‧₊˚❁˚₊‧⁺˖❁˖⁺‧₊˚❁˚₊‧⁺˖‧₊˚❁˚₊‧⁺˖‧₊˚❁˚₊‧⁺˖❁

@harperdoodle

@tessakate

@sophieliz

@izzystradvo

@scaleniusrm

@taxidermyfawns

@mer-not-man

[reverendwulf]

HAND IN LOVABLE HAND

Rumi X Gender Neutral Reader

Summary: A compilation of headcanons between Rumi and yourself about hand holding.

Tw: None - completely safe.

Note from the author: Nothing to report, just some innocent hand holding!

☆ Her hands don’t match her voice. Her voice is golden, soaring, velvet-lined with gusto and desperation. Her hands are something else entirely. When you first hold them, you’re not sure if you’re meant to. They’re rough, not in the careless way of someone who neglects themselves, but in the way of someone who has never had time to be soft. Callused at the fingertips from strings, training and microphones. There’s a faint grit to her palms, like she’s been scrubbing dirt from her skin and some traces still lingers.

☆ When she reaches for your hand, it’s never casual. It’s deliberate. A flicker of hesitation passes her features each time, the weight of secrecy clinging to her fingertips. You think maybe she’s wondering if you’ll feel the markings. If they’ll betray her. If you’ll pull away, but you never do, of course you don’t. You only squeeze tighter, and when she exhales, you realise she’d been holding her breath the whole time.

☆ She never lets go first. Even when Bobby calls. Even when she’s late for rehearsals. Even when her beloved ramyeon is done steeping. If your fingers are laced with hers, she’ll pretend the world outside isn’t crumbling. She’ll pretend her hands aren’t scarred from sword hilts and demon claws. She’ll look at you like your hand is the only safe place she’s got left. Maybe it is.

☆ There’s heat in her grip — not warmth. Heat, like her body runs hotter than yours. Like fire flickers under her skin. Sometimes, her thumb will brush the inside of your wrist, and it’ll feel like hot static, like lightning under skin, and she’ll murmur, “Sorry, that’s just me.” But she won’t let go. Her hands may be born of battle, but she holds you like you’re sacred.

☆ After training, her knuckles are cracked. Skin cracked, sometimes. You’ve held her hand through bloodied gauze and healing creams. She always tries to joke her way out of it. “Battle wounds…Kind of cool, right?” But when you press your forehead to her knuckles, when you kiss the bruises without a word, she goes quiet. Her hand clenches just a little tighter, like she’s never been held so gently after a fight.

☆ When she sings, her hands shake. You never noticed it until you were close enough to really stare. It’s not fear — it’s fervour. The kind of shaking that comes from putting your entire soul into something. So, when she takes your hand before a performance, it’s not for comfort, it’s to anchor herself. You ground her, keep her head clear when she’s really getting into the flow. Afterwards, when the lights go down and the screams of fans settle, she holds your hand as a silent thank you: You kept me steady.

☆ Her fingers twitch in her sleep. You’ve watched them curl and flex like she’s fighting demons in her dreams. You’ve reached for her hand in the dark, and she’s met it halfway. Even unconscious, she threads her fingers through yours. Always warm. Always firm. Even in sleep, she knows what she doesn’t want to lose.

☆ The first time you held hands in public, she looked away. Not because she was ashamed, but because she didn’t trust herself not to cry. You think maybe it was the first time she’d let someone choose her, knowing everything. Knowing about the markings. Knowing the weight she carries. Knowing the full truth about herself. She didn’t say anything, just tightened her grip and walked a little closer to your side.

☆ You once told her her hands were rough. She flinched, but just barely.

“Yeah,” she said. “They’re not exactly idol material, huh?”

You kissed the heel of her palm and said, “No. They’re hero material.”

And after that, she stopped hiding them in photos. Now, when she holds your hand, it’s not tentative, it’s proud.

[vivvangel]

typing... | NM.R

synopsis: it’s 2 a.m. when his name lights up your phone again. weeks of silence, one knock at your door, and a kiss that feels like both an ending and a beginning.

› pairings & contents: situationship!niki x vulnerable!reader ✧ warnings: themes of ghosting & abandonment, commitment issues, love bombing elements, making out on couch (no smut), angst, emotional vulnerability

part of heartbreak weather, 2024.

You weren’t supposed to miss him.

Not after the way he left. Not after the way his name turned into nothing but a gray bubble that never lit up again.

Yet, at 2:13 a.m., you were still staring at his profile on Instagram, @riki.drive. The last message from him sat unopened, not because you didn’t read it, but because you couldn’t bring yourself to let the “seen” pop up under your “goodnight then, ily.”

That was six weeks ago.

You told yourself you’d moved on. You muted his posts, stopped refreshing his profile. But when his story lit up tonight; black leather jacket, blurred lights of some late-night arcade, and the caption “miss me?”—you felt your chest tighten like a punch. That son of a bitch. You thought to yourself.

Your phone buzzed.

[2:15 A.M.]

riki🤍: typing…

You froze.

The bubble blinked, disappeared. Came back. Vanished again.

And then:

riki🤍: you’re awake.

Your breath hitched. Six weeks of silence and that was what he opened with?

you: it’s 2 a.m. what do you want.

The reply came fast, almost desperate.

riki🤍: you.

Your heart stuttered. No. No, not again.

you: you can’t just show up like this. disappear. then drop that.

The typing bubble appeared, paused, like he was choosing every letter.

riki🤍: i know.

riki🤍: i’m sorry.

riki🤍: i freaked out. it was getting too real, yk how i am..

You closed your eyes. The words felt familiar. Too familiar. Niki didn’t date. Niki didn’t stay. He loved hard, fast, and then he ghosted like he was scared of his own heartbeat.

You knew all of this and still… still you’d fallen for him.

Your phone buzzed again.

riki🤍: can i see you?

You hesitated. And then, because you were weak for him, you typed:

you: now?

riki🤍 : yeah. before i lose my nerve again.

2:45 A.M.

The knock was soft but urgent, like he was afraid you’d change your mind. When you opened the door, there he was—hood up, hair a little damp from the mist outside, eyes wide and unsure.

“Hi,” he said quietly.

“Hi,” you whispered back.

You stepped aside, and the moment he crossed the threshold, the air shifted. Your apartment suddenly felt smaller, the walls closer. He hovered in the middle of the living room like he didn’t know if he was allowed to move.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said softly. “I just… I’ve never done this before. Stayed. Felt this much. It scared the hell out of me.”

You crossed your arms, more to steady yourself than to guard. “Then why come back?”

His lips pulled into the smallest, saddest smile. “I thought I could walk away. I tried. But every day without you felt… wrong. Like I was missing something I didn’t know how to live without.”

Your breath caught. “You can’t just love bomb me and vanish when it gets too much.”

He flinched at the words but stepped closer anyway. “I know. I won’t. Not this time.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Let me prove it. Please.”

You should’ve told him to leave. You should’ve made him earn this. But when his hand came up, fingers skimming your jaw with a touch so careful it hurt, you couldn’t move.

“Niki…”

“Tell me you don’t feel it too,” he murmured, stepping forward until your knees bumped the couch behind you. His forehead brushed yours, his breath warm against your lips. “And I’ll let you go.”

You didn’t speak. That was all the permission he needed.

The kiss started soft, tentative, like he was afraid you’d vanish. Then you clutched the front of his hoodie and pulled him in, and the carefulness shattered. His hands cradled the back of your head as you sank back into the couch, cushions dipping under your weight. He followed you down, one knee braced on the cushion beside your hip, the other sinking into the floor as if he couldn’t stand to not be close enough.

Your fingers curled tighter into the fabric of his hoodie, dragging him closer until his chest pressed against yours. The kiss deepened, slow but consuming, every brush of his mouth tasting like apology and want. One of his hands slid down, palm flattening against the small of your back, tugging you forward until your body molded against his.

The couch creaked faintly beneath you both as you shifted, his weight half over you now, his knee brushing the outside of your thigh. His thumb stroked absently over the curve of your waist, not moving higher, not lower —just there, steady, grounding you when everything else felt like it was spinning.

He broke the kiss only to breathe, lips barely an inch from yours, his voice trembling. “God… I missed you.”

You kissed him again instead of answering, catching his bottom lip between yours until you felt his quiet, shaky exhale ghost across your mouth. His fingers tangled gently in your hair as he kissed you deeper, slower, like he wanted to memorize every second.

By the time you both pulled away, the room was quiet except for your uneven breaths. His forehead stayed against yours, his hand still cupping your jaw like he wasn’t ready to let go.

“Don’t mute my stories anymore,” he whispered, voice rough. “I need you to see me.”

Your chest tightened, the words catching in your throat. “Then don’t disappear.”

His fingers slid down to lace with yours, squeezing once like a vow. “Not this time.”

viv's note: first ever niki fic!!! fun fact i wrote down the plot of this & even though i didn't have a particular idol in mind while writing it, i feel like niki with this plot works so, so well. as u all know i don't write smut about niki, so a make out scene is all you'll ever get from me about niki. even though he's only 2 years younger than me, he feels like my child 😭🙏