#deep learning chip

[manmishra]

🚀💻 BREAKING: Nvidia’s AI Ultra Chip is coming! 🤯🔥 With Reuben Architecture, this next-gen chip will make AI computing ⚙️💡 faster, smarter & more powerful! 🤖⚡ 💊🏥 Healthcare: Faster diagnosis & drug discovery 💉🧠 🚗🚦 Self-driving cars: Real-time decision making 🏎️🔋 💰📊 Finance: Accurate predictions 💹📈 🎮🕹️ Gaming: Ultra-realistic graphics 🎨👾 But can Nvidia stay ahead of AMD, Intel, Google & Microsoft? 🤔💡 👉 Read more! 📖🔍 #NvidiaAI #FutureOfAI #TechNews #AIUltraChip 🚀💻

[what-aboutno]

It's crazy that in early maze days cOwen mentions he doesn't know first aid and he doesn't know how to fish. Like how did you survive as a soldier if you can't use the resources around you??

Also cOwen apperently not knowing hand to hand combat is insane. All his memories after the reunion show him fighting close up, and most of his kills later are close up too. I guess you could say that he remembers this stuff later on but it's still really funny to think about.

[idmwebid]

Chip AI Terbaru vs. Otak Manusia: Membedah Batasan Komputasi dan Kesenjangan Kognitif yang Menganga

Disuatu pagi yang cerah, ketika dunia digital bergemuruh dengan berita terobosan demi terobosan, muncul sebuah narasi yang tak henti memukau imajinasi kolektif kita: perlombaan menciptakan kecerdasan buatan yang mampu menandingi, bahkan melampaui, kehebatan otak manusia. Setiap peluncuran chip AI terbaru—entah dari raksasa teknologi seperti Nvidia, Intel, atau startup inovatif yang berani…

[anandnataraj]

From Near-Broke to Trillion-Dollar Titan: The NVIDIA Gamble

20 years of flat growth. One wild bet. $4 trillion later — NVIDIA. They say overnight success stories often take decades — and if there’s one company that embodies this, it’s NVIDIA.When Jensen Huang co-founded NVIDIA in 1993, it wasn’t the AI juggernaut we know today. It started as a humble graphics card company with a bold dream: to make visual computing faster and better.In 1995, NVIDIA…

[takshila45]

Master the Art of Chip Design: Learn from Top Layout Training Experts in Bangalore

[jcmarchi]

Lumai Raises $10M+ to Revolutionize AI Compute with Optical Processing

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/lumai-raises-10m-to-revolutionize-ai-compute-with-optical-processing/

Lumai Raises $10M+ to Revolutionize AI Compute with Optical Processing

In a major leap forward for the future of artificial intelligence infrastructure, Lumai, the Oxford-born startup pioneering 3D optical computing, has raised more than $10 million in a fresh funding round. The investment — led by deep tech-focused Constructor Capital and backed by notable names such as IP Group, PhotonVentures, Journey Ventures, LIFTT, Qubits Ventures, State Farm Ventures, and TIS Inc.  — signals growing confidence in a technology that could reshape the AI compute landscape as we know it.

At the heart of Lumai’s innovation lies a bold ambition: to deliver 50x the performance of today’s silicon-based accelerators at just 10% of the energy cost. And they’re doing it using light.

Why AI Needs a Radical Overhaul

With AI systems like ChatGPT, Claude, and Gemini becoming increasingly sophisticated, the underlying hardware is being pushed to its breaking point. Training and running large language models (LLMs) requires vast computational power — and equally vast amounts of energy. In fact, data center power consumption in the U.S. is expected to triple by 2028, potentially consuming 12% of the national power supply.

But it’s not just about power. It’s about economics and scalability. Traditional silicon GPUs and even integrated photonics are now facing diminishing returns, rising costs, and scalability roadblocks.

Enter Lumai.

What is Optical Computing — and Why Is It a Big Deal?

Unlike conventional chips that move electrons through silicon, optical computing uses photons (particles of light) to perform calculations. This offers three major advantages:

Speed – Photons travel faster than electrons and don’t generate heat in the same way, enabling ultra-fast processing.

Energy Efficiency – Optical signals reduce power consumption dramatically.

Parallelism – Light can handle many operations simultaneously using different paths and wavelengths.

What makes Lumai’s approach truly novel is its use of 3D optical matrix-vector multiplication (MVM) — a key operation in deep learning — carried out in free space. This means that calculations happen as beams of light pass through 3D geometries, rather than on a flat chip.

This technique has the potential to reach 10¹⁷ operations per second — 1000x faster than today’s electronics, and 100x faster than the human brain.

Lumai’s Secret Sauce: 3D Optical Acceleration

Spun out of the University of Oxford, Lumai has tackled a challenge that has stumped researchers for decades: how to scale optical computing reliably and cost-effectively.

Their processor, designed in a PCIe form factor (making it easy to integrate into existing data center infrastructure), performs matrix multiplication — the foundation of neural networks — using light beams that travel in 3D space. This allows for:

Extremely wide vector operations

High optical clock speeds

Near-zero latency inference

Massively parallel processing

As a result, Lumai’s solution not only accelerates performance but also drastically cuts down energy use and total cost of ownership (TCO).

“The future of AI demands radical breakthroughs in computing,” said Tim Weil, CEO and co-founder of Lumai. “Current LLMs are unsustainable in cost and power. Our optical computing design overcomes these barriers and enables next-generation AI to flourish.”

Backing From Industry Visionaries

The funding round attracted some of the brightest minds and institutions in tech and venture capital:

Constructor Capital’s Dr. Serg Bell called Lumai’s technology “a significant step forward in improving matrix multiplication,” drawing parallels to how quantum computing transforms other computation types.

IP Group’s Dr. Lee Thornton emphasized the company’s success in solving optical compute scalability, making it a viable commercial path.

PhotonVentures’ Ewit Roos stated that Lumai is “reshaping the future of AI compute,” placing it at the forefront of data center innovation.

And the recognition doesn’t stop there — Lumai has already racked up a slew of accolades:

Best Overall Technology at the Global OCP Future Technologies Symposium

Selected for Intel Ignite’s prestigious London program

Research co-founder Dr. Xianxin Guo joined the Royal Academy of Engineering’s Shott Accelerator

Co-founder Dr. James Spall named to the Photonics 100 list for 2025

What’s Next for Lumai?

With the new funding, Lumai plans to:

Double its headcount

Advance product development

Expand into the U.S. market

Push toward commercialization of its optical AI inference accelerator

Their roadmap charts a path from 4x performance gains to a full 50x compared to silicon-based competitors — while consuming just 10% of the power. In a world where sustainability, cost-efficiency, and AI acceleration are converging as the next great computing challenge, Lumai is positioning itself not just as a player, but as a pioneer.

Final Thoughts

The AI race is no longer just about smarter algorithms — it’s about smarter infrastructure. Lumai’s 3D optical processors offer a glimpse into a future where AI is not limited by silicon, and where photons become the fuel that powers intelligence at scale.

In an industry hungry for disruptive change, Lumai may just be the breakthrough the world has been waiting for.

[einnosyssecsgem]

Machine learning applications in semiconductor manufacturing

Machine Learning Applications in Semiconductor Manufacturing: Revolutionizing the Industry

The semiconductor industry is the backbone of modern technology, powering everything from smartphones and computers to autonomous vehicles and IoT devices. As the demand for faster, smaller, and more efficient chips grows, semiconductor manufacturers face increasing challenges in maintaining precision, reducing costs, and improving yields. Enter machine learning (ML)—a transformative technology that is revolutionizing semiconductor manufacturing. By leveraging ML, manufacturers can optimize processes, enhance quality control, and accelerate innovation. In this blog post, we’ll explore the key applications of machine learning in semiconductor manufacturing and how it is shaping the future of the industry.

Predictive Maintenance

Semiconductor manufacturing involves highly complex and expensive equipment, such as lithography machines and etchers. Unplanned downtime due to equipment failure can cost millions of dollars and disrupt production schedules. Machine learning enables predictive maintenance by analyzing sensor data from equipment to predict potential failures before they occur.

How It Works: ML algorithms process real-time data from sensors, such as temperature, vibration, and pressure, to identify patterns indicative of wear and tear. By predicting when a component is likely to fail, manufacturers can schedule maintenance proactively, minimizing downtime.

Impact: Predictive maintenance reduces equipment downtime, extends the lifespan of machinery, and lowers maintenance costs.

Defect Detection and Quality Control

Defects in semiconductor wafers can lead to significant yield losses. Traditional defect detection methods rely on manual inspection or rule-based systems, which are time-consuming and prone to errors. Machine learning, particularly computer vision, is transforming defect detection by automating and enhancing the process.

How It Works: ML models are trained on vast datasets of wafer images to identify defects such as scratches, particles, and pattern irregularities. Deep learning algorithms, such as convolutional neural networks (CNNs), excel at detecting even the smallest defects with high accuracy.

Impact: Automated defect detection improves yield rates, reduces waste, and ensures consistent product quality.

Process Optimization

Semiconductor manufacturing involves hundreds of intricate steps, each requiring precise control of parameters such as temperature, pressure, and chemical concentrations. Machine learning optimizes these processes by identifying the optimal settings for maximum efficiency and yield.

How It Works: ML algorithms analyze historical process data to identify correlations between input parameters and output quality. Techniques like reinforcement learning can dynamically adjust process parameters in real-time to achieve the desired outcomes.

Impact: Process optimization reduces material waste, improves yield, and enhances overall production efficiency.

Yield Prediction and Improvement

Yield—the percentage of functional chips produced from a wafer—is a critical metric in semiconductor manufacturing. Low yields can result from various factors, including process variations, equipment malfunctions, and environmental conditions. Machine learning helps predict and improve yields by analyzing complex datasets.

How It Works: ML models analyze data from multiple sources, including process parameters, equipment performance, and environmental conditions, to predict yield outcomes. By identifying the root causes of yield loss, manufacturers can implement targeted improvements.

Impact: Yield prediction enables proactive interventions, leading to higher productivity and profitability.

Supply Chain Optimization

The semiconductor supply chain is highly complex, involving multiple suppliers, manufacturers, and distributors. Delays or disruptions in the supply chain can have a cascading effect on production schedules. Machine learning optimizes supply chain operations by forecasting demand, managing inventory, and identifying potential bottlenecks.

How It Works: ML algorithms analyze historical sales data, market trends, and external factors (e.g., geopolitical events) to predict demand and optimize inventory levels. Predictive analytics also helps identify risks and mitigate disruptions.

Impact: Supply chain optimization reduces costs, minimizes delays, and ensures timely delivery of materials.

Advanced Process Control (APC)

Advanced Process Control (APC) is critical for maintaining consistency and precision in semiconductor manufacturing. Machine learning enhances APC by enabling real-time monitoring and control of manufacturing processes.

How It Works: ML models analyze real-time data from sensors and equipment to detect deviations from desired process parameters. They can automatically adjust settings to maintain optimal conditions, ensuring consistent product quality.

Impact: APC improves process stability, reduces variability, and enhances overall product quality.

Design Optimization

The design of semiconductor devices is becoming increasingly complex as manufacturers strive to pack more functionality into smaller chips. Machine learning accelerates the design process by optimizing chip layouts and predicting performance outcomes.

How It Works: ML algorithms analyze design data to identify patterns and optimize layouts for performance, power efficiency, and manufacturability. Generative design techniques can even create novel chip architectures that meet specific requirements.

Impact: Design optimization reduces time-to-market, lowers development costs, and enables the creation of more advanced chips.

Fault Diagnosis and Root Cause Analysis

When defects or failures occur, identifying the root cause can be challenging due to the complexity of semiconductor manufacturing processes. Machine learning simplifies fault diagnosis by analyzing vast amounts of data to pinpoint the source of problems.

How It Works: ML models analyze data from multiple stages of the manufacturing process to identify correlations between process parameters and defects. Techniques like decision trees and clustering help isolate the root cause of issues.

Impact: Faster fault diagnosis reduces downtime, improves yield, and enhances process reliability.

Energy Efficiency and Sustainability

Semiconductor manufacturing is energy-intensive, with significant environmental impacts. Machine learning helps reduce energy consumption and improve sustainability by optimizing resource usage.

How It Works: ML algorithms analyze energy consumption data to identify inefficiencies and recommend energy-saving measures. For example, they can optimize the operation of HVAC systems and reduce idle time for equipment.

Impact: Energy optimization lowers operational costs and reduces the environmental footprint of semiconductor manufacturing.

Accelerating Research and Development

The semiconductor industry is driven by continuous innovation, with new materials, processes, and technologies being developed regularly. Machine learning accelerates R&D by analyzing experimental data and predicting outcomes.

How It Works: ML models analyze data from experiments to identify promising materials, processes, or designs. They can also simulate the performance of new technologies, reducing the need for physical prototypes.

Impact: Faster R&D cycles enable manufacturers to bring cutting-edge technologies to market more quickly.

Challenges and Future Directions

While machine learning offers immense potential for semiconductor manufacturing, there are challenges to overcome. These include the need for high-quality data, the complexity of integrating ML into existing workflows, and the shortage of skilled professionals. However, as ML technologies continue to evolve, these challenges are being addressed through advancements in data collection, model interpretability, and workforce training.

Looking ahead, the integration of machine learning with other emerging technologies, such as the Internet of Things (IoT) and digital twins, will further enhance its impact on semiconductor manufacturing. By embracing ML, manufacturers can stay competitive in an increasingly demanding and fast-paced industry.

Conclusion

Machine learning is transforming semiconductor manufacturing by enabling predictive maintenance, defect detection, process optimization, and more. As the industry continues to evolve, ML will play an increasingly critical role in driving innovation, improving efficiency, and ensuring sustainability. By harnessing the power of machine learning, semiconductor manufacturers can overcome challenges, reduce costs, and deliver cutting-edge technologies that power the future.

This blog post provides a comprehensive overview of machine learning applications in semiconductor manufacturing. Let me know if you’d like to expand on any specific section or add more details!

[kekewrites]

Tw. insecure/introvert reader, angst(?), dark content, noncon kissing, implied noncon/dubcon at the end, jealousy, tension, mutual pinning, misunderstanding, hidden feelings, slow burn(?), stalking, toxic, sabotage, possessiveness, red flag, manipulation, dependency, no actual smut

***

Imagine being the childhood friend of the popular playboy in school.

He wasn’t just a typical playboy—he was popular for a good amount of reasons. He was, of course, hot, tall, with a pretty face, but he also had that effortless charisma. Easy-going, charming, funny when he wanted to be, and somehow still managed to keep decent grades. A good reputation wrapped in the kind of smile that made girls melt.

The only problem? His ongoing roster of girls. You honestly couldn’t pinpoint when or how he turned into such a flirt, it sort of just... happened. Maybe when high school hit, and puberty did him more favors than most. Whatever the case, he became that guy. The one you’d usually only see in dramas.

But it’s not like you had any business with that part of him. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

You two had always been close. Childhood friends. Neighbors. Playmates since you were practically in diapers. Your parents knew each other well, your families comfortable enough to arrange sleepovers that turned into routine. You grew up in each other’s houses, like siblings. Always “the duo.”

But while he bloomed into the guy everyone wanted to be around, you... didn’t exactly shine the same way. You were a little plain. A bit on the bland side compared to others, especially compared to him. While he stood tall, you were shorter than average, often overlooked in group photos. You didn’t have much of a figure either, which made changing in the locker room a quiet kind of dread. Flat and forgettable. You’d never say it out loud, but you noticed the difference.

He lit up every room he walked into. You were just... there. Next to him. Always next to him. Just not quite enough.

But it was fine.

You never made a big deal about any of it. It’s not like you wanted the spotlight anyway. You were comfortable being in the background, comfortable not having all eyes on you. Sure, sometimes you got a few questionable looks when you were with Mr. Charming, but you learned not to care. Let them wonder. You were used to being the quiet one beside the star of the show.

Though, truth be told, you sometimes wondered too. Why did he always stick around? Even when the popular kids were constantly egging him on to ditch you and join them, he never really did. He’d flirt and play around, sure, but he always came back to you. As if none of the sparkle out there was worth trading for late-night game sessions and instant noodles in your room.

"Geez, why’re you in my bedroom...? I thought you were about to go to the concert with them," you asked one evening, raising a brow as he sprawled across your bed like it was his.

“Nuh-uh. Don’t wanna,” he replied, eyes already glued to the game controller in his hand. “Plus, I wanna spend time playing games with you.”

You rolled your eyes at the time, but deep down, your chest tightened just a little. Warm and confused all at once.

It was things like that, small, innocent moments that led to the never-ending question you kept hearing from people.

“Are you guys dating?”

You always shut it down quickly, automatically, almost on instinct now.

“No. Definitely not. I’m not his type, we’re just friends.”

Because that was the truth, right?

Right?

***

He heard you say it all the time.

“We’re just friends.”

You said it so naturally, like breathing. Like it was a fact. Like it didn’t chip away at something in him every time those words slipped from your lips.

But damn, you didn’t make it easy to believe.

Not when you smiled at him like that. Not when you laughed at his dumb jokes, even the ones no one else caught. Not when you looked at him like he was just him, not the guy with a line of girls and a reputation he didn’t even care for anymore.

He told himself he was just being a good friend. That walking you home—even when it meant doubling back—was normal. That flicking some guy’s forehead for looking at you too long was harmless. Just a joke. Even if something in his chest burned every time.

And maybe he leaned in too close sometimes. Maybe he hovered near your space a little more than necessary. But he didn’t do it on purpose. Not at first.

It’s just... you never pulled away.

You made it feel like he belonged there.

And then there were the little things.

The way you always insisted you weren’t picky, but he still remembered how you liked your noodles with less broth. The way he always brought an extra hoodie because yeah, you always forgot yours, and he didn’t want you getting cold. The way he chose the seat next to you, even if the room was empty. Always you. Always your side.

You never questioned it.

Except that one time.

"Why’re you always hanging out with me? I'm not exactly a party."

He remembered how you asked it with a smile, trying to play it off.

But it hit him harder than he expected. So he gave you the truth. Or at least… part of it.

"Yeah, but you’re my favorite kind of quiet."

You laughed, of course. Brushed it off like it was nothing.

But he saw the way you looked down after. The way your cheeks went warm. And he carried that moment with him, filed it away with all the other things he never said out loud.

And when people asked if you two were dating and you laughed and said “No, I’m definitely not his type”—he never corrected you.

He should’ve. God, he wanted to.

But instead, he just smiled. That same tight, hollow smile.

Because you were wrong.

You were so wrong.

You weren’t loud, or bold, or flashy like the girls who chased him, sure. But none of them ever made him feel the way you did.

And you never saw it.

You looked at yourself and only saw “plain.” But he looked at you and saw home.

And he stayed.

He always stayed.

That part? You never really understood.

But maybe… he was just too much of a coward to make you.

***

It happened one weekend night.

Your parents were out of town for a wedding (you didn't want to go along), leaving you with the house to yourself. You’d planned to spend the evening curled up with snacks and a cheesy drama, nothing unusual. The house was quiet, comfortably so.

Until a knock came at the front door. Loud. Repetitive.

You opened it, and there he was, him. Tall, flushed, and very, very drunk.

“Heeeyyy,” he drawled, grinning lopsidedly as he leaned against the doorframe. “Youuuuuu. I missed you.”

You blinked, completely stunned. “Wait—what the hell? Are you drunk? Where were you?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he stumbled forward, and your reflexes kicked in just in time to stop him from falling face-first into your entryway.

“Oh my God,” you muttered, arms flailing as you tried to support him. “Jeez, you’re heavy, what did you drink?”

He giggled. Actually giggled.

“Dunno,” he mumbled, dropping most of his weight onto you like a sleepy sloth. “They gave me... stuff. Tasted like cough syrup. Missed your face though…”

You groaned, knees nearly buckling under him as you fumbled to drag his dead weight toward the living room. “You missed my face? Seriously?”

He made a noise that was suspiciously close to a whine. “Yeah… You didn’t come to the party. I waited. Got bored. Left.”

“You should’ve just stayed and sobered up instead of dragging your drunk ass here.”

But he didn’t respond. Instead, he slurred something completely incoherent and nuzzled into your shoulder.

You finally managed to guide him to the couch, huffing and trying to keep your balance. But as you bent to lower him onto the cushions, he suddenly shifted his weight and with zero warning, pulled you down with him.

“W-Wait—!”

You fell right on top of him with a muffled oof, and before you could scramble away, his arms lazily wrapped around you, holding you there like a living body pillow.

“Comfy,” he mumbled against your hair. “You smell nice.”

Your brain short-circuited. “Wha— I— Get off!”

But he didn’t budge. In fact, he snuggled closer, warmth radiating off him as he held you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Y’know,” he whispered, voice thick with sleep and alcohol, “I don’t like it when you say you’re not my type.”

You froze.

“I hate it,” he added, softer now. “So dumb. You don’t even see how much I like being around you…”

Then silence. Deep, slow breaths. He was already half-asleep, completely unaware of the way your heart was trying to beat out of your chest.

You didn’t know what to say.

So you said nothing.

And stayed there, quietly listening to the sound of his breathing, with your face burning and your thoughts racing, wondering if he’d remember any of it in the morning.

Your heart was pounding like it wanted to escape your chest.

You could feel the heat of his breath against your collarbone, his arms still wrapped around you in a lazy hold. Everything about the moment was too much—the closeness, the weight of his words, the way he mumbled "I don’t like it when you say you’re not my type.”

It should’ve meant something. Should’ve stirred something deeper. And for a moment, it did.

But then, reality hit.

This was him—the same guy who’d flirted with three girls just last week, the same guy whose phone buzzed with messages from different names at ungodly hours. The guy who could have anyone he wanted with just a glance and a half-hearted smile.

Your brows furrowed, the haze of warmth in your chest beginning to cool.

Of course he was saying stuff like that. He was drunk. Sloppy. Blurry-eyed. Probably mistaking you for someone else, or worse, just saying the first sweet thing that came to mind because it was easy. Because that's what he does.

The warmth in your cheeks faded. Your eyes narrowed slightly as you stared.

You sighed.

“Stupid drunk,” you muttered, voice flat and unimpressed.

He didn’t react, already halfway to sleep, breathing soft and slow like a knocked-out puppy.

You stayed like that for a moment longer, caught between the ghost of his words and the bitter edge of your thoughts. Part of you wanted to believe what he said. But the other part? The part that had watched girl after girl fall for him and get tossed aside like it was nothing?

That part just wanted to roll its eyes.

Still, you didn’t move.

Because even if you didn’t believe him…

His arms around you still felt kind of nice.

***

You two acted normal after the morning of that. He probably didn't remember what he said, which was a good thing for you. Moved on, like nothing happened.

It's been a few days after that and you were talking about someone new—a guy from your class, apparently. You had that little spark in your voice, the one he usually only heard when you were talking about food or finding a cute dog online.

He didn’t like it. Not one bit.

“So yeah,” you said casually, biting into a snack as you scrolled on your phone, “he offered to walk me home the other day. I didn’t let him, obviously. But he was really nice about it. Kinda surprising.”

He sat beside you on your bed, leaning back on one hand, pretending not to care. “Oh? He did?”

“Yeah. I think he’s cool,” you said, voice light, unaware of how that single word stabbed into him harder than he wanted to admit.

He tilted his head, a smile pulling at his lips, one of those closed-eyed smiles he wore when he was being “harmless.”

“You do?”

You nodded, totally unfazed. “Mhm. He’s funny, smart. Kinda cute.”

There it was.

The trigger.

He sat up a little straighter, the smile never quite reaching his eyes now. “Funny, smart, cute?” he repeated, still with that casual tone. “Wow. Sounds like a real catch.”

You blinked at him. “Yeah, I guess. He’s easy to talk to.”

He snorted. “Right, right. Tall guy? Bit of a clean-cut look?”

You nodded again, chewing absently on your snack.

“Must be nice,” he muttered, crossing his arms. “Bet he’s the type to open doors and call you ma’am too.”

You laughed. “I mean, manners aren’t exactly a red flag.”

“Oh yeah, totally,” he said, voice picking up heat now, even as he smiled. “So polite. Bet he irons his shirts and rehearses compliments in the mirror.”

You gave him a look, amused. “What is with you?”

“Nothing. Just sayin’—guy’s probably all talk. Bet he folds under pressure. Can’t even kill a spider without screaming.”

You raised a brow, “That’s a bold assumption.”

He scoffed, throwing his hands up, still smiling but not meaning it. “I’m taller, better looking, and I don’t have to try so hard to impress people.”

Your jaw dropped a little. “What?”

“I’m just saying,” he said, raising his bottle in mock-toast. “If you’re gonna go for someone ‘cool,’ maybe aim higher. You know. Someone who’s taller, funnier, better-looking, less try-hard. Maybe someone who’s known you since you were five. Just throwing that out there.”

“Huh?”

“And I bet my dick’s bigger than his."

You choked on your drink, “What?!”

He blinked. “What?”

You stared at him, stunned, and he just gave a tiny shrug like oops, did I say that out loud?

You laughed, shaking your head, brushing it all off like it was just another one of his weird ego trips. “Okay, weirdo.”

He didn’t respond right away.

He just watched you, jaw tightening slightly as you turned your attention back to your phone, entirely missing the storm he was trying to hide behind casual smirks and crude jokes.

You didn’t get it, because you didn’t think he looked at you that way.

***

After that conversation, things didn’t exactly change—but they didn’t quite go back to normal either.

He still walked you home. Still flopped onto your bed like it was his own. Still stole your snacks and your charger and your last bit of patience on most days.

But sometimes, you’d catch him watching you a little too long.

Not in the obvious way. Not like the way other guys did, staring with boldness and intentions written all over their faces.

No—he did it quietly. Like he was trying to memorize the way you smiled when you thought no one was looking. Like he was trying to figure something out about you… or maybe about himself.

Then there were the little shifts.

He started texting back slower when you told him you were talking to that guy again. Didn’t say anything harsh, but his replies were short. Blunt.

And when that same guy approached you one afternoon in the hallway, he just so happened to slide in between you two, throwing an arm around your shoulder.

“Didn’t know you liked hanging out with traffic cones,” he muttered with a lopsided grin, nodding at the guy’s neon hoodie.

You laughed nervously, brushing it off. “You’re so dumb.”

But the guy left after that. Didn’t even try to keep the conversation going.

And when you asked him what that was about, he just shrugged.

“Didn’t like his face.”

You rolled your eyes. “You don’t like anyone’s face lately.”

He smiled. “Yours is okay, I guess.”

And then there were those times when you were on your phone, texting, and he’d lean over your shoulder too quickly.

“Who’s that?”

“No one.”

“Hmm. No one has a name?”

You sighed, brushing him away. “Why are you so nosy lately?”

But he’d never answer. He’d just flop backward onto the couch or your bed and throw an arm over his eyes like he was bored. Or tired. Or both.

But you felt it.

Something had shifted.

He was getting quieter about the things he didn’t say. Quieter about how he stayed so close but kept himself just far enough that you wouldn’t really notice.

***

You didn’t say anything about it to him.

Not when you got the number. Not when you exchanged a few late-night texts with the guy from class. And definitely not when he asked who kept lighting up your phone and you lied—said it was your cousin, or some stupid group chat.

Because… if he wanted to keep treating you like you were just his best friend, then fine. Maybe you’d stop waiting. You were plain ol Jane anyway, at this rate you'd end up alone. Not like anyone would like you if you don't even try or put any effort to yourself. Maybe it was time to try something different.

Someone different.

So you said yes to a date.

It wasn’t a big deal. Just a small place near the station, casual, low-pressure. You wore a little lip tint. Changed your shirt twice. Checked your phone four times on the way there.

You even left the house without telling him.

Which was rare.

Because somehow, despite how frustrated you were, you still felt a little guilty doing something like this without him knowing. Scrap that! You shouldn't feel guilty at all, it's not like you're his girlfriend or something. Plus, this was your first date, you shouldn't even think of him.

You got there early. Sat at the little table. Smoothed your skirt out. Sipped water slowly.

And waited.

Then waited some more.

Minutes passed. Then a half-hour. Then an hour.

No messages. No call. Just… silence.

At some point, you stopped pretending to check your phone like there was something new. You just sat there, hands folded, eyes distant. Trying not to let it sink in too hard, but it did anyway.

He didn’t show.

No explanation.

No reason.

Just a reminder that maybe you really weren’t the type to be chosen after all.

By the time you got home, it was dark. You kicked your shoes off a little harder than usual, holding back the pressure behind your eyes. The house was quiet. Your parents weren’t home. Just you. And the lingering ache of rejection sitting heavy in your chest.

Maybe you shouldn't gotten your hopes up.

And then you heard the knock on your door. You already knew who it was.

He walked in like he always did, with a lazy grin and a snack in hand. You stared at him like you hadn’t just spent an hour trying to convince yourself you were worth showing up for.

“Yo. You were gone,” he said, tossing a drink on your desk like usual. “Didn’t text me back. Something happened?”

You looked up from where you sat on your bed, your voice dull. “No. I just… needed some air.”

He paused. The grin faltered, but only for a split second.

“…Did you go somewhere?”

You forced a laugh, shaking your head. “Just errands. Nothing interesting.”

He didn’t question it. He trusted you too easily. Or maybe he didn’t want to push. Instead, he stretched out beside you, letting out a sigh. “People are exhausting. I don’t get how you deal with them.”

You shrugged, keeping your voice light. “Guess I just have more patience.”

He turned his head to look at you then—really looked. Eyes soft, searching.

“You okay?”

You smiled, quick and small. “Yeah. Just tired.”

And that was the thing with him. He’d always pull back just when he was about to see something too real. Like he was afraid of what he might find if he looked too closely.

So, he let it go.

He reached for the controller on your desk, tossing it in your lap. “Wanna game ‘til we pass out?”

You nodded.

Because what else could you do?

You couldn’t tell him your date never showed up. You couldn’t tell him that for a brief moment, you thought maybe—just maybe—you could be wanted by someone else. That someone else could make you forget the way he made you feel without ever touching you.

***

Of course, he knew.

He always knew.

He noticed the shift before you even realized it yourself—how you started texting a little less when he was around, how you smiled down at your phone and quickly locked it when he leaned over. How you’d hum that soft little tune you always did when you were nervous or excited.

It didn’t take much.

One glance at your screen while you left it unattended. One name. One stupid string of texts about Friday and coffee and maybe I’ll see you there? :)

And it pissed him off more than he wanted to admit.

Not because he thought you weren’t allowed to date. Not even because he thought the guy was anything special.

No.

It was because you thought someone else could understand you better than he did. That someone else could earn what he’d spent years protecting.

You didn’t know it, but he was the reason most guys never got near you in the first place.

He wasn’t exactly subtle—especially in high school. Any guy who so much as looked at you too long got “the talk.” A casual hand around your shoulders. A stare that went a little too cold. A whispered “She’s not interested” even if you hadn’t said it yourself.

He made it hard for anyone to approach. On purpose.

Because you were his.

Not in the possessive, boyfriend kind of way. At least, that’s what he told himself. But in the I know every part of you, and no one else ever will kind of way.

So when this new guy started sniffing around, he didn’t wait.

He caught the guy behind the gym after class, right where the hallway cameras didn’t reach.

The guy flinched when he turned the corner and saw him standing there—arms crossed, calm smile on his face like this was just another casual run-in. But his eyes… his eyes were cold.

“Hey,” he said smoothly, stepping into his path.

The guy hesitated, confused. “Uh. Hey?”

“You’ve been texting her.”

The guy blinked, caught off guard. “I—what?”

He took another step closer. “Don’t play dumb. You’ve been trying to take her out. Planning something for Friday, right? Café date?”

The guy laughed nervously, confused. “Yeah? I mean… she said yes.”

That smile widened, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Yeah. She’s nice like that.”

Then the smile dropped.

“But let’s get one thing straight.”

The guy’s brows pulled together. “What are you—?”

He grabbed the front of his collar, shoving him hard against the wall, voice dropping low and sharp.

“You’re not gonna show up.”

The guy froze. “What the hell is your problem?!”

“I don’t like repeating myself.” He leaned in close, breath calm and voice terrifyingly even. “You’re going to leave her alone. You’re going to block her. And you’re never going to speak to her again.”

“You’re insane—!”

He smiled again, twisting the guy’s shirt tighter. “No. You’re stupid. See, here’s the thing. I’m the popular guy. Good grades. Everyone loves me.” He tilted his head, voice dropping even further. “You? You’re a background character. No one’s gonna believe some awkward little shit over me. You tell anyone I threatened you, and all I have to do is smile and say, ‘Who, me?’ And everyone will laugh and move on.”

He let go with a shove, stepping back as the guy gasped, fixing his shirt.

“You can call it jealousy. Obsession. Whatever makes you feel better,” he said, brushing invisible dust off his sleeve. “But here’s what it really is, I’m not letting someone like you anywhere near her.”

The guy stared at him, chest heaving.

He walked away with a casual wave. “Don’t forget. Friday? You’re busy~”

The guy didn’t show up.

And that night, when he dropped by your room and found you curled up and quiet, wearing his hoodie like a safety blanket, something in his chest twisted.

You didn’t say a word about it.

But he knew.

He could see the flicker of hurt behind your eyes. The soft smile you gave him—fake, practiced. The way you brushed him off like it didn’t matter. He wanted to feel satisfied. Victorious.

But it just made him feel worse.

Because no matter how much he tried to control things… he couldn’t stop that sadness in your eyes.

You didn’t even know it was him. Didn’t even know that all this time, the reason you felt so overlooked, so invisible was because he’d made sure of it.

Not because he wanted to hurt you. But because he couldn’t stand the idea of someone else seeing what he saw.

You were his quiet. His warmth. His constant.

And if someone else took that away from him?

He didn’t know who he’d be.

***

It started small.

You noticed it when you caught him glaring at someone you’d only spoken to once. When your texts started mysteriously going unanswered. When people who used to be friendly now looked at you like they didn’t want to get involved.

At first, you thought you were just overthinking it. Paranoia, maybe. You were introverted, bad at reading people. You kept to yourself more often than not, maybe that just meant people naturally faded away.

But then there were moments.

Moments where you caught the sharpness behind his smile when someone mentioned another guy’s name. Moments where his “jokes” about being possessive didn’t feel so funny anymore. Moments where he looked at you too long, too quietly, like he was thinking something he couldn’t say out loud.

And then that night—everything shifted.

He was in your room again. Like always. Sprawled out on your bed, head resting against your pillow like it belonged to him. You were on your floor, flipping through old game cases, trying to ignore the heavy beat of your heart.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” he said, tone light but eyes tracking every move you made.

You shrugged. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

You didn’t answer right away. You didn’t really know how to. Your mind had been a mess lately, spinning with everything you didn’t understand. Everything you were starting to understand.

“Do you…” you hesitated, eyes on the case in your hand. “Do you ever think people avoid me because of you?”

He sat up. Slowly.

“Where’s that coming from?”

“I don’t know,” you muttered. “It just feels like… people don’t even try anymore.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then he stood. Walked over. Sat beside you on the floor, shoulder brushing yours. You didn’t look at him. You felt like you couldn’t.

You looked up at him, finally and your breath caught.

He was quiet for a second. Then he said, voice low, “Maybe I like it that way.”

And then he kissed you.

Because his eyes weren’t teasing. They were serious. Dark. Familiar in a way that suddenly felt foreign.

Just like that.

No warning. No permission.

His lips were on yours—soft, warm, dangerous. It wasn’t rushed, but it wasn’t gentle either. It was sure. Like he’d been waiting. Like he’d done it a thousand times in his head already.

You froze.

For a second, your brain short-circuited. Everything blanked. Your body didn’t know whether to lean in or pull away. Because you’d thought about this before. God, had you thought about it. Wondered, dreamed, ached over it. But now that it was real…

You remembered the girls. The rumors. The way he never looked twice at them after he got bored.

You pulled back, breath catching. “Don’t.”

He blinked at you, surprised, maybe even a little hurt.

You stood, fast. Hands shaking. “You should go.”

He didn’t move.

Instead, he gave you a small, crooked smile. The kind you used to find charming. The kind that now made your stomach twist.

“Why?” he said softly. “I wanna stay the night.”

You stared at him.

He tilted his head, like this was all just a game, “We can play boyfriend and girlfriend again,” he said, voice low, teasing. “Like we used to when we were kids. Remember that?”

You took a step back. “That was pretend.”

“So~?” He stood too now, closing the space between you. “Let’s pretend again. This time I won’t leave.”

Your chest tightened.

You want to push him away, your mind reeling with the memories of him being a playboy.

“I said you should go,” you repeated, trying to keep your voice firm.

And you hated that your heart skipped. That your body remembered the kiss more than your mind could process it. But your gut? Your gut screamed something was wrong. You took another step back, putting space between you.

He didn’t move. His eyes tracked you like prey, something unreadable flickering beneath the surface.

"You used to let me sleep over all the time," he said softly, like he was reminding you of a rule you were suddenly breaking. “What changed?”

Everything, you wanted to say.

But instead, your voice came out smaller than you intended. “That was when we were kids.”

A slow grin tugged at his lips—but it wasn’t his usual smile. It was something darker. Almost sad.

“You’re acting like I’m a stranger.”

You clenched your fists, unsure why your throat felt tight. “You are. Lately... I don’t know what you are.”

Something in his jaw twitched. The grin dropped.

And then, suddenly he stepped forward.

You barely had time to flinch before you felt his hands on your shoulders, gently but firmly guiding you backward. Your knees hit the edge of your bed. You stumbled. Sat down.

His body was close. Too close.

Your breath hitched.

“I don’t want you to be scared of me,” he murmured, crouching slightly so he could look you in the eyes. “I’d never hurt you. You know that, right?”

You nodded slowly, heart hammering. But the unease wouldn’t leave.

He placed a hand beside your thigh on the bed, leaning in.

“Then why are you shaking?”

You didn't answer.

Because part of you didn’t know if it was fear… or something else. Something even more dangerous—doubt.

You tried to stand again, but he didn’t move back. He was watching you too closely. Like he was trying to read your mind. Like he already knew what was in it.

"I know you're confused," he said. "But deep down, you've always felt something too. I just had the guts to do something about it."

You opened your mouth, to argue, to tell him to leave again but nothing came out. Instead, you whispered, "I don't know what you're doing anymore."

His expression cracked for a moment—something bitter bleeding through.

“I’m doing what I should’ve done a long time ago.”

And for the first time, he didn’t try to mask it.

[thatonegrimm]

Hiya Grimm! I love the way you write! I'm short (4ft6) and the boys are tall, could I get some funny moment drabbles of the saja boys (sep or together) reacting to the height difference? Take care of yourself and drink some water!

Hi Anon!! Thank you so much—you’re seriously too sweet 😭 And don’t worry, I’ve got my water bottle right here (because you told me to 💙). Also, I LOVE this prompt?? Tall demon boys + tiny reader = comedy gold. Let’s get into it 💌

🌙Saja Boys x Short!Reader

Your height is officially now the bane and the delight of the entire Saja Boys dorm — you are pocket-sized and they are unwell about it.

-----------------------

🧿 Jinu

Jinu is so careful around you it’s like you’re made of glass.

You once tried to give him a backhug and accidentally latched onto his waist. He turned scarlet.

“W-Wait, was that your head?? I thought—I mean—I didn’t think it would be that low—NOT THAT IT’S BAD—”

The poor man nearly short-circuits every time you ask him to reach something. He acts like you’re making a formal request to the throne.

“Jinu, can you grab the chips?” “Of course. It would be my honor. You shouldn’t have to live like this.”

He genuinely starts storing things lower just to make your life easier.

You caught him rearranging the pantry at 2am with a deep, solemn expression.

“This world wasn’t built for you,” he mutters, “but I’ll fix what I can.”

-----------------------

💪 Abby

Abby thinks you are the cutest little gremlin to ever exist.

He has no concept of personal space when it comes to you. If you’re standing next to him for longer than five seconds, he’s just gonna pick you up.

One time you told him to “put you down,” and he literally just set you on top of the fridge.

“Wait—NOT LIKE THAT—”

He calls you things like “travel-sized” and “fun-sized fury.” You tried to punch his knee once. He giggled.

When you get mad at him, he holds your head with one hand and lets you flail like an angry Roomba.

Abby’s favorite activity? Putting his chin on your head like it’s a shelf. You’ve bitten him for this. He considers it flirting.

-----------------------

📚 Mystery

You thought he didn’t care. He didn’t say anything about your height. He just blinked at you slowly like a lizard.

Until one day, you saw him trying to copy the way you walk. Small. Deliberate. Compact.

You narrowed your eyes. “Are you… mocking me?” “No,” he said. “Learning.”

He absolutely weaponizes the height difference. He’ll vanish into a shadow and reappear directly behind you—looming.

It’s like being haunted by a very tall cat.

You once climbed on the counter to reach something. Mystery walked by and pushed the item closer without a word, then left like a cryptid.

He later offered you a knife with zero explanation.

“What’s this for?” “To stab their knees.” “Whose knees?” “Any knees. They’re at your level.”

-----------------------

💋 Romance

Romance takes every opportunity to tease you.

“Oh no,” he gasps dramatically. “Where’s my kiss? I can’t see you. Are you down there, tiny thing?”

You socked him in the thigh once. He moaned on purpose. You: “STOP BEING WEIRD—”

Him, scooping you into his arms bridal-style: “I can’t help it, you bring out my instincts.”

He insists on taking selfies where you look absurdly small next to him. He always squats just a little to make you even tinier.

Your revenge? Climbing him like a tree.

“Are you—using me—for elevation??” “You’re tall. I’m resourceful.”

He’s never recovered.

-----------------------

🔥 Baby

You were worried about the height difference at first. But Baby? Baby is thriving.

“You’re fun-sized,” he smirks. “Pocket edition. Travel demon slayer.” “I’m literally not a toy.” “Too late, I already told the group chat you fit in my carry-on.”

He will absolutely lean on things just to look smug. Will lean on YOU if you let him.

At some point, he started calling you “Lil’ Boss.” He crouched next to you once, chin in hand, and said, “Damn. I could yeet you so far.”

You climbed him like a jungle gym and bit his shoulder.

He looked delighted.

“Okay. This is why you’re my favorite.”

-----------------------

M-List

[lavenderspence]

A bunch of cuties in love | A.H.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader

Content warning: fluff, nicknames (i think that's about it?)

Word Count: 2.2K

Summary: Running late to a meeting with Strauss, Hotch leaves Jack with his favorite person - you. The scene that greets him when he comes back leads to some realizations. 

Request: Hotch request: BAU!Reader is Jack’s favorite and always spends the day with them when he’s brought along to the office. They have a cute bonding moment that Hotch secretly watches. Cue the “oh god I’m in love with them aren’t I”

A/N: it’s been two months today since I made this blog, and it’s been wild, it’s been fun, and it’s been a little teary. thank you for the love and support! Please enjoy this cute little hotch piece, I had a blast writing it! Thank you to the anon who requested this, and I’d love to hear what you think! Also, I miss old Disney😭

masterlist

9:23.

On the days you weren’t working on a case, and the only thing you really needed to catch up on was paperwork, your usual start time was 8:30. Yet almost an hour had gone by and he wasn’t in his office like he usually would be.

With a punctual Unit Chief like Aaron Hotchner, it was a shock, and a little nerve-wracking that he was late. 

You’d lie if you didn’t say you were getting a little worried, taking into account the last and only time he’d been late - Foyet attacking him in his own home, leaving him with long-lasting trauma, scars, and without his family. 

You'd never forget that day, and every day after where he was left to suffer, laying the blame on himself. No matter how many times you said it, how many times Rossi patted him on the back, reminding him it wasn't his fault, you knew a part of him still didn't believe it.

And the part of you that cared about him, maybe a little more than you should, didn't have the heart to watch him do this to himself - the silent guilt, the long empty looks. 

You’ve known him awhile, seen him through many of his ups, and just as many as his downs. You’d seen him laugh in glee and beam with happiness, you’d seen him lose it in anger and anguish and you’d seen him cry in heartbreak. 

So much of your life spent beside him, so many memories linked with him, and your team. And much of it you knew was friendly love - your love for Emily and Spencer, JJ and Morgan, Penelope and Rossi. But the love you felt for him was just a tiny bit different, deeper, not the friendly kind. 

You’d only recently started to understand what you were really feeling for him, as recent as the last few weeks. Still new and a little unexplainable at times, you were learning to balance that, within your friendship.

You didn’t think you wanted to pursue anything, right now. It had been a little over two years since he’d lost Haley, since he’d needed to start navigating his life as a single dad, a widower. 

You could still see the pain in his eyes, fresh as the day it had happened. You knew he was managing, but it was still apparent, that it was hitting them both hard.

And Jack? He was a little ray of sunshine in the otherwise gruesome life all of you led - the same could be said about Henry. But Henry was Reid's favorite, as his godfather, you knew the bond between them was unbreakable. 

But Jack? You were his favorite, and he was yours. 

He was your little buddy, your partner in all things art, cartoons, and Disney shows. He was your little helper during all things baking - you'd babysat once and he'd requested chocolate chip, peanut butter cookies and you'd been more than happy to help him make them.

He was a natural baker and a little taster. 

Your love for the little cutie ran as deep as your feelings for his dad.

At the end of the day though, you were a friend, a shoulder both could use to lean on and rely on. You were comfortable in your role within their little family and weren't looking to make any changes then.

9:28.

You were playing with your watch, already having decided you’d be giving him a call if he didn't arrive by 9:30.

Worry was making your hands sweat, and just as you went to wipe them on your pants, the door to the bullpen opened, and in walked a very frantic Hotch - his tie was a little crooked, shirt a little wrinkled, and Jack - a little backpack on his back, and a curious look paired with a timid smile.

Aaron's eyes searched the bullpen, as did Jack's, the little Hotchner noticing you seconds before his father did. You stood up, watching as the blond pulled away from his dad, and on a little run, made his way towards you. 

“Cutiee.” He called out, using the nickname you called him, to address you too. You leaned down when he was a few steps away, accepting his hug, his little arms wrapping around your neck. 

“Hi, cutie.” You greeted him, a wide smile on your face. Hotch had made his way over to you by then, giving you a barely-there smile, but his eyes shone.

“You're late.” You started, pulling to your full height.

“Yeah, Jessica was called on an emergency at the last minute, and Liah is away on a hiking trip, so here we are.” Liah was Hotch's neighbor, she looked after Jack for a few hours when Hotch couldn't stay with him, or Jess was busy.

He looked at his watch, running a hand through his hair, messing it up a little.

“I have a meeting with Strauss…well, right now. Can you please watch him until I get done?” 

“Go, don't make her wait. We'll be okay and we're going to have fun. Right, Jack?” You watched him nod at both you and his dad before Hotch exhaled.

“You're a lifesaver. Be good for Y/N, okay buddy.” Another nod from Jack, and he was on his way to Strauss's office.

‘’Okay Jack, let's see if Aunt Penelope can download a few episodes of ‘The Suite Life’ for us, and then we'll go color and draw for a while. Does that sound good to you?” 

“Very good. Can I also have orange juice?” He asked, taking your hand in his small, soft one, fingers wrapping around your own.

“Let's go see if we have any.” You walked towards the small communal kitchen space, checking the fridge and then you checked the pantry���and, “Bingo. Let's go see the lair.” You led him to Penelope's office.

“Knock, knock, may us mortals enter?” You joked, making your little partner giggle. 

“Us?” Her voice rang from the other side of the door.

“I have sir Hotchner with me. The smaller one.”

“Hey,” Jack said in outrage

“My favorite Hotchner.” You added.

Penelope pulled the door open, beaming at both of you, before she made space for you to enter. 

“Jack, my love, hi,” She raised her hand, letting him give her a high five. Even though she was affectionate, Jack wasn’t as much, especially after Haley. He only hugged a few people now - Jess, his dad, and surprisingly, you. 

It really showed how comfortable he was with you.

“What brings you to my tech cave?” She asked. You raised your brows at him, prompting him to do the talking. 

“Can you, please, download a few episodes of Zack and Cody for us?” His voice rang with its usual child calm and sweetness, fingers intertwined in front of him. 

Penelope's smile softened even more, “Sure thing, sweetie,” Her eyes turned towards you then, “Your tablet?”

“Yes, please.” You knew it was a work tablet, but no one had to know.

“Any requests?” She asked the little guy.

“You pick.”

“Okay-dokey. Should have it in about 10 minutes, my loves.”

“Thank you, Aunt Penelope.”

“Thanks Pen.” You gave her air kisses before you led Jack out and towards his father's office. 

His day had started rocky, hell, the whole night had gone that way. 

Jack had woken up from a nightmare - twice at that. After the second time, he’d asked Aaron to sleep in his bed, too scared and sad to stay in his room.

He’d snoozed his alarm, just once, and had a hard time waking his son up too. He’d had 20 minutes to get himself ready, but Jessica had called 10 minutes before she was supposed to arrive - apologizing because she’d been called on an emergency at work. 

Aaron had to rearrange his whole morning then, already aware he’d be late for work. He’d had to get Jack and his backpack ready and cook him breakfast. All of that, and be in the office before his 9:30 meeting with Strauss. 

Breakfast and preparing Jack for a day at the BAU, he’d done successfully. Arriving on time had been a little tricky, with barely 2 minutes to spare. 

But when he’d walked into the bullpen, Jack spotting you just seconds before he did, and he’d watched your smile grow, he’d known all would be okay. 

Watching you with Jack always brought a warm feeling within him, like he was watching something sacred. You were always patient and kind, always interested in listening to him talk, even though he was a quiet kid, who appreciated quality time more. 

You gave him that too, and a lot of it - you watched cartoons and shows with him. Colored and drew, baked cookies, and played with him whenever he wanted. Any time spent with Jack was about what he wanted, what he liked doing, and above all, making him comfortable. 

Even if it meant cleaning flour off your kitchen floor and whatever had gotten in the drawers too. 

He appreciated, even loved the bond you had with his son, every smile, every hug, and every minute you spend with him. He loved hearing about you from Jack - what you’d done together, what you’d told him, the stories, the jokes, the conversations. 

Hearing his son proclaim you as his favorite person in the BAU had made his heart soar. Taking into account all the time you spent with him, it wasn’t really a surprise. He bonded hard, but once he did, he never went back.

He was much like Aaron himself in that regard. His trust had to be earned, as did his friendship, and it required hard work. Jack was much the same. And you’d successfully earned both of theirs with your beautiful and caring personality. 

He exhaled a breath, checking his watch, step fast, and briefcase in hand. 

11:18.

His meeting with Strauss had run longer than he’d anticipated - over an hour and a half. Diplomacy, politics, budgets, and cuts, they’d run through countless things, half of that meeting already fully blacked out from his memory. 

He was tired - every meeting with Strauss left him drained. Worried,  about Jack and his state of mind after last night. All he wanted to do was get to his office and check up on his son. 

Walking into the bullpen for the second time that day, he quickly made his way towards his office, only to stop short at the window. The blinds were open, having forgotten to close them last night, so he had a clear and full view of his office.

You were sat on the couch close to the armrest, Jack cuddled against you, cheek squished against your collarbone, face almost buried in your neck. 

Your work tablet sat propped on the coffee table, and your arm wrapped around his small body, keeping him close. His eyes were almost closed, your thumb running soothingly on his back. 

He watched, mesmerized by the scene. He felt himself soften, all of him. His face, the furrow in his brow, and the tight set of his lips. His whole body, his heart, suddenly at peace. 

For months he'd observed the kindness you showed everyone - the families of victims, heartbroken by the injustice of life. Passersby, people you might never see again. Your team, especially, your work family. Jack, and even Aaron himself. 

And as he watched you with his son, the one person left in this world who truly loved him, no matter his rights or wrongs - he couldn't help but feel himself unravel. 

Every little thought he'd had about you, every feeling he might have somehow suppressed in order to protect himself and his child, they all attacked him, in seconds. 

Because the truth was, you earned his trust, his friendship, and somehow along the way, you'd won his heart as well.

Right at that moment, his heart pounded in need, in adoration, in pure, clear love. Love he hadn't allowed himself to feel since Haley. Love, he'd frankly hadn't felt in years, ever since he’d put his signature down on the dotted line. 

He wanted to get home to see this. He wanted to see you put Jack to bed, and kiss his forehead with a whispered ‘good night’.

He wanted to stroke your cheek tenderly, pull you into a kiss that made you melt, and stroke a fire within you like no one else could. 

He wanted to tell you he loved you - in the car, as he drove you to work. In the kitchen during breakfast and dinner. In his office, a few stolen moments as you worked. And under the sheets, while you made love. 

And even through the fear that gripped him in a vice, of rejection, separation, and even trust - he still wanted to love you, as if he was loving someone for the first time again. 

“Everything okay, Aaron?” David asked, passing on the way to his office. 

Aaron barely spared him a glance, nodding his head a little, “Yeah, it's okay.”

He pushed the door to his office open and walked in, greeted by his new favorite sight, and his two favorite people. 

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[beardedjoel]

ride

joel x f!reader

request: "prone, leaving a hickey on their neck, in a truck bed" sent in as part of my 5k celebration! or you try to grapple with feelings for your parents' friend while getting absolutely railed by him 🤠 6.5k words.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, age gap (unspecified but college age reader and it's said that joel is over twice her age), oral f receiving, unprotected piv, pr0ne b0ne, creampie, hickeys, dirty talk and pet names, bit of daddy kink (sue me okay), angsty feelings, alcohol, reader has a mom and dad and clothing is described (shorts and t-shirt).

a/n: saw this prompt and instantly loved the visual! such a fun one to write, and i got weirdly caught up in these two having history and a bit of angst so it ended up way longer than i anticipated (aaand everybody is thinking we are not surprised julie couldn't shut up).

Today had you on edge, taking in your surroundings more dutifully, fearing the rounding of corners on campus in case you’d run into him. You try to pretend you don’t want to see him, but can’t deny the sinking feeling in your stomach as you arrive for your shift that evening without having any chance encounters. You hate that you’re imagining how one would go as you wait on your tables, how you’d pretend you hadn’t even thought about the possibility of him also being on campus for parents weekend. Casual. It was totally, completely casual - the same sentiment you’d been trying to convince yourself of for months.

His daughter Sarah is only a year younger than you and ended up at the same university a couple of hours from your hometown. You’d played little league soccer together for a few years as kids, and your parents became much faster friends with Joel than you and Sarah ever did. 

Despite Chip’s Bar & Grille being located off campus, it doesn't seem immune to the influx of people due to parents weekend as you weave through your tables, a sweat breaking out on your neck. Your asshole of a boss - the Chip of Chip’s Bar and Grille - never quite learned how to keep the temperature comfortable in here for the workers. He’d also declined your request to have tonight off to spend with your parents - too many other coworkers of yours had the same idea as you with people’s parents being in town, apparently. You know he also simply just enjoyed telling people no.

You plaster on a fake grin as you carry a tray of beers over to a rowdier group of men, probably here to watch Friday Night Football or something, judging by their team spirited paraphernalia. They’re already a few drinks deep, getting increasingly more bold with their commentary towards you, but it’s nothing you haven’t dealt with here before. You easily brush it off, navigating your way through their charged remarks with grace and sweet looks that should only boost your tips, letting the act drop dramatically as soon as you walk away from them.

Karina, the hostess - a sweet girl around your age - flits up to you, buzzing information in your ear. “Table 19 just got sat. Said it’s your parents, I think?”

You smile to yourself - it’s thoughtful that your parents would brave the greasy, unappetizing food at Chip’s just to see you twelve hours earlier than planned. They instantly glow and warm up at the sight of you, looking slightly out of place but nothing short of comfortable. They were the type of people that could adapt nearly anywhere.

“Hey, honey!” your mom trills, hugging you tight, pressing the slightly damp t-shirt you’re wearing into your back. 

“Sorry. Sweaty,” you warn her too late, getting a chuckle in your ear. Your dad squeezes you tightly next, and when they go to sit down, you notice with confusion that Karina has placed three menus on the table. 

Your eyes snap up to the front door just in time to see a familiar, broad form step into the fray, weaving his way through the bodies and tables. His eyes scan across the restaurant - dark and brooding as always - then land on you, standing tall above where most people are seated at their respective tables. Your stomach leaps, leaving your breath caught in your throat, him letting his lip twitch into some semblance of a smile - or a smirk, rather, given how haughty he looks right now.

For that brief second, it’s only the two of you in this bustling, noisy room, before the bubble bursts and he stalks over to you and your parents. It’s only then his eyes are torn off of yours, leaving you breathless and confused. And angry.

“Oh, good, already got us a table. Parkin’ was weirdly a nightmare out there,” he says, smooth and silky, announcing his presence. With one more flicker of his eyes to yours just before your mom pops up to hug him, blocking you from view, you see the mischievous amusement behind them. He’s enjoying the fact that he’s caught you off guard, that you’re flustered by his mere presence alone.

Yeah, angry sounds right. Joel Miller: certified prick.

After the fuss settles down, your parents explain they ran into Joel at a cafe when they got to campus this morning while you were still in class. Being their gracious, hospitable selves, they’d promptly invited him to come out to dinner with them tonight to catch up. Just your luck.

“The rest was history. Joel seemed awful happy to get to see you too, know it’s been a while,” your dad happily and obliviously trills. 

You’ll bet he seemed happy.

Joel moves in for an embrace, and you stiffen before feeling his meaty, thick arms draping around you, the warmth of his chest pressing closer, his breathing in your ear. Everything feels lit up inside of you, sparks skittering across your skin. You beg your knees not to buckle, reminding yourself that refusing to hug him begs more questions than you’d like from your parents. You try not to melt into the familiarity of it when your arms fling around his neck, try to keep it… casual. The word bites at you, stinging deeper each time you try to convince yourself of its place in this relationship. 

“Hey there, sunshine. How you been?” he mutters in his slow, sweet drawl. You can’t help but smile at your favorite pet name he’s had for you for years, wishing to wipe it off your face as he pulls back and sees it. There’s a returned softness there beneath all his amused loftiness. 

“G-good. Good,” you manage to stammer out. “How’s the business… How's Sarah?” 

You watch on as Joel stays planted right in front of you, the moment lingering longer than necessary or normal. You watch him have the same realization, clearing his throat and turning to pull out his chair, sitting down.

“Good,” he echoes you, smiling softly. “And good. Girl’s too busy with friends to see her old man tonight, though. Stuck with these two now.” He jabs a thumb in the direction of your parents. 

The dig gets a hoot out of your mom, her hand playfully nudging him. The noise of her balking breaks you out of your reverie where your eyes had been plastered on his features, begging them to tell you anything. 

You suck your lip between your teeth, blinking a few times to snap yourself out of this haze. You’d wanted this, hadn’t you? A chance to run into Joel, knowing that parents weekend would likely bring him this way. It’s too much, too… intense, to see him in your workplace, somehow merging his life with the one you lived separately from him. Back home the two of you had been on equal footing, but now he invaded your space, the places you were able to go to get away from whatever this was, to get away from him.

“I - I’ll go check on my tables. You guys decide what you want to order and I’ll come back. And I’ll talk to Chip about a family discount, or something.”

Your dad insists it’s not necessary before you scurry away, but you ask anyway. Chip unsurprisingly argues with you, huffing and puffing and generally being the asshole that he is. 

“You want a discount for your family? And where’s that money gonna come from? Maybe from your tips tonight? Would that work for you? Hm?”

“Forget it, Chip.” Muttered under your breath, you roll your eyes, feeling dejected as he stalks off to likely terrorize someone else or put on his fake schmoozing act with a loyal customer. 

When you glance back at your parents across the room, Joel’s eyes are on yours, intense and questioning. They burn into you, making you immediately turn away, trying to hide the glistening of tears from Chip’s beratement. It’s dumb, really. He’s always this big of an asshole. You aren’t sure why you expected anything other than his default or a single generous thing from him.

After pulling it together enough to do the rounds on your tables, you stop back to take your parents’ and Joel’s orders. Joel seems like he’s stewing, his energy quiet and distracted as he glances down at the menu, ordering a cheeseburger with a distant voice.

It’s not until you’re off at the point of sales system tapping in their orders that a presence sidles up beside you, the voice deep and hushed.

“That your boss there? The one lookin’ like he’s got somethin’ shoved up his ass?”

You do a slow turn to peer at Joel incredulously, glancing around as if you’re caught in a compromising position. You suppose maybe you are, but at least your parents are out of view from where you’re tucked back in the little hallway leading to the restrooms. It’s cramped back here with the service station, leaving Joel’s body close to yours.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you hiss, instead of answering his question.

“It’s not a crime to go to the bathroom,” he quips back. “Answer me.”

“What? You’re gonna beat him up?” You give Joel a pointed look before focusing back on the screen, punching in your dad’s Dr. Pepper.

“No, jus’ wanna know why a boss is out here makin’ his employees cry.”

“I wasn’t crying. He - he’s just an asshole. And why do you care? You’re not my -” you cut yourself off, shaking your head, pinching the bridge of your nose. “It’s fine. I promise. Please just… why are you here, Joel?”

“Havin’ dinner with your parents.”

You have to force in a deep, calming breath before sighing it out. “You like this. Surprising me, catching me off guard. You’re the one being an ass now.”

Joel visibly softens at your stressed demeanor. “It’s also not a crime to want to see you, y’know. And have some fun trippin’ you up along the way. I didn’t realize -”

Your eyes linger on his face for a long, quiet moment, burning with frustration and contempt and something deeper you won’t allow yourself to access. “I’ve got to get back to work,” you say, concluding the conversation as you snap the notebook containing your orders shut and push away from the computer. You brush past Joel’s shoulder, turning to glance back at him.

“It is nice to see you,” you utter, half hoping he can’t hear it over the bustle of the restaurant. When his lips twist to the side in a lopsided smile, you know he did.

“You too.”

Joel seems to behave the rest of the evening, paying the proper, appropriate amount of attention to you, treating you like the family friend that you are and nothing more. Just as it should be, you remind yourself every time a pang of sadness pulses through your chest.

When they pay and leave, you breathe a sigh of relief, working the rest of your shift with an odd buzzing in your head, picturing Joel’s tanned skin and rugged lines. The memory of the feeling of his body close to yours in that hallway makes you shudder, then curse yourself.

A mixture of disappointment and irritation worms its way into your mind as you realize that was your chance. That was the time you got to spend with Joel this weekend, when he was so close within your grasp. He’d be busy tomorrow, spending time with Sarah, letting her tote him around campus - showing him where she takes her classes, her favorite places to eat, her dorm that is likely decorated with purple accents and posters of her favorite bands.

You’d missed the opportunity to actually see him, too busy being pissed at him for existing in your sacred space, for never leaving you alone no matter how hard you tried to get him out of your head. You never knew when the next time would come around - even if you were back home, time spent around Joel was never guaranteed. Nor was it appropriate.

You worry your lip into oblivion, realizing it’s for the best, anyways, as you push the back door to the bar open after your shift, letting the cool night air greet your grimy, post work skin. You go to round the building, heading for the bus stop on the main street that will take you exactly twenty five minutes and eleven stops back to your dorm.

A voice cuts in, seeming to come from the darkness itself. “You always wear shorts that short to work?”

God damn it. You flinch and then press your lips together, slowly turning your head to the corner of the parking lot, following the gruff, familiar voice. You see Joel leaning against the front of his truck, arms crossed over his chest. He’s half illuminated by the streetlamps placed periodically across the asphalt, casting long shadows on him. The blue flannel he wears is stretched tightly over his arms, the sleeves rolled up to reveal those forearms that make you feel more than you’d ever care to admit. 

“Better tips,” you reply, nonchalant. You adjust your bag on your shoulder, walking over to him. You stop short, giving a wide berth between the two of you, attempting to avoid the always inevitable pull you feel towards him.

“That so?” he says, sounding amused. Joel lets his eyes roam up from your feet, scanning your bare legs, drinking you in all the way up your chest until his gaze rests on your face where it softens. He’s obvious about it, not caring to hide the lust that lives between the two of you now that you’re alone.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, feeling like a broken record. You watch as he turns and starts walking to the back of the truck. You peer around to see the bed is open, staunchly crossing your arms and not following him.

“Thought I’d give you a ride home,” Joel throws over his shoulder.

“What if I had my own car here?”

“You don’t,” he punches out. “Parents told me they hate you takin’ the bus so late.”

You quietly groan to yourself. Of course they did.

“And I thought you could use one of these after a long shift,” Joel adds on, proudly holding up a six pack of cheap, generic beer, strung together by plastic loops. You give him a sardonic laugh, finally giving in and making your way to the back of the truck. Joel has it parked with the bed facing the far corner of the parking lot, looking directly into the thicket of trees beyond that separates Chip’s from the McDonald’s behind it. It’s late, the lot nearly empty and the businesses around you all quieted down for the night. Some kind of thickness hangs in the air, otherworldly and separating you from reality, pressing in on you to be so alone with Joel.

“Aren’t you driving?” you ask, brows raised. 

“Ain’t for me. It’s for you.”

“Miller Lite,” you say, gesturing to the six pack. “Clever. And disgusting.”

He smirks, tearing one out of its loop and handing it to you. It’s chilled, but not cold, and you nearly grimace. You don’t even like beer, but being around Joel still makes you nervous so you crack it open, listening to the little click of the pull tab and ensuing fizzy noise from the liquid inside, then take a long swig. 

“Attagirl,” Joel comments passively. Your heart flutters at the small praise and you peer at him, doelike, from over the can, hoping your eyes don’t give you away. Of course they do, they always do. You look down, shuffling your feet, clad in your black, non slip work sneakers.

His hand is hesitant, reaching out to you from where he now leans against the open truck bed, clasping around your wrist with a gentle authority. It tugs you, forcing you to take a step towards him.

“Joel…” you warn, still unable to bring your eyes up. You know if you do, you’ll fold.

“Hm?” he rasps, moving you closer still. Joel’s legs and feet come into view, thighs thick and meaty in their denim, his work boots dirty and scuffed. It made something inside of you flutter again, these details about him. You liked his mess and his manliness, the way he didn’t give a shit if his shoes were dirty, but that they were functional. You like his worn denim with the outline of his wallet seared into the back pocket from too much use. You like… him.

“Come sit,” he begs of you, and despite your best efforts, you’re unable to resist. You hop up onto the back of the truck, letting your feet dangle while taking another sip of crappy beer. He pulls himself up next to you, and leans closer, knuckles brushing along your neck, making you shiver. It’s heavenly and electric, everything you’d craved and missed and wanted, never able to stop thinking about these calloused hands and the man they’re attached to.

“We… we can’t do this again,” you force yourself to utter, fiddling with the pull tab on the can held in your lap.

Joel’s hand freezes. “You got a college boyfriend now or somethin’?” he spits out, unable to hide the greed from his voice.

“No…” you admit.

“Alright, why not then?”

“We just… shouldn’t.”

“Y’weren’t sayin’ that over winter break. Or durin’ Thanksgiving, or the summer before that when I was fuckin’ myself deep inside of you, lettin’ you call me your daddy,” he drawls out lazily, continuing to softly revere your neck with his hands, slowly moving to your shoulder and back, fishing underneath the collar of your branded Chip's tee shirt to find bare skin. 

You swallow hard, feeling your cheeks blazing at the memories of how caught up in it you’d gotten. “I - I don’t think…”

“That’s right, sweetheart. Just don’t think.”

You finally dare a flash of your gaze to his, finding his eyes dark and wanting. “Joel…” you plead again, unsure of how to express anything else. “This isn’t… right. Who you are to me, my parents. You know that, right?”

He licks his lips and nods, moving in close and ghosting them over your neck. Your eyes roll back, your touch-starved, needy body begging you for more. “Torture myself over it all the damn time, pretty girl,” he rasps right next to your ear.

“Then why did you come here tonight?” you ask in a lusty whisper as his lips attach to your skin, sucking softly. Your breath catches in your throat, fighting a whine.

“I don’t know. I jus’... did,” he says earnestly, sounding pained. “I wanted it. Didn’t care ‘bout the rest. I wanted to see you, just us.”

Your heart pitter patters in your chest, that pesky, squeezing feeling of it that always takes over around Joel pulling taut. You know he doesn’t mean it, that he doesn’t want you. He wants what you offer - your body, your naïveté to stay involved in this, your company when he’s lonely. It was hard to say just how Joel felt about you, because he’d never dare say it out loud for fear of making this too real. 

His scent invades you - musky and something fresh and nature inspired, pine maybe - and you feel yourself folding in real time.

“Joel…” you warn one last time without any resolve behind it, eyes fluttering shut as he nuzzles into your neck. You want this. You don’t want this. You want him. You don’t want this uncertainty, this unstructured and wild thing that you two have become tangled up in. 

It happens before you can even register your body moving of its own accord, crashing your lips into his waiting ones. His hands are fast, eager, to touch every part of you now that you’ve given some semblance of a go ahead. Squeezing, groping, one hand relishing in the feel of your tits, the other cupping your cheek, pulling you deeper into the searing kiss.

“Fuck,” he mutters when your hands move with equal fervor on his body - squeezing his thigh, wrapping around him the to clutch the hair at the base of his neck. “The hell says we shouldn’t be doing this…”

You shake your head, smiling into the kiss. “Probably everyone.”

“Makes me want you more, baby,” Joel counters, and you nod feverishly in agreement, squeaking in surprise when he pushes you down to the truck bed, swinging himself over to straddle you. His weight crushes down, comforting and arousing all in one, no time to even dwell on it before his lips are on yours again, a hand plunging between to cup you through your shorts. Warmth flows freely between your legs, the fabric dampening the sensation but it’s still too much, too built up, and you buck your hips.

“I want these shorts gone,” he demands. “Everyone wishin’ they got a peek under these, givin’ you all those tips, except at the end of the night it’s me right here, gettin’ everythin’ they want.”

Your head goes fuzzy, swimming with lustful thoughts as his dirty talk ramps up. It turned out that Joel Miller had the filthiest mouth you’d ever encountered, something you’d never have expected from the quieter, gruff man. He was an archetype of southern politeness most of the time - not without his sass, sure - but you’d never expected… this.

“Take them,” you breathe out. Joel grins above you, unbuttoning the shorts with ease, hooking his fingers in the sides.

“You’d let me, really? Right here… right out in the open?” Joel tsks, the grin on his face spreading into something wicked. You blink back to reality, to the parking lot around you, and yet your answer remains unchanged.

“Yes,” you whisper, feeling shame burn at your cheeks.

Joel works your bottoms down slowly, taking your panties with it and speaking unhurriedly. “Let anyone who comes to see what all the fuss is about see all of this, would you?”

“Yes,” you answer dutifully.

“God damn.” He chuckles, tossing your shorts to the side, leaning back to glimpse at the bottom half of you, now exposed to him. “Dunno what’s worse. This, or that closet at your parent’s place. You’re a dirty little bitch, ain’t you?”

You nearly growl. “You love it,” you shoot back, spreading your thighs wide open for him. 

Staring between them with a certain wonder about him, he answers. “I do.”

He sinks himself down, moving to pleasure you, pulling your clit into his mouth and giving it a gentle suck. You yelp, a tiny squeak that has your hand flying over your mouth to quiet yourself down.

Joel moves his tongue to lap at your folds, drinking in the sweet slickness you’ve already poured out for him. The slickness that had been pooling between your thighs just at the sight of him earlier tonight. 

“You been this wet all night for me?” he asks incredulously, toying a finger through it now, circling your clit in a slow, tortuous circle.

You whimper first as an answer. “You - you make me -”

“I know I do. Ain’t easy to hide a hard fuckin’ cock under the table with your parents either, y’know. Wearin’ shorts like that on that gorgeous ass of yours.” He tsks into your pussy before slurping again, groaning as your arousal starts to coat his beard.

Your chest heaves, desperately needing more from him, his satisfaction with toying with you going longer than you can handle tonight. Not after how long it’s been.

“Please, J-Joel.”

He chuckles darkly. “We both know that ain’t the name you want to call me right now.”

He was right, the word had hung on your tongue since the second you’d been alone together, since you felt his warm hands exploring your skin. It came out somehow more naturally than you’d expected or even wanted, but something about it just felt… right.

Self conscious, you hold back and grumble as he withholds contact from you, staring up expectantly. “Come on, angel. I wanna hear it, too. Been too long.”

“Please, daddy…” you correct yourself shyly, readjusting to the word on your tongue. Joel’s face, shadowed by the yellow light of the closest streetlamp, breaks into a smirk.

“That’s right. Right now, when we’re like this, I’m your daddy, aren’t I?”

You nod and he continues to lick your needy cunt as a reward, swirling his tongue over the delicate bud near the top. “Yes, you are.”

Joel’s tongue moves faster, urged on at your breathless cries for him. “And you’d want to come for your daddy, wouldn’t you?”

The words twist your core tighter, the warmth building to a near breaking point. “G-god, yes. Y-yes!” You cry out louder as he sinks a finger inside, crooking it to make you go a little dizzy. You clamp a hand over your mouth again, tighter this time, stifling your cries.

Joel pulls back, a string of saliva and arousal connecting the two of you. His finger keeps the pressure on that spot inside of you, his breath ghosting over your sensitive skin as the most painful tease.

“Nuh-uh. Think you should be loud. Unless… you don’t want your coworkers to hear ya? Or better yet, that asshole boss of yours?”

You picture the ramifications of what Joel is saying, the way Chip’s face would go red, twisted up in anger before he likely fired you. You break into a cheeky smile, and without conviction you say, “I - I shouldn’t."

“You should be doin’ a lot of things right now, sweetheart. But here we are. Don’t act like you don’t like the idea of pissin’ off that bastard.”

You chuckle, nodding in a dazed agreement as Joel glides his nose over your sex, flicking his tongue out periodically and making you start to squirm impatiently. “Bet he wants to fuck you, too. Such a pretty, perfect girl. Bet he wants to bury his mouth in this sweet god damn perfect cunt.” He punctuates his words with a deep inhale to your pussy, his nose now tracing a little circle over your clit. 

His words send you reeling - something about the possessiveness he holds over you makes you clench around his digits like you’ve never done for anyone else. “Please -” you beg before you can even think.

“Please you want him to fuck you?”

You sigh in lustful, irritated frustration. “D-damn it, Joel. No. You.”

“Need daddy to fuck you good, don’t you? These college boys ain’t doin’ it for you, are they?” he purrs into your skin, finally pulling himself from between your legs to glide up over your body, shielding you completely.

You feel yourself flush hot, still sheepish even after all these months affected by his dirty words and that stupid, yet hot - so hot, god why is it so hot - title he’s bestowed himself. A tickle of embarrassment creeps into your belly knowing that you’ve hardly pursued anyone at school, never able to find exactly what you’d already had all along - only it wasn’t yours to keep. It never could be.

“I - I -” you mumble, avoiding eye contact as his face hovers above yours.

“What? They’re that bad?” he teases, and you bite your lip.

“There aren’t many… relations going on, okay?” You grimace, finding his dark eyes and seeing him amused, yet studying you carefully, more seriously.

Joel throws you the tiniest smirk, but his voice is deep and sincere. “Damn shame for all of them. But makes me awful happy to hear on account of myself.”

You swallow, nodding, feeling an anxiousness playing in your belly. “Have - have you…? Since we last…?” You don’t know why you even ask, why you’re hellbent on setting yourself up to be hurt.

Joel hesitates, debating for a moment, then leans in to kiss you, long and deep. He pulls back, then shakes his head. “Not since December, no.” The words are hushed, whispered, one hand squeezing at your hip. 

The moment is tense - too much so - and the urge to escape it crashes into you. You shift underneath him, pressing your hips up into his to entice him. “Don’t you want to fuck me then before ol’ Chip gets his chance?”

Joel practically growls, his hold going tight. “Wouldn’t fuck you like I do.”

You shake your head, licking your lips and feeling the flicker of desire reignite between your thighs that had briefly paused. “We’ll see about that,” you say, raising your eyebrows.

“God damn it, kiddo, you’re tryin’ to piss me off.”

“It’s better when you’re irritated with me -” You lick your lips, your hands finding the waistband of his jeans, toying with it. “Daddy.”

That same growl erupts from his throat, aggravated and breathless. His hands scramble with yours to free his cock, and you can’t help but peer between your bodies to catch the sight of it. You love every bit of his body, love seeing the way it moves for you, with you. The way that it evokes things in you you’d never known possible, hitting all of your buttons just right.

Only getting a short glance at his erection, your body is quickly handled by Joel’s rough, eager hands rolling you onto your stomach. You’re held down immediately, his weight crushing into you, nearing on uncomfortable with the bumps and ridges in the bed of the truck. One hand presses to the back of your head as he mounts you, the hot skin of his cock teasing at your ass.

All you can do is whimper, your head straining to look back at him as he spreads your ass cheeks, slipping between them and to your slick core, nudging at your entrance. Anticipation hangs in your labored breaths until he enters you, the tension released in an exhale of relief and sharp tenderness at the full stretch of him. 

Joel wastes no time slamming into you, satiating every fantasy you’d had of him, every desirous, late night thought that caught you off guard since your last rendezvous. It was always just as you’d remembered it - a miraculous connection of your bodies that seemed to stump the two of you every time you’d tried to make sense of it.

“Hell yes, angel, you always take me so good, so perfect,” Joel grunts out as he thrusts into you. “Never complainin’, jus’ takin’ what you’re meant to.”

Your eyes roll back slightly as he presses impossibly deep inside of you. Despite everything - his size, your ages, the myriad of reasons this shouldn’t even be happening right now - it feels like the perfect fit.

“S-so good,” you whine , breathless as his body starts to lean in close, his chest pressing against your back.

“So good, who?” Joel reminds you, his voice now rumbling right in your ear.

“F- Daddy. So good daddy,” you quickly spit out, lost in the moment. Joel had once called you cock dumb, and you’d wanted to scoff, but moments like these proved it to be a very real phenomenon. You typically consider yourself relatively level headed, but right now you’re completely helpless to the power he holds, all thought centered on the way he slips in and out of you, every sensation and nerve lit up from the drag of the head of his cock inside of you.

You shudder, feeling his hulking form so close as he brings his lips to your ear, wet kisses trailing to your neck. He’s always loved your neck - it was the first thing he’d deigned to touch all those months ago that had felt charged, different than your typical interactions. That’s when he’d drawn you in, hooked you and pulled you into this whirlwind.

You scramble a hand back to reach for him, touch him, but he grabs it, tracing his fingers over your palm, interlacing them with yours for a brief moment before your wrist is pinned down. He fucks you harder, faster, his lips bouncing against your neck before they latch on, sucking hard.

“J-Joel!” you cry out in a panic, realizing the possibility of a mark being left with an impending meet up with your parents tomorrow.

“It’ll be fine,” he purrs against your sensitive skin, sucking a little harder before moving to another spot. "Jus' leavin' you with a little somethin'."

You see stars as his cock presses as deep as it can go on his next thrust, and you lose the will to fight a losing battle. You have makeup for a reason, you suppose.

You moan, loud and clear, suddenly unable to even care about the world around you, an audience or Chip or any of your coworkers rounding this truck and seeing you getting absolutely ruined by a man well over twice your age. None of it matters when you have Joel so close to you, so ready to please you and take care of you.

“G-god, you’re so deep,” you whimper out in a garbled haze as he keeps up his punishing thrusts, letting the head of his kiss the deepest parts of you.

Joel chuckles dryly, doubling down on his efforts, the both of you panting, close to reaching something extraordinary together. “Mmm,” he groans into your ear, still lapping at your neck periodically. “What d’you want with an old man like me anyway, huh?”

It’s a question you’ve asked yourself dozens of times, one you’ve never quite found the answer to, even after searching deep within yourself. Joel was brutal in the sheets but also sweet, and maybe that was a balance you’d been seeking without knowing it. The illusion he created of not caring was always overpowered by the look in his eyes that told you there was something more there, something you both wanted to build upon but knew you never could. So you took moments like this - dark and rushed and secretive in parking lots - and made the most of them while you could pretend that the rest of the world didn’t exist.

Instead of saying all of that, you just mumble out through your panting, “Y-you know why.”

“That’s right, this big cock, fuckin’ you like nobody else can,” Joel replies for you, and you nod languidly, your eyelids heavy, your mind concentrated now on the heat building deep in your belly, furling tighter with every thrust.

“R-right there, oh my god,” you breathe, pressing your hips into each thrust to pull him that much deeper, to make each crash of your bodies into one another that much harder.

Joel moans quietly, attempting to stifle the lusty little sound but it's music to your ears, listening to him fall apart for you. “Come for me, sweetheart, s-shit, daddy needs to hear you…”

“D-daddy!” you whine out loudly, knowing he loves to hear that name nearly pornographic off your lips in these heated moments. Your pants and noises break into little moans that crescendo as bursts of pleasure wash over you. Every muscle is taut and taking Joel’s harsh, relentless thrusts into you, nearly making you scream with how vibrantly every sensation seems to crash over you.

“Y-yeah, let ‘em hear it. Christ you sound so pretty f’me, baby. Milk daddy’s cock, f-fuck that’s it…” Joel’s string of praises reaches your ears in a distant fog before his hips stutter inside of you and he’s spilling himself deep and full. You clench around him one last time, shuddering at the sensation as your skin tingles pleasantly. You feel floaty, far gone as you try to regain your bearings, slumped and ass up on the cool material of the truck bed. Reality comes back slowly as Joel kisses down your back, planting one on your ass cheek before giving it a playful bite and kneeling next to you.

“You okay, sunshine?” he asks softly, and for some reason, despite feeling elated, tears prick at the back of your eyes. It’s too much, too emotional. You will them away in a second, not daring to let Joel see.

“Mhm,” you weakly utter, nodding. Joel’s hand strokes along the side of your head, and you peer up at him with a slack smile, finding that he’s giving you one back. 

He comes down to your level, kissing your forehead. “Best yet, maybe,” he says playfully, but you aren’t sure you feel like laughing.

“Maybe,” you ponder, watching Joel’s face morph into a more serious expression. He curls his fingers around your ear, tracing shapes along your hairline, your neck, your shoulders as you stay just as you are for a long, quiet moment. He guides you to sit up, silently handing you your discarded clothing, helping you dress as the mess of him slips down your thighs. You have the passing thought that maybe he has napkins in his glove box, but then decide you’d rather have the reminder of him.

Joel sits next to you on the edge of the truck bed again, and interlocks his hand with yours. “I - I’ve got a hotel, right on campus. I could take y’home, but I’d like if you came back w’me for the night.”

His words give you pause, a tiny inhaled breath as you go to speak, snapping your lips closed and looking down at your lap for a beat. “Is that a good idea?” You ask for so many reasons, knowing that Joel is as acutely aware of all of them - the worst being that the longer you spend together, the harder it is to come back to reality.

“It ain’t a bad one,” he rasps, sultry and rough, and you crack a tiny smile. Always persuasive and charming when he needs to be.

“It’s not,” you admit, looking into his inquiring gaze.

“W-well?” he asks, nudging your side. “Jus’ one more night. I hardly get to see you, an’ you can go in the mornin’.”

You know how the night will go. You’ll both think you’re there for the sex - to sweat and say dirty things and pant all over again until you both come so hard that it boggles your mind. You’ll convince yourself that’s all it is, until you end up staying up late - talking, laughing, held in the other's arms. Intertwined together, bodies naked and comfortable with the other, because you’ve been here before.

You’ll both find yourself wanting to shy away from that fact that more is there - a real connection, two people with unlikely similarities, that just… get the other. You’ll both get lost in it, until the sun shines the next morning and you have to pretend that it doesn’t exist, that it was some figment of the power that the night holds over a person’s emotions, those dark twilight hours taking over your minds.

But you’ll both know that isn’t true, and there is nothing you can do about it.

“Okay,” you tell him, knowing the fate you’re subjecting yourself to - one that’s as wonderful as it is confusing. It hurts at times, but the spectacular things this man makes you feel outweighs it all. It’s worth it, that pain, to be able to find one another time and time again, and maybe even dream of more someday.  “Let’s go.”

divider by @/saradika-graphics!

[pyrrhiccomedy]

You know how in astrology (astrology is fake, but I'm gay and I live in NYC, so I was press-ganged into learning about it) you have your Rising sign, your Sun sign, and your Moon sign? Like - your Rising sign is the sign that people think you are when they first meet you; your Sun sign is your conscious self, the you that you think you are; and your Moon sign is your subconscious, emotional self. right?

I started thinking that's a good way to imagine your characters' motivations

like you've got your Rising motive: what do people think you want within ten minutes of meeting you? What desire do you lead with? What is the motivation you are most comfortable putting on display? This is something you really do want, and you'll be pressed if you don't get it, but it's right on the surface, and when the chips are down, there are more important things. Like -

your Sun motive: what consciously drives you? What do you think you're all about? What gets you out of bed every morning? What is your capital-G, plot-driving Goal?

but oh boy, even your Sun motive will get shouldered aside (whether you like it or not) by

your Moon motive: what do you, deep down, in your heart, need? What actually would make your life worth living? What would finally give you emotional fulfillment? What would you betray your Sun motive for, just to get a taste of it?

[cameronsbabydoll]

BEFORE YOU NOTICED — CHAPTER EIGHT

WARNINGS — terminal illness, death, grief, blood, miscarriage, emotional abandonment, it’s very very sad!! also probably one of the best fics i’ve written

you wake with a lightness you haven’t felt in months, like your body’s decided to let go of the weight it’s carried—the blood, the pain, the ache of being unseen. the morning’s soft, sunlight spilling through the glass walls, warm and golden, like it’s promising something you can’t name. your breath’s shallow, a quiet sip of air, and your hands tremble, coral nails chipped to nothing, the color rafe loved when you were his to notice. you don’t mind the shaking anymore. it’s part of you now, like the cough, like the blood, like the love you gave to a man who’s only just learning your name.

you sit up, slow, the bed creaking under you, and catch your reflection in the mirror across the room. you’re pale, hollowed out, but there’s a calm in your eyes, like you’ve made peace with the fading. rafe’s asleep in the chair by the bed, his head tilted back, his hands loose, a book of poems open on his lap. he’s been there all night, like he has for days, bringing tea you can’t drink, reading words you barely hear, trying to love you now that you’re slipping away. you don’t wake him. you don’t have the heart to see his eyes, red and raw, begging for time you can’t give.

you stand, your legs unsteady, like they’re learning to walk again, and move to the closet. the silk robe’s there, folded neat, its tag dangling like a reminder of all the times you wore it for him, hoping he’d look. you slip it on, the fabric cool against your skin, soft as a whisper, and tie it loose, the tag brushing your wrist. it’s not for him today. it’s for you, for the garden, for the last day you’ll feel the sun. you don’t cough, not yet, but you feel it waiting, a shadow in your chest, patient, like it knows you’re almost done.

you walk downstairs, your bare feet quiet on the marble, the mansion too big, too empty, its glass walls reflecting a life you don’t fit in anymore. the swan-shaped perfume bottles sit on the hall table, dusty, their glass necks catching the light. you don’t touch them. you think of the letters, locked in the safe, the ones you wrote for rafe, for lily, for the woman who might come after. you think of the baby shoes, hidden in the box labeled winter coats, blue as the forget-me-nots you planted when you still believed in tomorrows. you think of henry, the chauffeur, his voice soft: you carry too much alone. you smile, faint, because you’re not alone today, not with the garden waiting, not with the sun calling you home.

the garden’s outside, tucked against the glass, a small rebellion against the mansion’s cold lines. the lilies are gone, their stems brittle, but a few forget-me-nots cling to life, their blue petals trembling in the breeze. you kneel, the dirt soft under your knees, the robe pooling around you like water. you’ve brought a single flower, a lily bulb you saved from last spring, when you lost her, when you named her lily and buried your grief in a box. you dig with your hands, the soil cool, forgiving, and plant it deep, patting the earth like you’re tucking it in. “grow,” you whisper, your voice barely there, “even if i’m not here to see.”

you sit back, your breath short, and feel the sun on your face, warm, like a hand you’ve missed. you cough, soft, into the robe’s sleeve, and see the blood, a faint smear, like a petal crushed. you don’t hide it. you let it stay, a mark of the life you’ve lived, the pain you’ve carried. you think of rafe, upstairs, reading poems he thinks you love, trying to remember the woman he didn’t see. you think of the voicemail, stage four, the moment his world stopped, when yours had already crumbled. you think of lily, the flutter you felt, the shoes you hid, the secret you kept because he wasn’t there.

you pull a small notebook from the robe’s pocket, a pen tucked inside, and write one last letter, your hand shaky, the ink smudging where your fingers falter. you forget words sometimes, but not today, not now, when the sun’s warm and the garden’s quiet.

rafe,

this is the last one. i’m in the garden, with the lilies and the forget-me-nots, and the sun’s on my face, and i’m not scared anymore. i wish i could’ve told you sooner, about the blood, about lily, about the way i loved you even when you didn’t look. i don’t blame you. you were chasing something, and i was trying to be enough. i wasn’t. that’s okay. i planted a lily today, for her, for me, for the us we might’ve been. it’s in the garden, by the bench. water it sometimes, if you can. the robe’s on me now, the one you bought, and it’s soft, like i always wanted to be for you. don’t be sad too long. find someone who makes you laugh, who wears the swan perfume, who fills the house with noise. i loved you, rafe, through the blood, through the silence, through the end. i’m sorry i didn’t say goodbye. it would’ve hurt too much.

yours, me

you tear the page out, fold it small, and tuck it into the robe’s pocket, with a pressed forget-me-not from the garden, its petals fragile but whole. you’ll leave it for him, somewhere he’ll find it, maybe on the bench, maybe in the safe with the others. you don’t know if he’ll read it, if he’ll cry, if he’ll plant the lily like you asked. you hope he will, but you’re too tired to hope for long.

you lie down, the grass cool beneath you, the sun warm above, and stretch out, the robe spread like wings. the earth’s soft, like it’s holding you, and you close your eyes, your breath slow, like a tide going out. you think of the apartment, years ago, when rafe kissed your mouth, when love was a song you both knew. you think of lily, the shoes, the box, the name you gave her in the dark. you think of the letters, the safe, the future wife you wrote to, the one who might make him see. you think of henry, his words, you carry too much alone, and feel lighter, like you’ve set it down, like the garden’s carrying it now.

you don’t say goodbye. you don’t call for rafe, don’t wake him, don’t leave a note by the bed. it would hurt too much, to see his eyes, to hear his voice break, to know he’s finally looking when you’re already gone. you let the sun wrap you, the breeze sing you soft, the earth hold you close. you cough, once, faint, and feel the blood, warm on your lips, but you don’t wipe it away. it’s part of you, like the robe, like the lily, like the love you gave.

you drift, your heart a quiet hum, your breath a whisper. you see the garden in your mind, blooming, lilies and forget-me-nots bright under a sky you can’t reach. you see rafe, reading your letter, planting the flower, learning to live with your absence. you see lily, a flicker of light, waiting somewhere you’re going. you smile, real, not the one you practiced, and let go, the sun warm, the earth soft, the world fading like a dream. you fall asleep, for the last time, and don’t wake up.

rafe finds you later, when the sun’s lower, when the garden’s quiet. he calls your name, soft, then louder, his voice breaking when he sees you, still, the robe bright, the blood on your lips. he kneels, his hands shaking, and touches your face, cold now, like the glass walls he built. he finds the letter, the flower, and reads it, his tears falling on the page, smudging the ink you left. he sits there, holding you, until the stars come out, and the garden holds you both, one last time.

[goldfades]

TROUBLE ─── RAFE CAMERON

request for blurb night! : "ev, hear me out—reader is sarah’s best friend who used to babysit wheezie. she's always thought rafe was just some spoiled rich kid until one night he helps her out of a dangerous situation, and she see a different side of him"

The sound of cicadas swells in the sticky summer air as you maneuver your car into the Camerons’ circular driveway, gravel crunching beneath the tires. The house stands before you, grand and overbearing, like something pulled straight from a Southern Gothic novel. Even after all these years, it still has a way of making you feel out of place, like you’re trespassing on a life far removed from your own.

You killed the engine and take a deep breath, your hands lingering on the steering wheel. Coming here used to feel second nature—a daily part of your routine back when you were just Sarah’s friend who needed extra cash and Wheezie was a chatty eight-year-old who never seemed to run out of energy.

Now, it feels complicated. It’s not like you’re unwelcome here—Rose is always polite in her distant, Stepford kind of way, and Wheezie practically lights up whenever she sees you. Sarah treats you like family, but there’s always been one Cameron who makes you feel like you’re walking on eggshells.

Rafe.

Spoiled, sharp-tongued, entitled Rafe, whose condescending smirk had been a permanent fixture of your teenage years. The golden boy with a black hole of a temper, a trust fund, and an ego that stretched for miles. You’d never understood him, and frankly, you’d never wanted to. He was a hurricane you learned to avoid at all costs, never lingering too long in his orbit.

But life has a funny way of pulling you into places you swore you’d never go.

You grab your bag from the passenger seat and step out into the muggy heat, your sandals crunching against the gravel. Somewhere inside the house, you hear the faint echo of laughter—Wheezie, probably, shouting at Sarah over a card game or some other nonsense. The sound makes you smile despite yourself.

You weren’t always someone the Camerons—or anyone from Figure Eight, for that matter—gave the time of day. Growing up, you were just another Pogue, another kid from the Cut with hand-me-down clothes and a chip on your shoulder. The people from Sarah’s world weren’t interested in you back then. Why would they be? You had nothing they wanted—no yacht, no country club membership, no sprawling waterfront property. You didn’t mind much. You had your own circle, your own rhythm, and you learned to brush off the condescending stares whenever you ventured into their territory.

But everything changed when your dad’s business took off. What started as a small, bare-bones construction company turned into one of the most in-demand firms in the Outer Banks almost overnight. Suddenly, the same people who used to look through you like you were invisible started remembering your name. Invitations to parties you’d never have been considered for started showing up in your mailbox. They weren’t just tolerating you—they wanted you there.

Sarah was one of the first to genuinely befriend you during that whirlwind of change. She wasn’t like the others, who only smiled at you because their parents said it was polite or because they wanted a favor from your dad. She liked you for you—your sarcasm, your groundedness, your tendency to keep it real in a place where everyone else seemed to be faking something. And through Sarah, you met Wheezie.

Wheezie was eight at the time, still caught between childhood and whatever it is that happens when you grow up as a Cameron. She adored you from the start, trailing behind you whenever you came over like a little shadow. You didn’t mind. She was funny, curious, and refreshingly unfiltered—a lot more like the kids from the Cut than anyone wanted to admit.

When Rose offhandedly mentioned they needed someone to look after Wheezie while she was busy managing the house (or hosting one of her endless charity luncheons), Sarah volunteered you without hesitation. “She’s perfect,” Sarah had said with that trademark confidence of hers, as though your schedule had already been cleared.

To your surprise, it worked out. Wheezie loved you, probably because you didn’t treat her like a chore or talk down to her like so many others did. You indulged her weird little interests, let her ramble on about books and whatever new drama she overheard in the house. You made her laugh.

And if the Camerons noticed you weren’t exactly one of their own, they didn’t seem to mind much anymore. After all, in their world, proximity to success was enough to erase just about anything.

Even after a couple years had passed, it’s a little funny how much has stayed the same. Every time you pull into the Camerons’ driveway, you still get the same sinking feeling, like you’re stepping onto foreign soil without a passport. Except now, it’s become a routine. Cameron game nights.

It started as an extension of the babysitting gig—a casual invite from Sarah, insisting you stay for dinner one night after watching Wheezie. Dinner turned into a board game that Sarah claimed was “super quick,” which turned into three hours of family chaos. It was ridiculous, overly competitive, and a little awkward with Rose monitoring everything like a referee, but Wheezie loved having you there, and Sarah was relentless in making sure you felt included.

At some point, it just became normal. Even after Wheezie grew out of needing a babysitter, the tradition stuck. Every week or two, Sarah would text you about game night, and somehow, you always said yes.

“You’re like an honorary Cameron,” Sarah had joked once, and you’d laughed because the idea of that felt ridiculous. But there were moments, like now, when you almost believed her.

Wheezie’s voice echoes from the living room the second you step through the door. “You’re late!”

“I’m literally on time,” you call back, closing the door behind you. The smell of freshly baked something wafts through the air, probably cookies Wheezie convinced Rose to make under the guise of a family bonding activity.

“Technically, Rafe’s late,” Sarah says, popping her head around the corner, already grinning. “You’re just cutting it close. Come on, Wheezie’s already plotting your downfall.”

You laugh and follow her into the living room, where the familiar chaos is already brewing. Wheezie’s sprawled across the couch, a pile of board game pieces spread out in front of her, while Ward sits in his chair, sipping a scotch like it’s all beneath him but still keeping a hawk’s eye on the rules. Rose flits between the kitchen and the table, not-so-casually reminding everyone to keep the snacks on coasters.

And then there’s Rafe.

He’s leaning back in one of the armchairs, his legs stretched out like he owns the place—which, technically, he does. A half-smirk tugs at his lips as he spins a stray game token between his fingers. He barely glances at you when you walk in, but you catch the faintest flicker of recognition.

It’s been years, but Rafe is still Rafe: cocky, restless, and way too pretty for his own good. He’s toned down some of the more obvious brattiness since the early days, but the edge is still there, sharp enough to cut if you’re not careful.

And, as always, you do your best to steer clear.

The quiet hum of the boutique fades behind you as you pull the glass door shut, twisting the key to lock it. The click echoes in the empty street, a sharp sound against the stillness of downtown this late at night. The once-bustling sidewalks are deserted now, the streetlights casting uneven pools of orange on the pavement. Most of the shops had closed hours ago, their dark windows reflecting the faint shimmer of the moon.

You adjust the strap of your bag over your shoulder and glance at your phone. 11:43 p.m. Later than you’d intended. It wasn’t your shift to close, but your coworker had begged you to cover for her last minute, and you couldn’t say no. It’s fine, you tell yourself. You’ve done this before. Downtown isn’t that bad, and your car is parked just a block away. Still, there’s something unnerving about the silence, the way the shadows stretch a little too far when you’re alone.

Reaching your car—a trusty but aging sedan that you inherited from your dad—you fumble with the keys before sliding into the driver’s seat. The interior smells faintly of the vanilla air freshener you keep on the rearview mirror, a comforting contrast to the chilly night air outside. You toss your bag onto the passenger seat, then grip the steering wheel as you turn the key in the ignition.

Nothing.

You pause, frowning. That’s… odd. Your car’s old, sure, but it’s never been completely unresponsive. You twist the key again, harder this time, willing it to come to life.

Still nothing.

A low groan escapes your throat as you lean back against the seat. This can’t be happening. Not tonight. Not here.

You pull out your phone, half-tempted to call Sarah or even your dad, but you hesitate. Sarah’s probably asleep by now, and your dad’s a good thirty minutes away—not to mention, he’d definitely give you a lecture about not keeping up with the car’s maintenance. Sighing, you pop the hood and step out into the cool night air, shivering slightly as a gust of wind cuts through your jacket.

The street around you is unnervingly quiet. A stray cat darts across the road, its shadow flickering under the streetlights. You glance around, trying to shake the uneasy feeling creeping up your spine. It’s just your imagination, you tell yourself. No one’s here.

With a deep breath, you lift the hood and stare down at the engine like it might magically fix itself. You know a grand total of nothing about cars, but you wiggle a few cables anyway, hoping for a miracle. When you try the ignition again, the result is the same—silence, save for the faint hum of a streetlamp overhead.

Panic starts to creep in now, slow and steady. Your phone’s battery is hovering at 10%, and downtown—normally picturesque and charming by day—feels like a completely different place at night. The empty windows of the closed shops look less quaint and more sinister, their dark interiors like gaping mouths.

You lean back against the car, tapping your fingers against the metal as you weigh your options. Call someone? Walk to the gas station a few blocks down? Stay here and wait it out? None of them sound appealing, especially with the growing sensation that you’re being watched. You tell yourself it’s just nerves, but your skin prickles anyway, and you can’t help but glance over your shoulder every few seconds.

“Great,” you mutter under your breath. “This is how horror movies start.”

You huff out a shaky breath and decide to at least look under the hood. Not that you know what you’re doing, but it’s better than standing here like a sitting duck. Popping the latch, you step out into the cool night air again, every sound amplified in the unsettling quiet. Your shoes scrape against the pavement as you walk to the front of the car, lifting the hood and leaning over the engine.

The faint metallic scent of oil hits your nose as you peer into the mess of cables and parts. It all looks like a foreign language to you, but you fiddle with a few wires anyway, hoping for some kind of miracle.

That’s when you hear it—footsteps.

At first, you think maybe it’s nothing, just your imagination running wild, but then you hear them again, deliberate and getting closer. Your stomach clenches, and you straighten up, instinctively glancing over your shoulder.

Two figures are walking toward you from the opposite side of the street, their strides slow and unhurried. The dim streetlights reveal faces you vaguely recognize—Kooks, no doubt, probably from the same parties Sarah used to drag you to back in high school. Their names escape you, but the looks on their faces don’t—grins too wide, eyes too sharp, the kind of predatory energy that sets every nerve in your body on edge.

“Car trouble?” the taller one calls out, his voice carrying an edge of amusement as they stop a few feet away.

You force a tight smile, trying to keep your voice steady. “Yeah, I’ve got it handled. Thanks.”

The shorter one, stockier and wearing a backward baseball cap, steps closer, tilting his head like he doesn’t believe you. “Doesn’t look like it,” he says. His tone is casual, but the way his eyes flick over you makes your skin crawl.

“I’m fine,” you insist, taking a small step back toward the car. Your heart is pounding now, a sick thrum in your chest, but you keep your expression as neutral as possible.

“Hey, we’re just trying to help,” the taller one says, holding up his hands like he’s harmless, but there’s something almost mocking in his tone. “No need to be rude.”

The stocky one smirks, moving to your other side, effectively boxing you in against the car. “Yeah, we’re just being friendly.”

The air feels heavy, oppressive, and the space between you and them feels like it’s shrinking by the second. You can feel the tension in their postures, the way they’re both leaning in slightly, testing how far they can push.

Your throat tightens as you glance around, desperate for someone, anyone to come walking down the street. But there’s no one—just you and these two strangers who clearly don’t care that you’re uncomfortable.

“Look,” you say, trying to sound firm but calm, “I appreciate it, but I’m good. You don’t need to stick around.”

The taller one laughs, a low, unpleasant sound that makes your stomach churn. “Aw, come on. You’re out here all alone. What kind of gentlemen would we be if we just left you like this?”

Your fingers tighten around the edge of the hood, your mind racing for a way out. You consider making a run for it, but they’re too close now, their presence suffocating.

Just as the stockier one steps even closer, his grin widening, a voice cuts through the tension, sharp and commanding.

“What’s going on here?”

The relief is instant and overwhelming, like a lifeline being thrown to you in a raging sea. You turn toward the sound, and there he is—Rafe Cameron, standing just a few feet away, his hands shoved casually into his pockets but his posture rigid, his eyes hard as they lock onto the two guys.

The taller one straightens up immediately, his smirk faltering. “Rafe,” he says, a weak attempt at sounding friendly.

Rafe doesn’t respond, his gaze shifting to you for the briefest moment before snapping back to them. “Didn’t realize we were having a party,” he says, his voice calm but laced with something dangerous. “You two invited?”

The stockier guy takes a step back, muttering something under his breath. “We were just leaving,” he says quickly, his bravado crumbling under Rafe’s glare.

“Yeah, you are,” Rafe says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The two exchange uneasy glances before slinking away, their footsteps echoing down the street until they disappear around the corner.

For a moment, all you can hear is the pounding of your heartbeat and the faint hum of Rafe’s truck idling in the distance.

“You good?” Rafe asks, his voice softer now but still steady, grounding.

You nod, your throat dry as you manage to croak out, “Yeah… I am now.”

Rafe watches the shadows where the two guys disappeared, his expression unreadable, his jaw tight. You half expect him to say something cutting, maybe some sarcastic remark about how you can’t take care of yourself, but when he finally looks at you, there’s no smugness. Only something... softer, almost hesitant.

“You’re lucky I saw you,” he says, his voice low. “That could’ve gone bad. Fast.”

You nod, your throat still tight from the tension of the moment. He’s right. You don’t even want to think about how that could’ve ended if he hadn’t shown up. “Thanks,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

Rafe’s brow furrows like he’s surprised you said it. He leans back slightly, glancing at the car hood still propped open. “What’s wrong with this thing?”

“Won’t start,” you reply, gesturing vaguely at the engine. “Not that I’d know what to look for.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, the corner of his mouth quirking up just slightly. “Yeah, I wouldn’t expect you to.” His tone lacks the usual edge, though—it’s not a dig, just a statement.

For a moment, the two of you just stand there in the quiet. The night air feels less suffocating now, the earlier tension replaced by a strange calm. Despite everything you know—or think you know—about Rafe Cameron, there’s something about his presence right now that makes you feel… safe. It’s unsettling, in its own way.

“You should be more careful,” Rafe says, breaking the silence. His gaze is steady, not mocking or judgmental, just serious. “Downtown this late? Alone? That’s asking for trouble.”

You bristle slightly, your instinct to defend yourself flaring up. “I didn’t exactly plan for my car to break down.”

He raises an eyebrow, but instead of snapping back, he just nods. “Fair.”

The quiet stretches between you again, but this time, it’s not uncomfortable. Rafe steps closer, peering under the hood with a practiced air, and you’re struck by how uncharacteristically gentle he seems. No biting remarks, no smug superiority—just calm focus.

He taps a cable lightly, muttering something under his breath, then steps back, closing the hood with a decisive thud. “Battery’s probably dead,” he says, glancing at you. “You need a jump.”

You nod, your nerves finally starting to settle. “I guess I’ll call someone.”

“Don’t bother,” he says, already walking toward his truck. “I’ve got cables.”

You blink, caught off guard by his matter-of-fact tone. He’s not offering—he’s telling you he’s going to help. And for some reason, you don’t argue.

A few minutes later, Rafe has his truck pulled up nose-to-nose with your car, the cables stretched taut between them. He works in silence, his movements efficient, and you watch from the sidelines, unsure of what to do with yourself.

“You should get in,” he says, nodding toward the driver’s seat.

You do as he says, sliding back into the familiar confines of your car. The moment feels oddly intimate—just the two of you on this empty street, the hum of his truck filling the air.

“Try it now,” he calls out, stepping back.

You turn the key, but instead of the engine sputtering to life, it lets out a defeated whine and falls silent again. You try one more time, your chest tightening with frustration and dread, but it’s no use. The car isn’t going anywhere tonight.

You let your forehead drop against the steering wheel with a groan. Of course. Just your luck.

Rafe’s voice cuts through the night air, low and steady. “It’s not gonna work. Battery’s dead for real.”

You sit up, pressing your lips together as he leans against the open driver’s side door, his arms crossed. His expression is unreadable, somewhere between amusement and mild concern.

“Great,” you mutter. “So, what now? I call a tow truck and wait here till dawn?”

Rafe tilts his head, his gaze flicking over you briefly before landing on your car again. “Or,” he says, “I could just drive you home.”

The offer catches you off guard, and you hesitate, your immediate instinct to say no. Riding home with Rafe Cameron? That’s about as far outside your comfort zone as you can imagine.

But then you glance down at your nearly dead phone, the empty street around you, and the sheer impossibility of getting a tow out here tonight. What other choice do you have?

“Seriously?” you ask, your voice tinged with disbelief.

Rafe shrugs, the motion easy, like it’s no big deal. “You got a better plan?”

You don’t.

“Fine,” you say finally, grabbing your bag from the passenger seat and climbing out of the car. The night air feels colder now, pressing against your skin as you walk toward his truck.

Rafe opens the passenger door for you without a word, and you slide in, the faint scent of leather and cologne filling the cab. It’s clean but lived-in—practical, not flashy, which surprises you.

He climbs in on the driver’s side, pulling the door shut and starting the engine with a smooth turn of the key. The sound is steady, reliable, and for a moment, you envy how effortlessly everything in his life seems to work.

The first few minutes of the drive are quiet, the only sound the low hum of the truck and the occasional creak of the suspension as it rolls over uneven pavement. You glance out the window, watching the darkened storefronts blur past, trying to ignore the strange tension sitting between you.

“You gonna sit there and sulk the whole way?” Rafe asks, his voice breaking the silence.

“I’m not sulking,” you shoot back, turning to glare at him.

He smirks, his eyes still on the road. “Sure you’re not.”

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m just… processing the fact that my car officially hates me. And that I had to be rescued by you of all people.”

His smirk softens into something closer to a smile, and for once, it doesn’t look mocking. “Yeah, well, it’s your lucky night, I guess.”

You roll your eyes but don’t respond, and the quiet settles over the truck again. It’s not entirely uncomfortable this time—just strange, like you’re both trying to figure out how to navigate this unexpected moment.

After a while, Rafe glances over at you, his expression more serious now. “You really shouldn’t be out here alone like that,” he says quietly.

You shift in your seat, caught off guard by the sudden sincerity in his tone. “I didn’t exactly plan for my car to break down,” you mumble.

“Still,” he says, his grip tightening slightly on the steering wheel. “Things could’ve gone bad. You know that, right?”

You do. The memory of those guys, their leering smiles and the way they cornered you, is still fresh in your mind. A shiver runs through you, and you glance at Rafe, his profile sharp in the dim light from the dashboard.

“Thanks,” you say, softer this time. “For stepping in.”

His jaw tenses for a moment before he nods. “Yeah. Don’t mention it.”

The rest of the drive passes in a blur of streetlights and quiet conversation. When he finally pulls up outside your house, you feel an odd sense of disappointment, like the night is ending too soon.

Rafe cuts the engine and looks over at you, his expression unreadable again. “You good?”

You nod, your fingers curling around the strap of your bag. “Yeah. Thanks for the ride.”

He hesitates, his eyes searching yours for a moment, and you swear you see something uncharacteristically soft in his gaze. “Anytime,” he says, his voice low.

You climb out of the truck, turning back as you reach your front door. Rafe is still there, leaning slightly out of the window, watching you with an intensity that sends a strange flutter through your chest.

“Night, Rafe,” you call out, your voice steadier than you feel.

He nods once, his smirk returning, but there’s a warmth to it now that wasn’t there before. “Night.”

You watch as he drives off, the tail lights disappearing down the street, and you can’t shake the feeling that tonight, something shifted. Something you didn’t see coming.

The living room is alive with laughter and the sugary smell of freshly microwaved popcorn. Wheezie is sprawled across the couch, her legs tangled in a blanket as she debates the finer points of the movie you’ve just paused, while Sarah snorts beside her, throwing a handful of popcorn in her sister’s direction.

You sit cross-legged on the floor, sipping from your drink and soaking in the warmth of the moment. It feels good to let your guard down like this—to laugh and tease and forget for a little while.

“Okay, but how does she not realize he’s the bad guy?” Wheezie demands, gesturing dramatically at the screen.

“Because she’s blinded by love,” Sarah says, grinning. “Or maybe she’s just as dumb as you are.”

“Excuse me?” Wheezie gasps, clutching her chest in mock offense.

You laugh, shaking your head. “I don’t know. I feel like if someone was being that obvious about being evil, I’d notice.”

“Would you, though?” Sarah teases, raising an eyebrow.

“Hey!” you protest, chucking a stray pillow at her.

The playful banter continues, the night stretching on in a haze of easy conversation and snack-fueled chaos. You’re halfway through arguing over which movie to watch next when the sound of the front door opening pulls your attention.

You glance toward the entryway just as Rafe steps inside, his hair slightly mussed, his keys jingling in his hand. He pauses when he sees you all, his expression flickering from mild surprise to something unreadable.

“What’s this?” he asks, his voice carrying that familiar mix of curiosity and amusement. “A girls’ night?”

“Yeah,” Sarah says, throwing a popcorn kernel at him. “And you’re not invited.”

“Tragic,” Rafe deadpans, stepping fully into the room. His eyes flick to you for a split second, and your stomach does an unexpected flip.

You tell yourself it’s nothing. Just residual nerves from the other night. Nothing to do with the way his presence seems to fill the space or the way his gaze lingers just long enough to make your cheeks heat.

He smirks, leaning against the doorframe. “Don’t worry, I’m not staying.”

“Good,” Sarah says. “Bye.”

He ignores her, pushing off the frame and heading toward the kitchen instead.

“I’m getting more popcorn,” you announce quickly, needing a reason to escape the sudden heat prickling at your skin. You grab the empty bowl and dart toward the kitchen before anyone can respond.

The kitchen is cooler, quieter, and you exhale a sigh of relief as you cross to the counter. You’re halfway through scooping kernels into a bowl when you hear the low hum of Rafe’s voice behind you.

“Didn’t know you were here tonight.”

You jump slightly, glancing over your shoulder to find him leaning casually against the counter, his arms crossed and that infuriating smirk playing on his lips.

“Yeah, well,” you say, turning back to the task at hand, “I’m kind of a regular around here.”

“I’ve noticed,” he says, his tone light but edged with something that makes your stomach flutter.

You keep your focus on the popcorn, refusing to let him get to you. “Do you always sneak up on people like that?”

“Only when they’re interesting,” he shoots back smoothly.

You roll your eyes, but the flush creeping up your neck betrays you. “Interesting? That’s a stretch.”

Rafe chuckles, the sound low and warm. “I don’t think so.”

His voice is closer now, and you glance up to find him standing beside you, his gaze fixed on your face. You freeze, your fingers tightening slightly around the bowl as you try to think of something—anything—to say.

“Relax,” he says, his lips quirking up into a grin. “You look like you’re about to run out of here.”

“I’m not,” you insist, though your voice comes out shakier than you’d like.

He leans in slightly, his eyes locking onto yours. “Good,” he murmurs. “Because I was starting to think I might scare you.”

“You don’t scare me,” you say quickly, your voice a touch too defensive.

“Hmm.” His smirk deepens, and he leans back, giving you just enough space to breathe again. “If you say so.”

With that, he grabs a water bottle from the fridge and steps away, throwing one last glance over his shoulder as he heads toward the stairs.

“Goodnight, trouble,” he calls out, his tone teasing but soft enough to send a shiver down your spine.

You stand there for a moment, staring after him, your heart racing and your face burning.

By the time you return to the living room with the popcorn, Wheezie and Sarah are too busy laughing at some inside joke to notice how flustered you are. You settle back into your spot on the floor, your mind still replaying the way Rafe’s voice sounded when he called you trouble.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[theobservatory]

I wanna just say, David did a wonderful job of himbo Clark Kent, multiple times I wanted to kiss that boys face he was so precious. Could i request Clark acting “cute” in the office (pushing his glasses up when they slip down, nearly tripping over his own feet while walking with coffee and almost spilled it on jimmy’s shirt, doing that stupid turn around when he’s trying to find where he’s going next (even tho he’s worked at daily planet for a few years already??) doing that little head duck and half wave at a coworker when they call him “smallville” as a greeting, dropping a stack of papers when he bumps into one of the new interns, basically he’s just doing his typical himbo Clark stuff) and reader is having a really hard time not dragging him down to her level by his tie to kiss him, bonus, they are good friends with both having crushes on each other but to oblivious to realize, much to Lois and jimmy’s amusement.

Youuuu got it anon. Bless that man.

Please don't hassle me if my characterizations are bad. It's literally my first time writing any of these characters, I'll get better as I learn (⁠ب⁠_⁠ب⁠)

｡⁠.ﾟ✧ ˎˊ˗

Helpless as a Kitten｡⁠.ﾟ★ ˎˊ˗

｡⁠☆Synopsis: a few snapshots of you and Clark fumbling around each other

｡⁠☆Cw: himbo behavior, no pronouns, no use of y/n

"Don't you just wanna put him out of his misery?"

"Excuse me?" Lois turns from her chair.

You gesture over to Clark Kent, and she rolls her eyes. The man is hunched over a large potted plant, having caught it before it crashed to the ground, but now dirt is splayed all over the floor. He's frowning, bottom lip out and shoulders all hunched.

"He's like a sad shelter dog."

"Well he's got the eyes for it."

True, you think. They're big, and glossy, and a bright sky blue.

"I know. They're like giant pools of sky, aren't they?"

"I was going for pathetic and teary, but a lovey-dovey answer works too."

You groan, throwing your head back with your hands over your face. "Lois, I don't like him like that, stop pushing your agenda on me."

"If that's what helps you sleep at night." She shrugs.

Both of you turn back to Clark, his blue eyes are turned directly on you now. His stare is piercing, deep. Even if he is still holding a giant potted plant half sideways, causing more dirt to fall out.

You wave at him.

He drops it, and the lip of the pot shatters onto the floor, creating an even bigger mess. He turns away when you laugh, red faced and rapidly whipping his head back and forth. He's probably trying to find a broom or something before someone gets ceramic stuck in their opened-toed shoe.

"Wow." Lois says flatly.

You sigh unknowingly dreamy sounding.

"Wow." She says again, this time looking at you like you're the pathetic one. "This is really just sad for both of you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

You both turn back to your work, while Clark frantically sweeps up the dirt and chipped pottery off the floor.

｡⁠.ﾟ✧ ˎˊ˗

Currently, Clark is standing next to your desk. It's next to the wall, but not close enough to be touching. In fact, it's right next to the obnoxiously loud printer, where Clark is. The thing is jammed, as usual, so it's just making this annoying BZZRT-T-T sound as it tries to spit out more paper than it can handle. Meanwhile, Clark is muttering a little frantically under his breath.

"Darn printer, c'mon work you damn mule, you were just fine yesterday."

You mask a snort under your hand, pausing your own writing to watch Clark suffer. He still hears it- the man seems to hear everything around here- and his ears redden a little. Adorable.

"Having trouble?"

"Nah, I just- y'know-" BZZRT-T-T BZZRT-T-T BZZRT-T-T. "Just a difficult day."

"I see that."

He clears his throat awkwardly. "Right. Well I-"

BZZRT-T-T BZZRT-T-T BZZ- "Out of ink, please replace ink cartridge to print." The printer says.

"You wouldn't happen to have some ink, would you?"

"I think there's some in the back."

The man is so bashful it hurts a little. He has his shoulders hunched in like it will mitigate how large he actually is, he's avoiding eye contact so heavily he's basically turned the opposite way, even his fingers are whirring between each other like a little school girl talking to her crush. It's so sweet it could make your teeth rot.

"I can go grab some if you want-"

"NO! No, that's okay I can get it myself. I was the one who disturbed your work, anyway. I'll be right back."

He rushes away before you can get another word out, slamming his toe on the leg of your desk on the way out.

"Are you okay?" You call, huffing a laugh.

"I'm fine, don't worry about it!" He calls back.

｡⁠.ﾟ✧

"You invited Clark, right?"

"Yeah, of course I did. Does it matter?" You raise an eyebrow at Jimmy.

"Yes! If you didn't invite him he'd get all sad, and mopey."

"I know." You neglect to say out loud how cute you find it. He cares so much, and just wants to be included, he's so sweet.

"I know you know, which is why I had to ask if you invited him, because if you didn't i'd have to start taking sides, and you can't put me through that."

"I really don't think it's that deep, but whatever you say."

You, Jimmy, and Lois are all crowded in your small apartment. It's not tiny or a shoebox or anything, just a little small. It's not cramped now, but it will be when Clark's massive form arrives.

Honestly, it was only supposed to be you and Lois, but then Jimmy invited himself, and if Jimmy's coming then you might as well invite Clark too. It's a little exciting, it's the first time you're seeing Clark outside of work on purpose. You've run into each other on the street a bunch of times, and went out for coffee together on your breaks a few times as well.

This feels different, more intimate. Even with Lois and Jimmy 3rd wheeling. Not that you and Clark are together of course, you're just using that as a turn of phrase. They're not actually 3rd wheeling, you're happy to see all your friends an equal amount like any normal person.

Don't think too hard about it. Anyway.

"With how late it is, I kinda doubt he's coming," you say. Clark has always been pretty punctual for as long as you've known him.

Lois and Jimmy look at each other, and then look at you.

"He's coming."

"He'll be here."

They say in sync. Well, that's not creepy at all.

"Ooookay..."

As if summoned by his name, there's a knock on your door. You can tell by the hushed clack clack on your door that it's Clark. Somehow, the respective noise just sounds like him. It's quiet, not attention grabbing, considerate even- just like him.

You're quick to open the door. There's a giddiness in your bones that you've never quite experienced before, like a dog waiting for its favorite treat or something. Gosh, maybe Clark isn't the sad dog in your relation- friend, you meant friend- friendship, maybe it's you. But that is a thought for a mind vault, you are hosting right now, much more important than... Whatever your brain has going on.

"Hey, Clark!"

Clark's hair is unkempt, black strands twist every which way, a fat cowlick stands proudly at the center of his head. There's a little smear of dirt on his cheek bone, like he was trying to wash it off and ended up making it worse.

"Hi," He grins, slow and wide. "I brought peach cobbler."

"You didn't have to do that. No one else brought food."

"Well maybe they should've." He shrugs.

You laugh. "Maybe."

The cobbler in your hands has clearly been tossed around a bit. There's an air tight lid on the container, so all that's happened is the lids smeared with peach juice now. Clark is a little embarrassed about it if the way he places a sun kissed hand on top of it is any indication.

"Did you trip on your way here? There's dirt on your face."

He winces, flushing. "Yeah, you can say that."

The night progresses quickly after that. Lois and Jimmy steal the cobbler before you can even try a bite, and Clark tries to interject but only gets steamrolled by the two grabbing forks and ignoring him. He pouts, and you rub his back and try to comfort him, but the action leaves him tripping over his words. You have no clue if you succeeded in making him feel better or not.

After the peach cobbler debacle you end up pulling out your decade old boardgames. Jimmy was the one who suggested it, proclaiming that Clue was the best boardgame, which is wrong of course because the best boardgame is actually Monopoly, but Lois thinks it's Scrabble. Clark proclaims Candyland, but is swiftly shot down when everyone agrees that one sucks the most.

You end up playing Monopoly, because it's your house and you make the rules, but poor Clark has a hard time. He continuously knocks pieces off the board, and money is continuously scattered next to his feet and under your couch. He gets that bashful look again, hot in the ears and face, pulling at his collar.

"I-I guess my hands are a bit too big for the pieces," he says.

Which is so true, so very true. His hands are giant. They dwarf yours completely, consuming your fingers in his like a turtle shell. They're so gentle though. So kind. No matter how many pieces he drops, he's so delicate with it all. Honestly, watching him is filling your head with thoughts that make you squirm in your seat.

You try to think about the game instead. You try to fill your head with safer less friendship ruining thoughts. It's not your fault he's so hot huge.

The night ends with just you and Clark- and about a third left of peach cobbler. He's just thankful there was any left, really. You're standing in your kitchen with him, he's holding the tray, you have a fork in hand ready to finally taste the cobbler.

"I just wanted to thank you for inviting me tonight. It was fun."

"It was no problem, really."

"No, seriously. Thank you." He says almost sternly, with a rare forcefulness you've never seen before.

"Of course, Clark, seriously. I'm glad to have you, I don't know if you know this, but I like spending time with you, it makes me happy to spend time with you."

A few things happen in quick succession.

Clark flushes again, a deeper red than you've ever seen on him. Your fork goes down to try the cobbler. Clark trips on his own feet by shuffling nervously. He falls. The cobbler falls. It hits the floor upside down, and the lid is on the counter.

"Clark."

"Oh my gosh, I-I'll clean it up, and make another one. I'm so sorry."

He does. That man cleans your floor so good it looks brand new. He gets on his hands and knees, and scrubs until your kitchen floor shines. Then has the nerve to sit back on his knees and look up at you with sad, blue puppy eyes.

You've never had a man get on his knees for you before. You think you'd like it in any other circumstance. Maybe you like it a little in this one, too.

"I'm sorry." He repeats. "I should go."

"Clark, I'm not mad."

"I know. I'm still sorry."

"I know." You sigh. You hold out a hand to help Clark up, but he's far outside your weight class. It's more of a formality than it is helpful. "See you at work tomorrow?"

"Of course. Spend break together?"

You smile. "Of course."

Clark smiles back, and trips over his shoes.

Got a little burnt out at the end bc this was supposed to be short and it got waaay fucking longer than it was supposed to

Clark is so fucking embarrassed at the end of this. He goes outside your door and puts his face in his hands and tries to hold back screams from how cringe he's being. Love him to death fr

Headcanon that Clark gets more flustered at sweet heartfelt comments than sexual or lusty ones !!!!

If this is ass I'll take care of it later, it's 1am. I'm tired.

｡⁠☆Requests Open

[seospicybin]

BAD.

Han x reader. (s,a)

Synopsis: You’ve always known Han Jisung is trouble—the kind of guy who flirts like it’s breathing and disappears like smoke when things get real. But the more time you spend with him, the deeper you fall—despite knowing he’ll probably break your heart. Again and again. (20,2k words)

Author's note: This fic is based on this song and spoiler alert: Han Jisung is a bad boy here. You've been warned ⚠

You hadn’t meant to go out that night. You were tired, two drinks behind everyone else, and already half-set on ghosting your own friends with a quiet Irish exit. But then you saw him—leaning against the bar like he owned the place, all dark denim and lazy posture, twirling a lime wedge between his fingers like he was bored with the world.

He wasn’t your type. Too cocky. Too casual. Messy dark hair pushed back like he didn’t care how good he looked, a silver chain hanging loose around his neck, and a smirk that looked like it came with a warning label. There was something sharp in his eyes—something dangerous, like he knew exactly how to get what he wanted and had never once been told no. You should’ve known better.

He looked up right as you glanced his way, and he didn’t miss it. That smirk widened just enough to make your stomach flip.

“Hey,” he said, with that deep, velvet-soft voice that felt too smooth for a stranger. “Did it hurt?”

You gave him a look and a low scoff. “Seriously?”

He tilted his head, unfazed. “I mean, falling from heaven? Yeah. But I had to try. You looked like you needed saving.”

You rolled your eyes and turned back to your half-finished drink, determined not to entertain him. Guys like that were a headache. Pretty smiles and pretty lies, and way too much effort for someone who’d already break your heart before you learned his middle name.

However, Han didn’t take silence as rejection—he took it as a challenge. He dropped into the barstool next to you, close enough that you could smell the sharp citrus of his cologne, feel the warmth of his presence even without touching.

“I’m Han,” he said. “And you are…?”

Still, you stayed quiet.

“Alright,” he said with a lazy grin. “Mystery girl. I like it. But just so you know, I’ve got, like, five minutes before I charm you.”

You hated the way your lips twitched at that. Hated that he was already chipping away at your resolve with nothing but a few words and a well-timed smile.

You should’ve walked away. You should’ve finished your drink and left without looking back. But instead, you turned to him and said, “Alright, Han. Five minutes starts now.”

Han grinned like he’d just won something. He leaned his elbow on the bar, gaze flicking down to your lips before meeting your eyes again. “So,” he said, swirling the ice in his glass. “Are you always this hard to read, or am I just off my game tonight?”

“I don’t know,” you said coolly, lifting your drink. “Is this your game?”

He laughed—low and boyish, the kind of sound that made it too easy to forget he was probably trouble. “God, you’re fun. Most girls just giggle and fall right into it.”

“Maybe you’re not my type.”

Han raised an eyebrow, like that was a challenge. “Then what is your type?”

You didn’t answer, but you didn’t look away either. That was enough to make his grin stretch wider, all teeth and charm and a little too pleased with himself. He glanced across the bar and nodded toward the dartboard in the corner. “Wanna make this interesting?”

“I don’t play games,” you said, setting down your glass.

“Lucky for you, I do.” He was already halfway off his stool. “Come on. You beat me, I buy you a drink. I beat you, you give me your number.”

You snorted. “What makes you think I’d want to give you my number even if I lost?”

He shrugged, holding out a hand like a dare. “Because deep down, you kinda want to.”

You scoffed at his audacity and stared at him for a beat too long, then you took his hand.

The dartboard was tucked in a quieter corner of the bar, just dim enough to blur the line between friendly competition and flirtation. Han let you go first, leaning against the wall with a drink in hand, watching you like he was trying to memorize your moves. You missed your first shot by an embarrassing margin.

Han chuckled. “Okay, maybe we should change the bet. You give me your number now, and if I lose, I’ll delete it.”

You shot him a glare, but it didn’t land. Not when he looked at you like that—like you were the most interesting person in the room.

“You’re annoying,” you muttered.

“And yet,” he said, stepping up behind you, his voice brushing your ear, “you haven’t walked away.”

You told yourself it was just a game. Just a drink. Just one night. But when Han’s hand brushed yours as he passed you the next dart, you didn’t pull away.

And when he whispered, “Careful. You’re starting to like me,”

you laughed, because he was right.

You don’t remember how many rounds of darts you played after that. Or how many drinks. Just that the more the night stretched on, the more dangerous Han started to feel.

He was easy to talk to—too easy. Every sentence laced with flirtation, every smile a silent promise. He leaned in when he spoke, laughed too loudly at your jokes, and somehow always found a reason to touch you—his hand brushing your wrist, fingers grazing your back as he passed behind you, knuckles tapping your knee under the table like a secret rhythm only the two of you understood.

You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. You weren’t drunk. Just warm. Buzzed and comfortable and a little too aware of the way his knee kept knocking into yours, the way his eyes kept dropping to your lips.

“I’m trying to be good,” he murmured once, after your third drink.

You looked at him over the rim of your glass. “Are you?”

He seductively smiled. “Trying. Failing.”

He leaned in then—slow, testing the waters—but you turned your head at the last second, pretending to laugh at something on the TV above the bar.

“Mm. Cold,” he said, sitting back with a grin.

“You’ll live,” you casually respond with a sly smile.

Another drink later, you were having your drink facing the counter and Han was standing behind you, his chest pressed firmly against your back and one of his arms wrapped around your waist. You could feel the weight of his gaze as you peacefully sipping your drink.

“You’re still thinking about kissing me,” he whispered right into your ear, like it was a fact, not a guess.

You ignored the way his hot breath brushes your skin as you raised an eyebrow and said, “You’re very confident.”

He shrugged, eyes dropping to your mouth again. “You keep looking at mine. I’m just connecting dots.”

When you turned your head to the side, he leaned in close enough until his lips made the slightest contact with yours, intentionally or not. But you made him work for it, you leaned in and when he was about to capture your lips, you pulled back with a smug.

“You're persistent,” you said, though your voice wasn’t as steady as it had been.

He only smiled triumphantly, taking your words as a compliment and it seemed to only give him motivation to keep trying. One hand held your face by your chin, holding your head still as he leaned in again. He brushed your nose with his before finally aiming for your lips.

You stopped him by putting your fingers over his small mouth. “Not tonight.”

He exhaled, slow, like he was trying not to push. “Okay,” he said softly. “I’ll behave.”

He didn’t. Not really. Because later—when the bar was emptying out and the city felt quieter than it should’ve—he walked you outside, his hand brushing yours, barely touching but somehow lighting your whole arm on fire. He asked if you wanted a cab. You said you’d walk.

“I’ll walk you, then,” he offered with his charming gummy smile.

Two blocks into the walk, you turned down a quieter street. The air was cool, but you felt warm under your jacket. Han walked close, so close you could feel the swing of his arm next to yours, hear the way he slowed his steps to match yours exactly.

When you stopped at the corner, he stopped too. He looked at you, staring into your eyes and briefly glanced at your lips, tempting, inviting. And you, you looked at him with the glow of the streetlights created a halo on his dark hair, hesitating, considering.

Should I? You asked yourself. You figured out the answer as he leaned in and you didn’t move away. You felt his breath against your mouth first—hoping, waiting. When your lips parted just slightly, like an invitation… He kissed you. Soft, at first. Careful. Then again, firmer—like he’d been holding back all night and finally got permission.

You let yourself fall into it for a moment too long. Just long enough to forget that he wasn’t your type. That guys like Han never stopped at one kiss. And that deep down, you already knew—this wasn’t going to end well.

-

One moment, Han had you pinned against the door, fingers tangled in your hair, his kiss rougher and more urgent, like he’d been waiting all night for this. In the next one, you ended up on your bed, feeling the press of his mouth against yours and his hands mapped your sides like he was trying to memorize every inch of you. And then, he was everywhere.

Your back hit the mattress with a soft thud, and Han followed, lips trailing down your jaw, his breath hot against your skin. He kissed like he meant it—deep and consuming, like he wanted to swallow the sound of your sighs. His hands were firm on your hips, but not greedy—like he could take his time, like he wanted to take his time.

Suddenly, he slowed. He pulled back just enough to look at you, chest rising and falling, lips red and swollen from the kiss. His gaze lingered on yours, asking a silent question—one you didn’t need to answer aloud because you were already reaching for him.

He sat back on his knees, his hands gripping the hem of his black t-shirt. In one fluid motion, he pulled it over his head and tossed it aside. Your breath caught at the sight. His body was lean but toned—defined in that way that made you want to reach out and trace every line. Broad shoulders and small waist. And there, on his right shoulder, was a black ink tattoo: sharp edges, elegant curves, something that looked both dangerous and deeply personal. The other one ran down his side in a smooth line, disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans, teasing your imagination and making you wonder where does the tattoo ends.

You sat up slowly, eyes dragging across his chest, down to the subtle V of his hips.

He looked like sin wrapped in skin. He knew it, too. That stupid, perfect smirk curved at the edge of his mouth as he caught you staring.

“What?” he asked, voice low, a little smug.

You swallowed. “You’re just…”

“Hot?” he offered with a wink.

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah,” you admitted quietly, your voice soft as your fingers brushed over the tattoo on his shoulder. “You really are.”

Han leaned down, pressing a kiss just below your ear. “Careful,” he whispered, “you’re making it very hard to behave.”

You didn’t tell him to stop because even though you knew better… you didn’t want him to.

Han leaned and hovered over you, lips brushing against yours in slow, languid kisses that made your breath catch. His hand moved with a practiced ease—fingertips grazing the zipper at the back of your dress, a silent question in the way he tugged, lips still coaxing you deeper into him.

You didn’t say a word. You let him. Then you heard the sound of the zipper cutting through the silence in the room. The fabric slipped down your shoulders, warm air brushing over newly exposed skin. He pulled the dress down until it's off of you and you were bare except for the matching underwear you were wearing.

His gaze dropped, jaw tightening just slightly, like the sight of you like this did something to him he couldn’t put into words. “You’re unreal,” he whispered, kissing your collarbone, then lower, down the center of your chest.

He buried his mouth in between your soft mounds and drinks in your natural scent. “What kind of spell are you putting on me?” He murmured with his lips against your skin.

You let out a soft laugh, but it caught in your throat when his lips found your stomach, then the curve of your hip. His hands smoothed along your sides, slow and reverent, like he wanted to worship every inch of you.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured between kisses. “So fucking perfect.”

He came back up to kiss you again—deeper this time, his mouth claiming yours like he couldn’t get close enough. Your hands gripped his shoulders, felt the heat of his skin under your palms, the sharp inhale he took as your fingers trailed along the tattoo on his ribs.

And then— Something shifted. It happened all at once. A flicker of hesitation in your chest, the way your body stilled beneath his, the sudden tightness in your throat that you couldn’t quite explain. His kiss slowed, but your hands had already gone slack at your sides. The fire was still there—but your heart wasn’t in it anymore.

Han noticed immediately. He pulled back, just enough to look you in the eyes. His brows furrowed, voice softer now, careful. “Hey… you okay?”

You hesitated for a second, trying to find the right words. “I—” You bit your lip, avoiding his gaze. “I think I’m changing my mind.”

His weight shifted off you a little more. “Yeah?”

You nodded, cheeks hot. “I don’t want to do this. At least… not tonight.”

There was a pause. Not heavy—just quiet. And then Han gave the smallest, most genuine smile. “Okay.”

You anxiously clutched the sheet under you. “You’re… okay with that?”

“Of course I am,” he said, brushing your hair gently behind your ear. “You think I’m gonna get mad because you're being a decent human with boundaries? Please.”

The relief hit you like a wave. You leaned up and gave him a soft peck on the lips, more grateful than anything. “Thank you, Han.”

He laid down beside you, still shirtless, arm behind his head as he looked at the ceiling like it was no big deal. Like you hadn’t just hit pause on something you both clearly wanted.

“You’re really sweet,” you said quietly.

He smirked. “Don’t ruin my reputation like that. I’ve got a bad boy image to maintain.”

You laughed as your head fell back onto the pillow, finally relaxing again. “Sorry. You’re so dangerous and mysterious.”

“That’s better,” he said with a wink. “Now c’mere. I wanna cuddle and sulk dramatically about being denied.”

You rolled your eyes but moved closer, letting his arm wrap around your waist, your head finding the space between his neck and shoulder. He was warm. He smelled like cologne and the night and something that already felt too familiar.

-

The air in the room had shifted—less charged, more peaceful. You weren’t sure how long you’d been lying there in silence, his arm still wrapped around your waist, your head tucked into the crook of his neck. His fingertips were brushing soft, aimless patterns along your side when his gaze drifted across the shelves by your bed.

“You’ve got a lot of books,” he murmured.

You smiled against his skin. “Yeah. I like to collect them even when I don’t have time to read.”

Han tilted his head, scanning the spines. “The Song of Achilles,” he said, pointing. “That one wrecked me.”

Your brows lifted. “You’ve read it?”

“Twice,” he said proudly. “And cried like a loser both times.”

You laughed, shifting slightly so you could see him. “You don’t strike me as the Greek tragedy type.”

He grinned. “I’m full of surprises.”

The conversation spilled easily from there—first about the book, then about other favorites, stories that moved you, characters you felt too much for. You didn’t realize how natural it felt until you noticed the hour on your phone and blinked.

“Wait… it’s almost four?”

Han chuckled, voice gravelly now from the lateness. “Guess you’re just too interesting.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile was soft. “I don’t remember the last time I stayed up all night just… talking.”

He looked at you, expression gentler than usual. “Me neither.”

There was a pause. Then, maybe without meaning to, you spoke.

“I think…” you began, voice low, almost unsure. “I think that’s why I hesitated earlier.”

Han stayed quiet, just watching you.

Your voice small as you kept going. “It’s not you. It’s me. I’ve never felt really… confident. About my body. I’ve had a few… not-so-great experiences, and sometimes it just gets in my head, you know?”

Han didn’t interrupt. He didn’t rush to fix it or brush it off. He just listened.

“Sometimes I feel like if someone sees too much of me, they’ll change their mind.”

His fingers tightened slightly around your waist—not in a harsh way, just grounding. Reassuring. “You know what I see when I look at you?” he said quietly.

You looked up at him, throat tightening.

“I see someone brave enough to set boundaries. Someone smart and kind and way, way too good at darts. I see someone who didn’t have to let me in—but did anyway.”

Your chest ached in the best way, not expecting the talk turns this personal when you only have met this person merely hours ago.

“You don’t have to earn being wanted,” he added. “You just are.”

You blinked fast, trying not to let the sting behind your eyes win. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

He shrugged, a teasing smile returning. “I’m trying to impress you. My shirt’s already off, and you said no, so I had to resort to personality.”

A laugh broke out of you, honest and full. You nudged his shoulder. “It’s working.”

The warmth between you softened into something tender—quiet and still and when you turned your head to look at him again, you found him already watching you. Something shifted in that moment. Something slow, sweet, inevitable.

Without overthinking it, you leaned in and this time, the kiss was gentle. No rush. No heat. Just a quiet surrender to the connection already blooming between you.

The kiss deepened naturally, without hesitation this time—just the slow, steady build of heat that had been simmering between you all night. Han’s hands rested on your waist, anchoring you to him as your mouth moved with his, the closeness buzzing with electricity.

You shifted, gently pushing him back against the pillows as you moved to straddle him. His hands slid down your sides, his eyes fixed on you now, wide and dark with something more than lust—something softer, deeper.

“You’re…” His voice was low, almost reverent. “God, you’re beautiful.”

The words landed right where your insecurities had been moments before, like he somehow knew exactly what to say to quiet them. His admiration wasn’t just in his voice—it was in the way he looked at you, like he was seeing something rare. Something precious.

It gave you a surge of something bold. A confidence you hadn’t felt in a long time. Your fingers moved behind your back, unclasping your bra. You let it fall between you, leaving you completely bare before him.

For a moment, Han just stared—lips parted slightly, eyes drinking you in like he didn’t want to miss a single detail. “I must be dead,” he said, voice still thick with awe. “Because there’s no way I’m this lucky and still breathing.”

You laughed—soft and real, your body finally relaxing as the tension slipped away. “Shut up,” you said while covering his mouth with your hand, even though the corners of your mouth were still curled in a smile.

“I’m just saying,” he added with a smirk, hands sliding up your thighs, slow and steady. “How am I not blind after seeing that?”

Your heart fluttered, warmth blooming in your chest and between your ribs, in all the quiet spaces where doubt used to live. There was something about being seen like this—not just touched, not just wanted, but seen. And even more than that… adored.

You leaned down again, brushing your lips against his. The kiss was softer now, but no less full of promise. In that moment, you let yourself believe—for just a little while—that this thing between you might be more than a night.

-

Han sat up slowly, eyes still fixed on you, the sheets rumpled around his waist as you remained straddling him. The way he looked at you made your skin tingle—as if you were the only thing that matters in this world.

He reached up, cupping the side of your neck with one hand, his thumb brushing just below your jaw. Then he leaned in and kissed you again—deeper, slower, savoring the way your lips moved with his.

His hand trailed downward, fingertips gliding over your collarbone, then lower, tracing the curve of your chest with a delicate touch that made you inhale sharply against his mouth. He hummed softly into the kiss, the sound low and pleased, like your reaction was exactly what he hoped for.

His other arm slipped around your waist, pulling you flush against him until there wasn’t a single inch of space left between your bodies. Skin to skin, warmth to warmth, heartbeats syncing into something that felt more intimate than you expected.

In the next moment, the kiss growing needier, more consuming with every second. Your hands tangled in his hair, nails grazing the back of his neck as his lips claimed you again and again, with no sign of stopping. It felt like you were falling—into him, into this and you didn’t want to stop it.

Han dragged his lips down the slope of your neck, slow and heated, making your breath catch in your throat. You tipped your head back as a low moan escaped you, helpless against the way his mouth explored your skin—biting softly, then soothing the sting with warm kisses that made your spine curve and your fingers grip his shoulders tighter.

When he reached your sternum, he paused—just long enough to look up at you with a wicked glint in his eyes—before burying his face in the valley between your breasts. His kisses were open-mouthed, and lingering, lips moving with reverence as he worshipped every inch of your soft mounds. And then he took your breast into his mouth, hot and wet, the sudden suction making you gasp.

“Han—” you breathed out, nearly a whimper as he rolled your nipple against his tongue, then sucked harder—hard enough to make you yelp in surprised pleasure.

The sting was sharp, but the heat it sent rushing through your core was sharper. Your hips shifted beneath him instinctively, your body already responding faster than your mind could catch up.

When he looked up at you again, his lips glistened, and that smug little smirk you were starting to know too well curved at the corner of his mouth. “You sound so pretty,” he murmured, voice heavy with desire. “Don’t hold back.”

And then his mouth was on you again—trailing fluttering kisses down your stomach while enjoying the way your body arched into his. You barely had time to catch your breath before he shifted, his hands finding your hips, and with one smooth motion, he flipped you onto your back, slipping easily between your legs.

You gasped, a mix of surprise and heat curling inside you as he looked down at you—his pupils blown wide, his hair a mess, and his mouth already back on your skin.

His kisses continued down your front, warm and teasing, until his lips hovered at the edge of your underwear. He pressed a slow, deliberate kiss right against the thin fabric, eyes flicking up to meet yours just as you gasped—your hips twitching in response. You moaned, unable to stop the sound, your body trembling slightly under his touch.

Han smirked against you. “Still doing okay?” he asked, voice thick, dark, and laced with mischief.

You could only nod, breathless, your fingers threading through his hair again. Without giving you a moment, Han places an open-mouthed kiss on your clothed core, ignoring the way the fabric already damp with your arousal. Even with a layer of barrier, you felt his tongue tracing your bundle on nerves and continuously circling on it.

Han pulls away with a smirk. His fingers curled around the band of your underwear, his touch is unhurried like he was giving you every chance to change your mind. But you didn’t. You just watched him, heart pounding as he pulled the fabric down your legs, inch by inch, until you were bare beneath him.

His gaze didn’t waver. If anything, it softened. He lifted your leg by the back of your knee and leaned down, pressing light, fluttering kisses to the inside of your thigh—so delicate they felt like sparks dancing over your skin. The closer his mouth got to your center, the harder it became to breathe. Your body reacted on instinct, legs trying to snap shut from the overwhelming vulnerability of it all.

He looked up at you, eyes full of patience as he waited for you to open yourself to him.

“I—” you started, voice barely a whisper, “I just… it might take me a while... to come.”

There was no judgment in the way he looked at you. No hesitation. Instead, he smiled—soft, a little amused, endlessly kind. “You’re not in a hurry, right?”

And then, with that signature glint in his eye, he added, “Should I get you a book? Something to keep you busy while I work my mouth on you?”

You let out a startled laugh, your nerves cracking open into something lighter, easier. “You’re such an idiot,” you mumbled, smiling despite yourself.

“Mm, but I’m your idiot tonight.” He leaned up and pressed a kiss to your lips—slow, grounding, warm. “Just relax,” he murmured. “Let me take care of you.”

With that, he moved back down, settling between your thighs like he belonged there. His arms curved under your legs and his hands resting on your abdomen, anchoring your hips gently.

The first contact of his mouth on your bare sex was gentle at first—exploring you with soft, unhurried licks between your folds that made your entire body tense and then melt into the mattress. He was careful, attentive, like he was learning every part of you with his lips and tongue, every little sound you made guiding him deeper into the rhythm that left you trembling.

You gasped and moaned, your fingers clutching at the sheets, legs trembling on either side of his shoulders. But then—his hands reached for yours. You felt his fingers lace through yours and pull them down to rest flat on your stomach. The unexpected intimacy of it made your chest swell with something tender. Even while he was driving you completely wild, he was grounding you—keeping you connected to him, reminding you that he was here, with you, for you.

Your back arched as his tongue found that perfect spot again and again, moving with a precision that made your breath stutter and your hips buck toward his mouth. He didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. He just tightened his hold on your hands and kept going, lips and tongue working you over until you were gasping his name, your moans a helpless melody echoing off the walls of your bedroom.

You were undone—squirming under him, your body drawn tight with every wave of pleasure building inside you, held steady only by the feel of his hands wrapped around yours and the determined, reverent way he worshipped you with his mouth.

You felt it cresting—slow and intense, like a wave building higher and higher until it crashed through you all at once. Your body arched, a helpless moan tearing from your throat as the pleasure hit, all-consuming and warm, unraveling every thread of restraint you had left. Your fingers tightened around his, your thighs trembling around his head as you came apart under his mouth.

Han didn’t stop right away. He eased you through it with soft, fluttering kisses along your inner thigh, then up your abdomen, tender and patient as you slowly came down from the high, your breathing ragged and your skin still buzzing.

“You were perfect,” he murmured against your stomach. “So damn good for me.”

You let your eyes flutter open, dazed and breathless, and found him already looking at you. A teasing smile tugged at the corners of his lips—his mouth and chin glistening with the evidence of what he'd just done to you. He didn’t wipe it away. He licked his bottom lip instead with his eyes never leaving yours.

Then he leaned in, kissing you deep and slow, his tongue sliding against yours, letting you taste yourself on him. It was intimate, almost possessive—like he wanted you to feel everything, to know exactly how much he’d enjoyed every second of you. Your hands slid around his shoulders, pulling him closer as your heart pounded against your ribcage.

Han didn’t rush you. He laid beside you, propped on one elbow, his other hand lazily trailing up and down your side. Featherlight touches. Just enough to make you shiver, even now.

“You’re kinda quiet,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “Did I break you a little?”

You turned your head and gave him a weak glare, but your smile betrayed you. “A little. Yeah.”

He chuckled under his breath, the sound low and smug as he nuzzled against the side of your neck. “Not a bad first impression then.”

You huffed a laugh, still catching your breath but that didn't stop him from kissing you again, his lips dragging over your cheek and then down to your collarbone. Each one lingered just long enough to keep your skin tingling.

“I could get used to this,” he murmured, his fingers brushing against the curve of your waist, slipping lower for just a second before rising again. “You... under me. Breathing like that. Looking at me like I just rewrote your nervous system.”

“Cocky much?” You said with a raised eyebrow.

He smirked against your skin. “Only because you’re not denying it.”

You rolled your eyes and before you could fire back, he caught your lips in another kiss . It was gentler now—slow, drawn-out. His tongue moved lazily with yours, coaxing you back into that hazy warmth you were just coming down from. All the while, his hand never stopped moving—light strokes over your ribs, the underside of your breast, the dip of your waist. Not pushing. Not asking. Just... building. Again.

“You good?” he whispered when he pulled back, his voice all gravel and honey now, his eyes searching yours like he really meant it.

You nodded, already feeling the ache of wanting him again as his body pressed flush to yours. You answered him by kissing him. Your fingers curling into the nape of his neck.

Without breaking the kiss, he took your hand in his and slowly guided it down his chest, over the smooth lines of his torso. Your breath hitched, unsure of where he was leading you—but then, just when you thought he was going to push your hand lower, he slid it around to the back of him instead. Your palm met the firm muscle of his ass, and he grinned against your mouth.

“Go on,” he murmured, his voice thick and teasing. “Tell me that’s not the finest ass you’ve ever touched.”

A surprised laugh escaped you, and you gave it a playful squeeze. “I mean… I’ve touched worse.”

“Ouch,” he gasped dramatically, feigning offense. “After all I’ve done for you tonight? That’s the best I get?”

You giggled, rolling your eyes. “Okay, fine. You’ve got a great ass, Han.”

“There it is.” He beamed proudly, his voice smug and affectionate. “You’re so good at flattering me. I should keep you around for morale.”

You gave it another squeeze just to mess with him, and he let out a low laugh, burying his face in your neck for a second before pulling back to look at you—really look at you.

In that moment, between the laughter and the heat, something softer flickered in his eyes. He didn’t say anything about it. He just leaned in to kiss you again, and you let yourself fall into it, warm and breathless and beginning to wonder how someone could be this addictive after only one night.

He let your hand linger where he’d placed it, his own hand coming up to cup your jaw as he kissed you slowly, deeply, addictive. You could feel the heat radiating off of him, his body pressed against yours, every inch of him alive with tension and need.

So you took initiative by sliding your hand down with clear intent, and he groaned softly into your mouth as your fingers wrapped around his swollen cock. The way he responded—jaw tightening, breath catching—only encouraged you, but you kept your pace slow, teasing him the way he’d teased you earlier. Your thumb rubbed over the crest and applied gentle pressures on it, then you began slowly stroking it.

His hand eventually joined yours, fingers curling around yours as he guided the motion with a rhythm he liked, each stroke making him pulse harder in your hand. Together, you pumped his cock in slow, steady motion. His forehead pressed to yours, and his eyes fluttered shut as the pleasure rippled through him.

“You’re really testing here,” he murmured, voice ragged.

You only smiled, tightening your hold around his length, feeling him twitch with growing need.

Before things could blur too far, Han’s hand paused yours. “Wait—condom?”

You nodded toward the drawer on the bedside table. “Inside. Right side. There’s a box.”

He reached over without fully detaching from you, retrieving one and giving you a look that was somehow both focused and teasing as he tore it open with his teeth. He rolled it on carefully, his eyes flicking to you every few seconds—watching you watch him.

When he was done, he raised an eyebrow. “So... how’s my form? Did I pass the test?”

You gave him a smirk and a playful nod. “A+ in safety and presentation.”

“Good.” He leaned in, brushing his lips against yours. “Now let’s see if I can get extra credit.”

With that, his mouth was on yours again, harder, deeper yet more certain. The anticipation hung thick in the air between your bodies as he pressed closer, your legs parting to welcome him in, the heat between you impossible to ignore.

Han moved slowly, his body flush against yours as he guided his cock into your entrance with care. He ran his length between your folds, drenched it with your arousal, giving your clit enough stimulations for what’s coming next.

When he began pushing his tip into you, his eyes never left your face, watching you, searching for any sign of hesitation. He kept going, eyebrows furrowed as he penetrated you with utmost care and carefulness.

The second his cock buried to the hilt inside you, you gasped—not from pain, but from the overwhelming closeness—he kissed you softly as if he tried to make up for the unpleasantness.

“Good?” he whispered, his voice breathless but gentle.

You nodded, fingers curling into his shoulders. “Mm-hmm… I’m good.”

He stayed like that for a moment, fully buried in you but still, giving it a moment for your bodies to adjust to each other's. When he finally moved, he moved in slow, measured thrusts that made your body tremble with each drag of his cock against your tight walls.

In the heat of the moment, his mouth found yours again, kissing you through every shift in rhythm, as if he wanted to share every part of it with you. “You feel amazing,” he murmured into your skin, a quiet confession between kisses on your neck, your collarbone, your lips. “Like you were made for me.”

His hands cradled your waist, keeping you close, and every so often, he paused just to glance down to where your bodies joined, where you took all of his cock inside you and wrapped tightly around him. He kissed you again and again before picking up the pace.

The tension between you grew hotter, sharper, but the tenderness never left his touch. He wasn’t just trying to make you feel good—he was trying to imprint every second of this in the back of his mind.

The way your bodies moved together was effortless, like some rhythm you'd always known and with every breath, every breathless moan escaped your lips, Han was right there—present, connected, real. You clung to him, and he to you, as though the moment might vanish if you didn’t hold on.

And when it finally crested—your body arching into his, tightening and fluttering around him, making Han coming soon after, groaning your name as he held you through the aftershocks, not once letting go. He went still for a moment as he released, filled the condom with his seed.

For a while, neither of you said a word. The room was filled with the sound of your mingled breaths, soft and slowing, hearts still racing under flushed skin. He was the first to move, gently pulling you into his chest, his arms wrapping securely around you.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, voice low and tender against your hair.

You nodded, your cheek resting just over his heart. “Yeah… Okay.”

His arm stayed snug around your waist, the other trailing lazy fingers up and down your back as your breathing slowly returned to normal. Then, in the quiet hum of the room, he tilted his head down toward you and murmured, “So... would now be a bad time to ask for a Yelp review?”

You let out a small, breathless laugh, your body still buzzing. “Right now?”

“I just think it’s important to gather feedback,” he said, grinning smugly. “You know, for quality assurance.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling too. “Five stars for effort. Four and a half for the bad jokes.”

Han gasped dramatically. “Excuse you—my jokes are premium content.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you muttered, snuggling closer to him.

“I know,” he said, and kissed the top of your head like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You softly exhaled, eyes fluttering shut in drowsiness as his lips continued placing little kisses on your skin, reverent and steady, with a quiet devotion that left you feeling like you were falling—into something deeper than lust, something dangerously close to trust.

-

Sunlight filtered softly through the curtains, warming your bare shoulders, gently waking you up from your slumber. You stirred, stretching out a hand to the other side of the bed—only to find it empty and cold.

Of course. You muttered in your head as you heart sank a little. You let out a quiet sigh and rolled onto your back, staring at the ceiling. You should’ve known better. One night, a little charm, and then gone by morning. Classic. Still, you couldn’t help the flicker of disappointment curling in your chest. Because, as much as you tried not to… you liked Han.

And then—there it was. The unmistakable clatter of something in the kitchen, followed by a low curse.

Pulling on whatever piece of clothing from the floor, you padded out of the bedroom and found him in the kitchen.

Han was shirtless and under the pale sunlight, his tattoos were contrast to his honey skin, his hair messily tousled, standing in front of your coffee machine with a deep frown on his face. His fingers were poking at buttons like they personally offended him. He looked up the moment he sensed you and broke into a sheepish grin.

“Morning. So, I may or may not be losing a fight to this highly complicated coffee machine.”

You squinted, walking closer to assess the issue. “Did you… plug it in?”

He paused and then he checked the back of the machine, finding the unplugged cord hanging limply beside the counter.

“Ah.” He scratched the back of his head while sheepishly chuckling. “That explains the lack of coffee. I was just about to blame capitalism.”

You chuckled despite yourself, shaking your head as you plugged it in. “Are you always this charming in the morning?”

“24/7 actually,” he said, watching you with that same lopsided grin.

As the coffee started brewing, the warm scent beginning to fill the kitchen, you turned toward the fridge. “I’ll make breakfast.”

Han leaned back against the counter, arms crossed over his bare chest as he watched you. “Are you sure? I mean, I was planning to impress you with my gourmet bowl of cereal.”

You rolled your eyes and reached for the eggs. “How about you handle coffee duty, Chef Cereal and I’ll take care of the rest?”

“Copy that, Kitchen Commando,” he said, reaching for two mugs with a mock salute.

The two of you moved around each other in quiet rhythm, filling the kitchen with soft clinks and sizzling sounds. No awkwardness. No morning-after weirdness. Just warmth, quiet laughter, and the smell of coffee and toast. It was… easy, strangely easy and you couldn’t remember the last time something felt like that.

The two of you sat across from each other at the small kitchen table, plates filled with scrambled eggs and toast between you, steaming mugs in hand. He took a bite, chewed, and gave you an impressed nod. You held the urge to chuckle at the way his cheeks puffed as he chewed on his food.

“Okay, chef,” he said with a grin. “This is actually good. I had low expectations after seeing your coffee machine situation.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You mean your coffee machine situation?”

He pointed at you with his fork. “Fair.”

Between bites and sips of coffee, the conversation drifted into something lighter. Easier.

“So, what do you do?” you asked, wiping a crumb off your lip.

Han leaned back a little, stretching his legs under the table. “I work at a music studio. Mostly sound engineering. Some producing. It depends on who’s asking.” He smirked. “But yeah, I help make people sound better than they actually are.”

You laughed. “Do you enjoy it?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding thoughtfully. “Long hours, weird clients, but music’s kind of the only thing I ever wanted to do. Even when I was a kid.”

There was a flicker of something sincere in his eyes, and for a moment, it made your chest warm.

He tilted his head. “What about you?”

“I co-own a vintage clothing store with a friend,” you said, reaching for your coffee. “We do a lot of curating, reselling, sometimes minor alterations. I’m there most days.”

Han perked up. “Wait, so you’re telling me I know someone with taste and access to cool jackets?”

You smirked. “Maybe.”

“Do I get a discount if I come shop there?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

“That depends. Do you plan on plugging in the coffee machine next time?”

He let out a laugh and dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “Harsh but fair.”

The rest of the morning passed in a blur of coffee refills, inside jokes already forming, and conversations that slipped from playful to surprisingly thoughtful with ease. It felt oddly natural—like the two of you had known each other long enough to tease and jab without hesitation.

And maybe that was what made it so dangerous.Han, with his charm and his grin and his casual warmth—he was the kind of trouble that came wrapped in comfort.

When it was time for him to go, you followed him to the front door, your sweater sleeves pulled down over your hands, fingers gripping the hem to keep yourself from reaching for him. He crouched slightly to put on his sneakers, and a strange heaviness pressed on your chest—the kind that came with goodbyes, especially the ones you didn’t want to say out loud.

This is it, you thought. A fun night. A morning after. And then he disappears like they always do.

But just as he finished lacing up his shoes, Han straightened and turned to face you again. His eyes flicked across your features, lingering in that way that made it feel like he was seeing more of you than he should.

“So,” he said slowly, almost cautiously, “can I see you again?”

Your breath hitched—just for a second. “Well... You know where to find me.”

A smirk crept onto his lips, cocky and triumphant, like he’d just won a game you didn’t realize you were playing. “That I do.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. The space between you stretched taut with something unspoken. His gaze dropped briefly to your lips, and when he stepped forward, it was deliberate.

Han reached up, his fingers gentle as they found your chin and tipped your head slightly toward him. He leaned in slowly—so slowly—and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. It wasn’t lustful or teasing this time. It was tender, like a promise.

When he pulled away, his voice was lower than before. “I’ll see you soon.”

You opened your mouth to respond, to say it back, but you barely got the words out before he leaned in again and kissed you deeper this time, stealing the air from your lungs. It left your head swimming, your hands balled into the fabric of your sweater to keep yourself from holding onto him. And then he stepped back, letting go of your chin with frustrating gentleness. You almost frowned at the absence of his touch but caught yourself, painting a smile on instead.

Han turned toward the door, opened it, and paused—just for a beat. His eyes found yours again, like he was trying to burn the image of you into memory, then he stepped out.

You stood frozen for a moment after the door shut, the silence of your apartment suddenly deafening, and without meaning to, you were already counting the seconds until you saw him again.

-

The bell above the door jingled as someone left, the fading sound echoing in the stillness of the vintage shop. You barely looked up from where you sat behind the counter, chin resting in your hand, watching the second hand tick around the clock mounted on the wall.

Five days. Not a text. Not a call. Not even a stupid emoji. You hated how often you found yourself checking your phone, hoping for a notification from Han. Even more, you hated that your heart still fluttered at the thought of him—even now, after all the silence.

Your friend, Morgan, appeared from the back room with a new rack of denim jackets and gave you a knowing look. “Still nothing?”

You shook your head, sighing dramatically as you slumped over the counter. “Maybe he died.”

Morgan snorted. “If he’s dead, the universe just did you a favor.”

You groaned, burying your face into the crook of your elbow. “Don’t say that. What if he’s just…busy?”

She shot you a flat look, raising an eyebrow. “Busy? Please. That boy is a smooth-talking, fine-ass ghoster, and you know it. You're not the first girl he made promises to with his shirt off and that dumb pretty smile.”

You sat back up, whining like a child being told no. “I know, okay? I know. You’re right. He’s just a typical fuckboy. I just…” Your voice softened. “It didn’t feel like that.”

Morgan sighed and leaned on the counter next to you. “That’s how they get you. They make you feel like you’re the one exception to their pattern. That you’re the one they actually mean it with.”

You stared down at your hands, fiddling with a loose thread on your sleeve. “It’s just,” you muttered, “my heart’s being stupid. I know he’s not coming back. I know that night probably meant nothing to him. But…”

“But it meant something to you,” Morgan finished your sentence with a fed-up sigh.

You nodded, lips pressing together in a hard line.

Morgan gave your shoulder a squeeze. “It sucks. And I hate seeing you like this. But you’ve gotta stop feeding the fantasy. He ghosted you, babe. Whether it was deliberate or not, you deserve better than that.”

You swallowed hard, forcing the bitterness of the truth down your throat. “Yeah.”

“And I mean—look at you.” She gestured at your outfit. “You’re a catch. Hot, smart, funny. And you run a kickass vintage store. You think he's the only guy who’s gonna notice that?”

You managed a laugh, weak and watery. “He better not be.”

“There she is.” Morgan grinned. “Now, go fix that rack of leather jackets and start forgetting about that doe-eyed, tattooed piece of—”

The bell above the door jingled again and you both turned to look. Your heart nearly stopped only for some customers coming into the store.

“Better put my focus on work,” you sighed in defeat as you grabbed the rack of leather jackets and hauled it.

Morgan gives you an encouraging slap on the butt. “Atta girl!”

Rearranging a rack of vintage coats did help distracting you from thinking about Han and how a part of you still hoping that your phone chime with a message from him. It worked until a familiar voice sliced through the low hum of the store.

“What do you think?” he said. “Is this totally my color, or am I giving discount magician vibes?”

That voice. That joking, cocky, annoyingly charming voice. You turned slowly, fingers still clutching a velvet blazer, and there he was—Han—standing under the warm light of the shop’s interior, holding up a glittery gold button-down shirt with a grin that was clearly meant to disarm you.

“Or should I add this?” he asked, grabbing a feathered boa and wrapped it around his neck.

Your heart kicked up painfully in your chest, but your face remained neutral. “Can I help you?” you asked flatly, like you would with any other customer.

Han’s smile faltered. He let the shirt fall against his chest, his eyes searching yours. “I—uh. Okay. I deserve that,” he admitted, stepping closer. “I’m sorry. I know I should’ve called. Texted. Something. I’ve just… things got complicated.”

You didn’t say anything, you just moved on to the next rack, slipping hangers back in place like you hadn’t heard him.

He followed behind, undeterred. “I’m not trying to make excuses. I just got overwhelmed with work. Studio stuff’s been nonstop. I kept meaning to reach out, but it felt like the longer I waited, the worse it would seem.”

You paused, glanced at him, and then kept walking. He was doing it again—smooth talking, saying all the right things, making you almost want to believe him.

From behind him, Morgan stood at the counter, arms crossed, and as soon as your eyes met, she silently pointed at Han and mouthed: Bad news.

You sucked in a breath and walked past Han, heading toward another rack of clothes. He caught up with you and gently grabbed your elbows, halting your steps.

“Please,” he said, voice softer now. “I’m really sorry. I’ve been thinking about you. About that night. A lot. I didn’t mean to disappear. I just—I handled it badly.”

You looked up at him, heart racing. His eyes were wide and vulnerable, but you couldn’t tell if it was genuine or just an act to win you over. His grip on you wasn’t forceful, but there was something desperate in the way he held you there—like he needed to fix this, needed to make you hear him.

However, your head was swimming. You couldn’t trust your instincts around him. Not when your chest still ached from pathetically waiting for a text from him.

So you gently pulled your arms free and walked toward the counter. “Morgan, can you help this customer?” you asked, barely looking back.

Without waiting for an answer, you gave him the cold shoulder and pushed open the backroom door. You stayed there and only came out after Morgan texted you that Han has left.

When it came to close the shop, you and Morgan worked together to tidy up the store. You turned the keys repeatedly and pulled the door to make sure it was securely locked before dropping the keys into your bag.

As you were about to turn away, Morgan tapped your shoulder and you turned just as she tilted her head toward the street. “Behind you,” she murmured.

You followed her gaze—and there he was. Han, sitting on the hood of his car like some hopeless romantic cliché, bundled in his jacket, arms crossed, breath visible in the cold night air. He’d been waiting.

Morgan sighed, already exhausted with him. “You want me to scare him away?”

You shook your head. “It's okay. I got it.”

She hesitated, watching your face with that same mix of concern and curiosity, before stepping back with a parting, “Text me.”

Then you were alone with the sound of distant traffic and your footsteps clicking against the pavement as you approached.

Han stood up when he saw you. Despite the chill, he smiled. “Hey.”

You raised a brow. “You’re still here.”

“Well,” he said with a shrug, stepping closer. “I’m not leaving until you forgive me.”

You crossed your arms, trying to keep your expression unreadable. “You really think freezing your ass off is going to make up for ghosting me for five days?”

He grinned. “I mean... it’s a start.”

You tried to hold back, but then he added, “And next time, I’ll remember to plug in the coffee machine.”

A laugh escaped before you could stop it. Your resolve, carefully built up over days of annoyance and disappointment, began to crumble.

He grinned wider, gently reaching for your hand. His fingers were cold, but his touch was careful, like he wasn’t sure you’d let him hold on. “I really am sorry,” he said, quieter this time. “I messed up. I didn’t mean to disappear. I just got in my own head.”

You looked at him, and despite everything, part of you softened. He wasn’t pushing. He wasn’t charming his way out. He just looked... sincere.

You sighed, lips twitching. “You’re forgiven… if you wear that glittery gold button-down shirt. With the feathered boa.”

He blinked, then burst out laughing. “Okay. Go on, unlock the shop. I’ll wear it for you right now. Right here. Right now. I’ll even strut.”

You laughed too, finally, fully and the last bit of tension eased from your chest.

“I’d rock it,” he added, his voice cocky and bright. “I’d look amazing. I just know it.”

That made you burst into laughter, and Han looked at you like he’d already won the lottery, like he knew, somehow, this was the start of something… complicated. Messy, even. But it was a start.

-

It’s been three months now, and somehow, Han Jisung still looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky.

The months slip by in a blur of warmth and laughter, and if someone told you this was all a dream, you might believe them. Because dating Han feels exactly like that—like you’re floating through something too good to be real.

You remember slow mornings when he kisses your forehead before you're fully awake, the scent of coffee already filling your apartment because he learned how to use the machine properly—though he still jokes about nearly short-circuiting it every time. You eat pancakes in bed, syrup sticking to your fingers, and Han kisses the corner of your mouth like it's a reward for just being there.

There are late-night grocery runs when you both pretend you’re on a secret mission. You race down the snack aisle, Han hiding behind displays and jumping out to make you laugh. Once, he wore a banana costume he found in clearance and asked you to take him seriously. You couldn't.

There are cozy nights in, wrapped in blankets, a record playing low in the background as he hums along and runs his fingers through your hair. He reads to you sometimes— the lyrics he wrote on his journal, silly memes from his phone, even the tag on the cereal box—just to make you laugh at the way he over-dramatizes it.

He holds your hand in public like it’s second nature, like he can’t imagine a world where it wouldn’t be. He tells you you’re beautiful at the most random times—mid-bite at dinner, when you're makeup-free in sweats, when you're annoyed and pacing the room ranting about work. Always. Like it’s a fact of life.

Sometimes, you catch him just staring at you, soft-eyed and completely gone, and when you ask what he’s thinking, he shrugs and says, “Just wondering how I got so lucky.”

He surprises you with sticky notes stuck to your fridge door. Some have compliments, others doodles of the two of you. One just said, You make the world less scary.

And the fights? They happen, sure. But he never lets them last long. He listens. He apologizes. He makes an effort. Every single time.

Your life with Han isn’t perfect—but it’s golden. It’s honest. It’s filled with laughter, affection, and a kind of safety you didn’t know you’d been missing until he gave it to you.

You’re not sure where it’s all headed, but right now? You’re exactly where you want to be.

-

“... And then she had the audacity to tell me our vintage pieces were overpriced, like ma’am, it’s literally a 70s designer coat—what do you want, a time machine discount?”

You wipe your hands on a dish towel, still fuming from your earlier encounter at the shop. You glance toward the living room, expecting some kind of sympathetic sound from Han—but he’s sitting on the sofa, phone in hand, thumbs moving with casual focus.

Your rant comes to a halt, your mouth forming a small pout. Seriously?

You storm over with exaggerated drama, snatch his phone from his hands, and toss it onto the cushion beside him. Without missing a beat, you plop down onto his lap, straddling him with a huff.

“I was talking,” you say, pouting deeper. “And you were scrolling.”

Han grins up at you, arms already winding around your waist like it’s the most natural place for them to be. He tilts his head back slightly to look at you, eyes gleaming with fond mischief.

“I was listening. Something about a demon woman who tried to steal a sacred relic from your temple of vintage fashion.” He raises his brows, then he runs his hand through your hair. “Want me to kill her for you?”

You laugh, cooing at his ridiculousness. “How romantic of you,” you murmur, leaning in for a kiss.

His lips meet yours eagerly, his hold on you tightening like he’s anchoring himself. When you pull away just enough to tease him, his mouth chases after yours, making you giggle.

His hands travel down your sides, settling on the curve of your ass, and he hums against your jaw. “I gotta head back to the studio tonight,” he says, his voice apologetic as he presses a kiss under your ear. “I’m almost done with the track, just need a few more hours.”

You pout again as you look into his dark, doe eyes. “You've been pulling so many overnights lately. I’m starting to think your real relationship is with your audio software.”

Han chuckles, his hand rubbing at the round of your ass. “I promise, it’s just a fling. You’re the one I’m making all this extra time for. More finished tracks now, more time with you later.”

You know he’s right, but you still pout and scrunch your nose at him. “Still unfair.”

“So punish me,” he says with a playful smirk.

You grin, catching both his hands and guiding them above his head, pinning them to the back of the sofa. “Okay. Punishment starts now.”

Han gasps, mock offended. “Oh, no. Punishment.”

“I'm going to make you suffer,” You lean in, just brushing your lips against his, tempting him to kiss you and when he tries to capture your lips, you immediately pull your head back.

He’s already craning his neck, desperate for more. “Oh, I’m so scared.”

You laugh as you kiss him like you're about to swallow his small mouth whole, slow and indulgent, like you’re trying to make up for the hours you’ll miss tonight.

His hands eventually break free and finding their way back to your waist. Your world narrows to the warmth of his touch, the softness of his lips, and the knowledge that you’ll still be here when he comes home.

-

When you walk through the door after a long day at work, you immediately catch the comforting aroma of something warm and savory. You kick off your shoes, set your bag down, and round the corner to find Han standing in the kitchen, wearing one of your aprons—badly tied—and grinning like a mischievous schoolboy.

"Welcome home, babe," he says, arms stretched wide as if he really did just prepare a Michelin-star meal. The dining table is set: candles lit, plates ready, and takeout containers expertly hidden behind the serving dishes.

You smile wide but with an eyebrow raised at him. “You made dinner?”

He nods like he deserves a trophy. “As a good boyfriend, I sure did.”

You walk straight to him, wrap your arms around his neck, and pull him into a long, slow kiss. Your fingers slide through his hair, and his hands settle naturally on your waist as he kisses you back like he’s missed you all day.

When you finally break away just enough to speak, you whisper against his lips, “Thank you.”

“Full disclosure… I didn’t exactly cook it. I may have… ordered takeout,” he admits between kisses, “plated it really nicely… lit a few candles… made it look like I cooked.”

You laugh softly and nuzzle his nose. “I knew it. You can’t cook without triggering the smoke detector.”

He pulls back with a mock-offended gasp. “You know me too well.”

You kiss him again, and it deepens fast—too fast—because the next thing you know, you’re backed up against the counter, his hands warm against your sides, lips unrelenting. Teeth and tongue clashing in your mouth. It’s only when your stomach lets out a very loud, very real growl that you pull away with a sheepish grin.

“I’d love to keep doing this,” you murmur, breathless, “but I’m really hungry right now.”

Han chuckles, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Dinner first, make-out session after?”

“Deal,” you say, stealing one more quick kiss before heading toward the table.

And just like that, another ordinary night with Han feels like something out of a rom-com.

-

Later that night, you're propped up against the headboard, legs stretched beneath the comforter, a book resting open in your hands. The soft glow from the bedside lamp casts a cozy light over the room, and you're already halfway through a chapter when Han climbs onto the bed with a quiet, dramatic sigh. He crawls over to you like a lazy cat, warm and sleepy, and settles his head right on your chest, his arms loosely wrapping around your waist.

"I thought we're going to make out," he mumbles, burying his nose in the crook of your neck.

Without looking away, you turn a page and say, "But I'm just getting to the juicy part."

"Read it to me then," he mumbles again and this time, he's nuzzling into your shirt. "I wanna hear your juicy voice."

You smile and shift slightly to accommodate him, brushing your fingers gently through his hair. "You sure? You always fall asleep halfway through."

"Then you better make it good," he teases, voice muffled against you.

So you start reading, voice low and soothing, the pages turning slowly as your fingers play through his soft strands. He listens, surprisingly still, until a few lines in, you feel the brush of his lips against your collarbone. You keep reading, even as he kisses higher—your neck, your jaw—and you falter just slightly when his lips find yours.

You chuckle between sentences, breath catching. “Are you even listening?”

“Mhm,” he hums against your mouth, kissing you again. “Every word.”

The kisses deepen, slow and warm, his hand sliding up your side as the book tilts to the mattress, forgotten. He shifts so he’s hovering over you, his smile lazy, eyes half-lidded with affection. “I knew this was better than reading,” he whispers.

Before you can reply, his mouth finds yours again, and the words on the page dissolve into soft sighs and tangled sheets. His hand reaches for yours, taking your book and you feel his smirk against your lips when he tosses the book away.

"Hey, I was reading that," you grumble against his kiss.

He playfully tugs your lower lip between his teeth and then lets it go. "Admit it, this is way more fun," he murmurs followed by a haste kiss on your lips.

The room soon filled with the smooching sounds and the sighs that slipped out of your mouth in between as Han kisses you again and again. His hands are roaming around your body, touching, worshiping, he's slipping them under your night dress to feel the softness. His body is pressing on you until his body heat seeps into you and your bodies mold into one.

No matter how much you enjoyed it though, your body can't fight the fatigue anymore. You slowly pull away from his kiss, lips brushing his as you murmur, “It’s been such a long day… I can barely keep my eyes open.”

Han gives you a soft smile, the kind that makes your chest ache in the best way. He nods, understanding without a hint of complaint, and places a tender peck on your lips. “To be continued?”

You smile and nod. "To be continued."

"Now, come here," he whispers, lifting his arm and offering it to you.

You immediately nestle into his side, your head resting against his chest, arms wrapping around his torso like a blanket of your own. He shifts just enough to pull the comforter over both of you, his body warm and solid beside yours.

“Goodnight,” you mumble into his shirt, your voice already thick with sleep.

“Goodnight, baby,” he murmurs back, and then you feel the gentle flutter of his lips across your face—your forehead, your cheeks, the tip of your nose.

His hand strokes slowly up and down your back, a quiet, calming rhythm that lulls you further. With his kisses still tingling on your skin and the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, sleep takes you easily.

However, you stir in the middle of the night, disoriented by the emptiness beside you. Your hand reaches out instinctively, brushing over cool sheets where Han should be. The absence tugs gently at your sleep-heavy mind, and just as you're about to drift off again, you catch the faint sound of water running in the bathroom. You figure he’s probably just using the bathroom. Nothing unusual.

But then, layered beneath the soft rush of water, you hear the muffled sound of his voice. It’s faint—just the low, indistinct hum of someone speaking quietly on the phone. You strain to make out what he’s saying, but the faucet masks everything, leaving you with only your curiosity.

A minute later, the water stops, and the door clicks open. Han steps back into the darkened room, lit only by the sliver of moonlight coming through the curtain. He’s shirtless, his hair a little tousled, and he climbs back into bed as if nothing happened.

You blink up at him sleepily. “Hey... Who were you talking to?”

He settles in beside you, pulling the blanket back over both of you. “Just a guy from the studio. He needed something about the track we’re finishing. Did wake you, baby? I'm sorry.”

You hum in response, not pressing further. It sounds believable and it’s late, too late to overthink. So you curl into him, letting his arms wrap around you. His warmth is comforting, familiar. His hand finds its way to your back again, rubbing in slow circles the same way he did earlier until you're asleep again, nestled in the space you know best—his arms.

-

You stir to the feeling of gentle kisses being pressed to your bare shoulder—slow, warm, and lingering. One lands on your neck, then your cheek, then your forehead, until your entire face is dotted with affection. You groan softly and turn over, squinting your eyes open to find Han lying next to you, propped up on one elbow with his messy hair and that irresistible lopsided grin.

“Morning, sunshine,” he murmurs, voice low and sweet.

“Mm,” you hum sleepily, offering your lips, which he kisses with a soft, closed-mouth kiss that melts into a smile. His hand gently rubs up and down your arm, slow and reassuring.

“How’d you sleep?” he asks, still dotting little kisses along your temple.

You peek one eye open and stretch, a lazy grin on your face. “Like a baby. Probably because I wasn’t sleeping with my boyfriend who hogs the blanket like it’s a survival tool.”

Han gasps, dramatically clutching at his chest. “How dare you slander me first thing in the morning.”

You laugh against his shoulder. “Just stating facts.”

“Well,” he says, brightening again, “at least your boyfriend doesn’t hog your breakfast.”

He reaches over the side of the bed and lifts a brown paper bag triumphantly. The smell of fresh croissants and cinnamon rolls instantly fills the room, and your stomach lets out the most telling growl.

Han grins like he’s won the lottery. “I come bearing peace offerings.”

“And caffeine?” you ask hopefully.

He holds up two to-go coffee cups like it’s a trophy. “Double-shot latte for you. Because I like living.”

The two of you sit up in bed, pillows behind your backs, breakfast between you. You each pick at the warm pastries, sipping coffee in between bites. It's one of those rare slow mornings where everything feels just right.

Between mouthfuls, Han nods toward you. “By the way, the studio’s throwing a party tonight. Just a small thing. The team and a few other musicians.”

You raise your brows and tear a piece of croissant with your teeth. “You want me to come?”

Han looks at you like the answer is obvious. “Of course. I want to show you off. Also… moral support, because I might have to socialize with people I’ve only ever emailed.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” you playfully coo before letting out a chuckle.

He nudges you playfully with his knee. “You’ll come though, right?”

You grin over the rim of your coffee cup. “If you promise not to make bad jokes around me.”

Han smirks before pulling you for a sweet kiss and he pulls away just to mutter against your lips, “No promises.”

-

It’s chaotic in the best way—hairbrushes and makeup scattered across the vanity, clothes strewn over the bed, the laundry basket half-dumped as you scramble to find the perfect outfit for the party. Your hair is half-done, one eye fully made up while the other still waits for mascara. You’re digging through the laundry basket, looking for that dark top you swore you washed,when you accidentally lift Han’s jeans and something falls out of the back pocket. You pull them out—and with them, two ticket stubs. You glance at the date. Two days ago.

Your brows furrow as you read them again. Movie tickets. You carry them with you to the bedroom where Han is lying on his back, one hand under his head and the other holding his phone, lazily scrolling. You hold the stubs up and show them to him. “Babe?”

He looks up, raises a brow. “Yeah?”

You tilt your head, keeping your voice casual. “These were in your jeans. You saw a movie?”

Han pushes his phone aside and sits up slightly. “Oh, yeah. I got comp tickets from the studio. Luca and I went after work.”

You sit on the edge of the bed, still holding the stubs. “I thought we were going to see this one together.”

He grimaces apologetically and rests a hand on your thigh. “I know. But it wasn’t even that good, honestly. You didn’t miss much.”

Before you can respond, his eyes trail down to your outfit—or what exists of it right now. You’re in a black miniskirt and just your bra, still trying to decide on a top.

He lets out a low whistle. “Wait. Is this what you’re wearing to the party?”

You roll your eyes but the smile curling your lips betrayed you. “I haven’t even finished getting dressed yet.”

Han leans back on his elbows, grinning lazily. “God. Do you want me to cream my pants before we even leave the house?”

You feel your cheeks heat at the way he’s looking at you. A little flustered, a little smug, you climb onto the bed, straddling him with a smirk. “Maybe,” you seductively whisper, leaning in.

Your lips meet in a kiss that deepens quickly, his hands finding your waist as he pulls you closer. You try to pull back, breathless, but he won’t let you, chasing your mouth with another kiss.

“Han,” you murmur between kisses, “if we keep doing this, we’re going to be late.”

“I don’t care,” he breathes, before capturing your lips again.

In one smooth motion, he flips you onto your back, his body pressing down on yours, his mouth trailing slower, deeper kisses. You laugh against his lips, fingers weaving into his hair, momentarily surrendering to him—just a little longer before the party. Or maybe a little more as he roughly pulls your bra down until your breasts spilled out and he takes it into his mouth.

-

The studio party is already buzzing when you and Han arrive. Music pulses through the speakers, lights shifting from soft ambers to bold purples, casting shadows that dance across the walls. The room is filled with familiar faces from Han’s world—producers, engineers, interns, and artists, all with drinks in hand and stories spilling from their mouths.

Han thrives in it. He walks the room like it belongs to him, charming every person he speaks to, his laughter easy and infectious. With one hand comfortably resting at the small of your back, he introduces you proudly. “This is my girl,” he says more than once, eyes lighting up each time.

You smile, laugh along, answer polite questions. It’s warm, fun, easy. For a moment, everything feels perfect. Then you excuse yourself to get a drink, giving his arm a gentle squeeze before disappearing into the pantry-turned-bar.

You’re mixing a splash of something fizzy into your cup when a familiar voice speaks behind you. “Need a real bartender?”

You turn and find Luca—Han’s co-worker and longtime friend—grinning as he pours himself something from a bottle.

“Hey,” you say, friendly. “Yeah, I actually looking for the good stuff.”

“Don’t worry. I got you,” Luca smiles as he grabs a bottle of liquor from the bottom cabinet and pours it generously into your cup.

“Thank,” you say, slightly raising your cup his way. “Han told me you two saw a movie together a couple nights ago. Was it really as bad as he said?”

Luca’s expression shifts almost instantly. Confused. Cautious. “What movie?”

Your smile falters almost immediately. “The one you watched two days ago.”

Luca’s brow furrows and then he shrugs. “I haven’t seen a movie with Han in… weeks, I think? Maybe months.”

You blink, trying to keep your expression neutral, even though your stomach sinks a little. “Oh,” you manage. “I must’ve misunderstood.”

Luca offers a half-smile, oblivious to the storm forming behind your eyes. “He probably went with someone else from the studio.”

You nod slowly, staring down into your drink as the ice clinks against the glass. “Yeah. Probably.”

But that’s the moment the night shifts. Just slightly. Just enough to feel it.

-

The car ride home is thick with silence.

Han tries to reach for your hand, the way he always does when he senses you drifting. But you pull yours away without a word, placing it in your lap and staring out the window. The silence grows louder, pressing into your ears. He doesn’t say anything after that, but you can feel his eyes on you the whole way home.

When you step into the apartment, you don’t bother taking off your heels. You head straight to the bedroom, the weight of your earrings tugging at your lobes as you rip them off one by one. At the vanity, you grab a cotton pad and start scrubbing off your makeup—too harsh, too fast. The skin around your eyes burns, but you don’t stop.

Behind you, Han sits on the edge of the bed, watching you. “You okay?” he asks, careful, as if he’s walking on thin ice.

You don’t answer. You keep your eyes locked on the mirror, your jaw tight.

He tries again, adding a chuckle to lighten the mood. “Oh, no. Did I happen to make bad jokes around you?”

The sound of his laugh—so misplaced, so oblivious—makes your stomach twist. You whirl around. “Why did you lie?” you snap, eyes locked on his.

His smile falters as his eyes widen. “What are you talking about?”

You hold up the movie stubs. “You told me you went with Luca.”

He blinks. A beat too long. “I—I did, didn’t I—?”

“No,” you cut him off, your voice sharp. “I talked to him. He said he never went. So why lie?”

He exhales, like deflating, and stands. “Okay. Okay. I watched it… with someone else. My boss. He made me go with him. It was for work.”

You laugh, but there’s no humor in it. You turn back to the mirror, your hand gripping the cotton pad again. “Do you even hear yourself?” you mutter. “You lied because what? You thought I wouldn’t understand?”

“I thought you’d get the wrong idea,” he says quickly, taking a step closer. “It was stupid. I know it was. I’m sorry.”

You don’t respond. You don’t even flinch as he walks up behind you, wraps his arms slowly around your waist, rests his chin against your shoulder like everything is still okay.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs again. His lips press to your bare shoulder, then to your neck. A trail of kisses, light and apologetic.

“Let me make it up to you,” he whispers, voice warm against your skin. “Let me get you on the bed and show you how sorry I am.”

That’s when you freeze and when you still don’t move, he feels it. You gently shrug his hands off you and step away. “Don’t,” you say quietly. “Don’t touch me right now.”

He looks stunned. “Babe—”

You turn to him, your voice tight. “You lied to me. Not once. You kept lying until you got caught. Do you even know why I’m angry?”

He’s quiet and you take a breath to calm yourself down but it doesn’t help. “It’s not just the lie. It’s that you hid something so small like this—so what else are you hiding?”

Han reaches for you again, desperation in his voice. “It didn’t mean anything. I swear. I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

“You did,” you snap. “You made it worse.”

With that, you storm into the bathroom and slam the door behind you, locking it with a click that echoes in the silence he left behind.

-

The hot water cascades down your body, a comforting blanket against the heaviness weighing on your chest. You close your eyes, lean your forehead against the tiled wall, and try to breathe it all out—the frustration, the anger, the ache of being disappointed by someone you love.

You hear the bathroom door creak open. You don’t need to look to know it’s him.

“Please, leave me alone,” you murmur, a quiet warning laced with exhaustion.

However, Han is already stepping in, already moving behind you like he belongs there—and he does, doesn’t he? That’s the hardest part. You feel his presence before you feel his touch, a warmth radiating just behind you, his chest nearly brushing your back.

When you try to move away, to escape the softness he always uses to reel you back in, his arms slide around your waist and hold you firm. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice low and sincere against the rush of the water.

You don’t answer. You don’t look at him. You can’t. You’ve seen those eyes before—those shimmering, sorry eyes that he knows how to use like weapons. So you stare straight ahead, hoping the steam in the room can hide the way your resolve is already unraveling.

“I know I messed up,” he continues, voice breaking just slightly. “I panicked. I didn’t want to screw this up, didn’t want to give you a reason to walk away.”

His arms tighten around you and presses his mouth the crook of your neck. “Don’t do this to me. Please.”

It’s unfair, the way his touch feels so familiar. So safe. So warm. The way his skin melts into yours like you were carved to fit him and when he presses a kiss to your wet shoulder—just a soft, lingering kiss—you finally turn to face him. He looks at you like you’re everything he’s ever wanted to keep, making your heart thuds.

When he kisses you, it’s slow at first. Sweet. Apologetic. But it deepens quickly, his desperation seeping into every brush of his lips against yours. His hands slide along your back, down your sides, pulling you impossibly closer until there’s no space left between you, just heat and skin and the soft sound of breath catching between kisses. His mouth leaves yours only to find your jaw, your neck, his lips mapping the path of forgiveness across your skin. You feel yourself sigh into him, your fingers threading through his wet hair without even realizing it, and then he lowers himself.

You open your eyes to find him kneeling in front of you, the water cascading over both of you like a curtain. His hands rest on your hips, his eyes lifted to meet yours with a look that steals the air right out of your lungs.

Han leans in, presses a kiss just below your navel, his breath warm against your skin. Another kiss follows, then another—fluttering and soft as he trails his mouth down the inside of your thigh. Eventually, he buries his mouth in your delicate flesh, tongue teasing between the folds.

Without detaching his mouth, his hand glides down your leg and swiftly, he lifts it and puts it over his shoulder, allowing him access to bury his mouth deeper in your wetness. He presses his tongue on your clit, flicking his tongue over it repeatedly before sucking on it, hard.

Your head falls back against the wall, your hand finding his shoulder as he pulls you even closer, his mouth devout in its worship, burying himself deeper in your sweet, wet cunt.

You know what he’s doing and you let him, because with Han, resistance is temporary. But surrender is always inevitable.

So instead of resisting it, you give in. Your fingers thread into his damp hair, tugging at it as a way to guide him to where you need him most. You tilt his head with a gentle tug, and he groans into your skin in response, eager and relentless in the way he works you over, like he’s trying to apologize with every motion, every kiss, every flick of his tongue on your clit

If this is his way of apologizing, then you have to make sure that he does it right. So you move your hips begin, following the instinct of your body and chasing the rising heat that coils tighter with each second. Han doesn’t stop—he never does. He holds you firmly in place, completely attuned to the way your body pulses under his mouth. The next thing you know, you’re riding his mouth and he's letting you take what you need from him without hesitation.

When you finally shatter, your legs are trembling and your breath is ragged, he doesn't let go right away. He places soft, featherlight kisses on your inner thighs, on your hipbone, on the curve of your stomach—like he’s trying to soothe every frayed nerve and worship every inch of you.

Still on his knees, he wraps his arms around your waist and presses his cheek against your belly, holding you close. Then he looks up at you, hair wet and sticking to his forehead, eyes wide and honest.

“I love you,” he says.

It’s quiet, but it knocks the air right out of you. You stare at him, heart stuttering, lips parted—but no words come. Just a soft, overwhelmed sound as you drop to your knees, right there with him, letting him catch you in his arms. You bury your face into the crook of his neck, your body still humming with the aftershocks of everything—what he did, what he said, what you feel.

And even though your mind is still a storm, your heart has already chosen. You're his. Just like this.

-

The first thing you register is the smell—something warm and sweet and just slightly burnt. Then comes the sound of shuffling feet and a soft clang of dishes, followed by the familiar weight dipping the mattress beside you.

“Rise and shine, my sleepy baby,” Han says in a singsong voice.

You groan, burying your face deeper into the pillow. “Too early. Try again in an hour.”

Han laughs and slides a hand gently over your back, rubbing slow, lazy circles. “It’s not that early. And I come bearing food. And flowers. And celebration. And possibly an overcooked pancake or two.”

You peek one eye open, and there he is—messy-haired, bare-faced, grinning like he just won a prize. He’s holding a breakfast tray that’s definitely too full for its size: a tower of lopsided heart-shaped pancakes, a bowl of strawberries, a mug of your favorite coffee, and a handful of slightly wilted sunflowers sticking out of a mason jar.

You sit up with a sleepy smile. “You raided the entire kitchen for this?”

“Only the parts I didn’t set on fire,” he says proudly, handing over the tray. “Go on. Try it. I didn’t even Google anything this time.”

You cut into one of the pancakes and take a bite—and it’s honestly not bad. “Okay,” you say, impressed, “this is dangerously close to being edible.”

Han gasps. “Dangerously close? I slaved over a hot stove for this!”

“You used the pancake mix that only needs water.”

“Exactly! And I stirred it myself.”

You giggle as he crawls onto the bed beside you, settling under the covers and wrapping an arm around your waist. He rests his head against your shoulder, watching you eat with far too much fascination.

After a few moments, he looks up at you and murmurs, “You know, dating you has been the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You glance down at him, amused. “Because I let you sleep in my bed and steal my shampoo?”

“Well, yes,” he nods with mock seriousness. “But also… because you make even the boring days feel good. Because you’re kind, and smart, and weird in the exact same way I’m weird. And you always call me out when I’m being stupid, but somehow still manage to make me feel loved.”

Your chewing slows, and your chest fills with warmth as you meet his eyes. He continues, more softly now, “I used to wonder how long it would take for someone to get tired of me. But with you? I just keep thinking how lucky I am that you’re still here.”

You blink away the prickle behind your eyes and try to lighten the mood. “Well, I was going to break up with you after six months, but you made pretty decent pancakes today, so I guess you get to stay.”

Han gasps again, feigning betrayal. “I knew it. I knew I was on probation this whole time.”

You giggle, but he leans in and kisses you before you can say anything else—a long, slow, kiss that melts every joke off your lips. His hand curls against your side, grounding you there with him. When he pulls away, he whispers, “One year, baby. We made it.”

You sit there for a moment, holding your coffee, the pancakes cooling on your lap, his warmth soaking into your side. Your gaze trails toward the window, soft light pooling into the room, and you think about everything the two of you have been through—every messy fight, every soft reconciliation, every stolen kiss in quiet places, every night you fell asleep tangled in each other, and every morning you woke up just like this.

Despite everything, you're still here. Together. One whole year and there'll only be more of this. More love. More "us". Just as it should be.

-

It's a slow afternoon in the shop and you’re folding a stack of graphic tees near the counter, a subtle smile playing on your lips as you hum under your breath—completely unable to hide your good mood.

Morgan glances up from organizing a rack of skirts. “Okay, you’ve been smiling like a love-struck idiot all day. Spill.”

You grin, hugging a folded shirt to your chest. “Han’s taking me out tonight. It’s our one-year anniversary.”

Morgan lifts an eyebrow, hand pausing mid-hanger. “One year? Damn. Color me shocked.”

You laugh, used to her sarcasm by now. “Thanks for the confidence, my dear friend.”

“No, seriously,” she says, walking over and leaning against the counter. “I didn’t think you guys would crash and burn or anything, but Han Jisung has serious ‘heartbreaker’ energy. I'm impressed you’ve tamed the beast.”

“Tamed?” You snort. “I’d say I’m just as wild. We work because we both know how to keep up.”

Morgan smirks. “Yeah, okay, that’s cute. Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” You tilt your head. “Now help me pick a dress.”

“Ooh—here we go. Closet raid time?”

You nod enthusiastically and follow her toward the back racks, where the newest arrivals are still tagged and barely touched. Morgan rifles through the options like a woman on a mission.

“Okay, what’s the vibe?” she asks. “Sweet and romantic? Sexy and mysterious? Or full femme fatale with a side of heartbreak?”

You pretend to think. “Somewhere between ‘look how lucky my boyfriend is’ and ‘he better treat me right or I’ll break his heart in heels.’”

Morgan cackles. “Say no more.”

She starts pulling dresses off the rack—a silky red slip, a flirty off-shoulder white mini, and a classic little black dress with a daring back cut-out.

You hold them up one by one in front of the mirror, Morgan circling around you with a critical eye. “Try the red one first.”

You grin as you head to the fitting room, heart already fluttering at the thought of Han seeing you tonight. This evening is going to be perfect—you can feel it.

-

The midday rush is thinning out as you and Morgan step out of the shop, the spring sun warming your shoulders as the two of you stroll down the block. Your steps light despite the fatigue in your feet from working around the shop for hours. You glance at Morgan beside you, her sunglasses pushed up into her hair, phone in one hand.

“I was honestly skeptical at first, you know,” you say, tugging your jacket closed. “About me and Han. I didn’t think it’d last.”

Morgan lets out a dry laugh. “Gee, I wonder why. Maybe because you forgive him every time he screws up?”

You shoot her a look and pout. “That’s not—okay, maybe once. But he’s been different these past few months. He’s been... good. Like, really good. He shows up. He listens. He makes time even when he’s buried in the studio. He tells me he loves me, Morgan.”

She doesn’t reply right away. Just lets out a long, quiet sigh that seems to stretch across the sidewalk.

You frown because you know it's not nothing. “What?”

Morgan shakes her head, changing the subject. “What do you want for lunch?”

You glance around. “I want that bagel from the coffee shop at the end of the block. The one with the poppy seeds.”

Morgan’s brows knitted in confusion. “Didn’t you already have that this morning with Han?”

Your steps falter. “Huh? What?”

Morgan stops too, confused. “The bagel. You and Han were there this morning, right? I saw you through the window.”

“No,” you say slowly as your smile falters. “Han brought me breakfast in bed. I never left the house.”

Morgan blinks. “Huh? Are you sure?”

You turn to her fully now, something cold crawling up your spine. “What exactly did you see?”

She’s quiet for a second, eyes darting over your face before she says, more carefully now, “I saw Han. At the window. Sitting across from someone. A girl. I only caught a glance. I just... assumed it was you.”

It’s like something inside you cracks in half and collapses. The hope, the trust, the naïve belief that he had changed—it all falls apart in an instant. You turn away from her, one hand rising to your mouth as the tears start to come, hot and fast.

Morgan steps forward without hesitation, wrapping you in a hug, holding you tight against her chest. “Oh, no. He did it again,” she sighs, already knowing the answer without having to ask for a confirmation.

Morgan’s arms stay around you while the world tilts under your feet, and all you can think is how stupid you were for believing he wouldn’t. For believing that this time, it would be different.

-

You’re curled up on the bed, hugging your knees to your chest, the soft fabric of the blanket clutched tightly in your fists. The room is dim, the sun casting a warm orange glow through the curtains, but all you can focus on is the tight ache in your chest. You don’t even look up when the front door clicks open.

Han’s footsteps are light at first, then grow quicker as he walks in. “Babe?” he calls gently. “Aren’t you getting ready for dinner?”

You say nothing. Your back stays turned toward him.

A beat of silence. Then, “Are you feeling okay?”

Getting no response, you hear him sigh, then the bed dips beside you. He slides in close behind you, wrapping an arm around your waist, his front flush to your back. He doesn’t say anything right away—just holds you, his breath warm against the back of your neck.

“Talk to me,” he whispers finally. “What’s going on?”

You sniffle, your voice barely there. “Morgan saw you this morning.”

Han frowns in confusion. “Saw me?”

“At the coffee shop. With some girl.”

He exhales slowly. Not annoyed. Not defensive. Just tired. “I bumped into an old friend from college. We talked for a bit. It was nothing.”

You go quiet, the guilt hitting you like a wave. Your fingers curl into the sheets.

Han doesn’t press. Instead, he leans in and places a soft kiss against the curve of your neck. Then another, lingering a little longer this time.

“Morgan probably only saw like what... five minutes of me talking to a girl and that makes you thought I was with someone else?” he asks quietly.

You don’t answer, but it gets you thinking.

He doesn’t scold, doesn’t tease. He just presses his lips to your temple and murmurs, “There’s no one else. There’s only you. Always you.”

His hand cups your chin, tilting your face toward him, and his lips meet yours in a long, slow kiss—steady and unshakable. A kiss that tells you everything he hasn’t said yet. You melt into it, the tension seeping out of your muscles, the pain in your chest softening until it vanishes altogether.

When he pulls back, he smiles at the look in your eyes. “I was gonna give you this later,” he says, reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket, “but now feels like the right time.”

He pulls out a small velvet box and flips it open to reveal a delicate bracelet, thin gold with a tiny charm in the shape of a sunflower and your lips part slightly in surprise.

“Want me to put it on?” he asks.

You nod silently, still stunned.

He takes the bracelet from the box and gently clasps it around your wrist, then finishes with a soft kiss to the inside of it. “Do you like it?”

You nod again.

“I can’t hear you,” he says, teasing now, the warmth returning to his voice.

“I like it,” you whisper hoarsely.

That makes him smile wide and he pulls you into another kiss, gentle yet deeper, his hand sliding along your jaw, and you let yourself fall right into him—into his warmth, into the love that, despite everything, still wraps around you like a shield.

Han pulls away from the kiss, just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath still warm on your lips. “So…” he whispers, brushing your hair gently out of your face, “do you still wanna go out for dinner?”

You sniffle, your voice quiet and slightly hoarse. “I don’t wanna go out looking like this… my eyes are all swollen.”

He lets out a soft chuckle, brushing the pad of his thumb under your eye. “You still look cute with swollen eyes,” he teases, his tone warm and full of affection. “Like a little chipmunk who’s been crying.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Shut up.”

“I mean it. Cutest emotional chipmunk I’ve ever seen.”

You laugh under your breath, then settle your head on his chest. “Can we just… have dinner at home instead?”

“Of course,” he says without hesitation, already reaching for his phone. “Anything for my emotionally unstable chipmunk.”

You elbow him lightly and he laughs again.

“What do you feel like eating?” he asks, scrolling through the apps with his arm still around you. “Korean? Italian? Ooh, sushi?”

The two of you go back and forth for a while, debating between comfort food and something fancier, never quite landing on a decision but laughing and arguing playfully like you always do. Eventually, Han puts the phone down for a second and wraps both arms around you, pulling you in even tighter.

“Dinner or no dinner,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, “this right here’s already my favorite part of the night.”

-

The food arrives just as the sun dips low, casting golden light through the windows of the apartment. You both get up from the bed, reluctantly separating from the cocoon of warmth, and agree — if you’re going to celebrate your first anniversary at home, you’re still going to do it right. You head to the bathroom, freshen up, and slip into the dress you spent your entire morning picking out with Morgan — the one you couldn’t stop holding against your body in the mirror, imagining tonight.

When you walk out, Han’s still pulling a button-down shirt over his head, barefoot and messy-haired, the exact kind of handsome that makes your stomach flutter. But the moment his eyes land on you, he freezes.

“Whoa,” he breathes, eyes roaming from your shoulders down to the hem of your dress. He takes a step back as if he needs distance to take it all in. “You… seriously wore that just for me?”

You shrug, acting casual. “Told you I had a plan for tonight.”

He walks over slowly, dramatically, hands in his pockets. “I think I need to sit down,” he says, overly serious.

You laugh, shoving him lightly on the shoulder. “Shut up.”

He grins, grabbing your hand to pull you into a quick, sweet kiss. “You’re stunning. Like, dangerously stunning. Like, if we weren’t eating soon I’d be tempted to ruin your makeup again.”

“Down, boy,” you tease, and he barks a fake warning growl that makes you burst out laughing.

You both take your dinner and set up a little space on the carpeted floor in the living room, with throw pillows, a blanket, and the ambient glow from a nearby lamp. It’s simple, cozy, romantic in a way that fits the two of you perfectly.

You eat slowly, feet tangled together under the blanket, pausing between bites to talk about everything from his favorite songs to what your childhood dream jobs were. You talk about your families, your fears, your worst dates, and your favorite memories together.

Between stories, Han keeps leaning over for kisses — quick ones, lingering ones, ones that barely brush but feel like whispers across your lips. His hand rests on your knee or your thigh, his thumb tracing small circles, absent-minded and tender.

“Can I tell you something kinda dumb?” he says after a while, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

“Aren’t you always telling me something dumb?” You tease.

He pinches your waist before continue talking. “I used to think one year didn’t really mean that much. Like, it was just… the first checkpoint, you know? But with you, it feels huge. Like, we made it. We went through shit, and we’re here. Still choosing each other.”

You reach for his hand, squeezing it. “That’s not dumb.”

He smiles, then cups your cheek. “I’m really glad you didn’t give up on me.”

Your heart tightens a little — not painfully, but in that overwhelming, too-full kind of way. You lean forward, pressing your forehead against his. “I’m glad you gave me reasons to stay.”

The silence between you is full, warm, and deep. He kisses you again — longer this time, slow and full of everything he can’t say out loud — and you think, as his fingers slide up to tuck your hair behind your ear, that this is a moment you’ll carry forever.

-

The plates are pushed aside now, the empty boxes stacked in the corner of the room. The lights are low, and soft music hums through the speakers — something slow, something gentle. Han offers you his hand with a crooked smile and a playful bow.

“May I have this dance?” he says, his voice low, teasing.

You roll your eyes, but your heart flutters as you slip your fingers into his. “Only if you promise not to step on my feet.”

“No promises,” he grins, pulling you close.

Your bodies sway to the rhythm, the kind of dance that doesn’t need choreography — just the soft shuffle of bare feet on carpet, your hands looped behind his neck, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist. The song fades into the background as the warmth of him fills your senses — the smell of his cologne, the brush of his breath near your ear, the slow thud of his heart against your chest.

When you look up, Han’s already gazing at you — his eyes soft, adoring, a little playful, a little undone.

“Hey,” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper, “I love you.”

His smile shifts — gentler now, touched by something deeper.

“I love you,” you repeat, because the words are thick on your tongue, desperate to be said. “More than I thought I could. And I need you to know… I’m scared. Of how much this means to me. Of what it would do to me if you ever broke my heart.”

His expression falters — just a little — and then he leans in, his forehead touching yours. “I won’t,” he whispers. “I swear. I won’t break your heart.”

You feel the sincerity in his voice like a current running through you, and when he kisses you — a soft, chaste kiss that lingers, steady and true — it’s not flashy or heated. It’s a promise. A vow sealed between two people still learning, still growing, but trying, again and again, to meet each other in the middle.

The music continues, but you no longer notice it. It’s just the two of you, wrapped in a slow dance under the quiet lights — holding on, hearts full, hoping love is enough.

-

The room is quiet except for the soft rustle of sheets and the low thrum of music still playing in the background. Han sits back against the headboard, shirt slightly rumpled, lips pink and parted as he watches you crawl over to him, eyes darkening with anticipation.

“You look so beautiful,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, eyes locked on you. “So hot. You’re driving me insane.”

With the way he looks at you, you don't feel the slightest bit of shy being naked in front of him. If anything, you feel admired and loved. You slowly settle onto his lap, straddling him, your wetness meets his hot, pulsating member. You settle his length between your cleft and begin gliding it between your folds.

“You’re ruining me already, baby,” he sighs as he looks down, watching his cock is getting slick with your arousal.

When you deem both of you are wet enough for each other, you lift your hips just slightly, you wrap your hand around his cock and align it to your entrance. Slowly and deliberately, you ease yourself down on him.

“Fuck, baby,” his hands find your hips instantly, gripping them as he lets out a groan.

You seductively mewl as you take him, you stop for a second to adjust yourself to him before taking him more and more until he's fully disappeared inside you.

Han lets out a sigh of pleasure, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment and they find you in the next second, staring at your face. His hands reaching for you, framing your face, pushing the strands of hair away. “How are you always taking me, mmh?”

You let out a low giggle. Your hands catch his and bringing them lower, making him cupping your breasts because you love how they fit in his hands like they were made just for them.

Han is more than eager to do it for you, palming them, rolling the nipples between his fingers and pinches on it just to earn a whine out of you. You lean in, brushing your lips against his just to tease, and he catches you right away — one arm wrapped tightly around your waist, the other slipping up your back as he kisses you deep, urgent, like he can’t get close enough.

His hips begin to move under you, answering every motion of yours with increasing intensity, and you gasp into his mouth. The way he moves, the way he holds you — it's overwhelming. You’re already dizzy from the way he makes you feel, but yet he doesn't slow down.

You bite onto his lower lip and grumble against his lips. “Not yet, baby.”

He smirks like he knows he's the one having control so you grab his chin, using your index and middle fingers, you pry open his mouth and shove them into it. His lips wrapped around them almost immediately, you can feel his slick, hot tongue swirling around in his mouth.

“Keep it open,” you order as you pull your fingers out.

He obeys, keeping his mouth open with his tongue slightly sticking out. You prop one hand against the mattress and the other hand guiding your breast into his mouth. Again, he's more than eager to take it in his mouth, his tongue circling the areola before finally sucking at it. Hard. Mercilessly.

As if that isn't enough, he continues bucking his hips from under you. One arm snaking around your back and the other around your neck, keeping you close as he pushes his cock deeper and deeper into you.

The second you feel like you're getting too close to the edge, you pull back and straddling him again. You give yourself a moment to draw yourself back a little but Han is the ever relentless, he continues bucking his hips against you.

Your hands fly to his, uselessly trying to stop him but his grip on your hips is way too strong. His hips moving, sending you bouncing on his cock without you're intending to, tethering you to the edge.

When you finally tip over, you hastily claw at his chest and let out a brief, high-pitched scream with eyes screwed shut. All the while, Han lets out a soft laugh, enjoying the way the pleasure washes over you.

You open your eyes and see a crooked grin painted his face. “You’re enjoying this,” you whine as you put all of your hair away from your face.

An easy smile stays on his lips as he lays his hand flat on your sternum and glides it down to your abdomen. “Can’t help it, baby. You're so cute when you come around me like that.”

Hearing that shouldn't make you flustered but you do, you feel shy in a way because he sees every little thing about you. You lean down, propping your hands against the mattress to hover above him.

However, this position only allows him to easily take your breasts in his mouth. His hands taking handful of your soft flesh, fondling on them and pushes them to the middle so he can take them at once.

“Mmh, yeah, you're definitely enjoying this,” you murmur with eyes closed.

He hums with his mouth full of you and the vibration only adds to the pleasure. Then his arm glides down your spine and rests it on the arch of your back, holding you down as he begins thrusting into your from under.

You catch on his intention right away. “No, baby. No, I'm just coming,” you whine while struggling to handle how hard his mouth latches onto your breast and his cock drilling into you.

“What should I do?” You breathlessly murmurs with eyes shut. “I'm about to come again.”

With hus mouth full of you, he can't answer but he does it with actions as he sucks on your nipple harder and thrusts into you faster. The combination of stimulations get you to your high almost instantly and this time is more intense than the previous. You don’t even stop yourself from collapsing on top of him.

Han lets out another soft laugh, being the one having fun on making you come twice already and can't help himself but putting on a cocky grin. He kisses the valley of your breasts and continues the trail of kisses to your shoulder, then down the length of your arm. When his mouth reaches your hand, he takes it and kisses every single finger like he means it.

“How are you so cute when you come around me like that, mmh?” he murmurs before pressing a kiss to the inside of your hand.

You don't— you can't answer when your whole body is still floating in cloud nine and still needing time to come down. So he holds you close, putting his arms around you and kisses every inch of skin that is within the reach of his small, greedy mouth.

After a moment, he presses his mouth close to your ear and whispers, “Want to switch?”

Still unable to compute words, you nod and without further questions, he swiftly turns you over, lying you gently on the bed as he hovers above you now. He props an elbow next to your head, getting a good look at your face with a hand gently brushing your hair to the side.

“Tell me how did I get so lucky, mmh?” He asks, brushing his nose against yours. “How did I get so lucky to have you as my girlfriend?”

You smile under his gaze and he immediately catches that smile with a kiss. When he begins moving, you wrap your legs around his small waist, pulling him close until your breasts squashed between the chests.

“Are you going to come for me now?” You murmur, brushing his hair away from his forehead and then kiss it.

He doesn't answer with words. Instead, he kisses you and quickens the pace. He chases his high with fierce determination, mouth hot against your skin, your name falling from his lips in between breathless moans and praises.

You glide your hands down his back, nails scraping the skin as you grip his waist and push, asking for more of him, more of that intense, deep thrusts. You can tell from the way his cock keeps engorging inside you, he's close.

“Come for me, baby,” you murmur into his ear with a hot, heavy kiss to his neck.

Two, three thrusts later, he finally lets go, he pulls you tight, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he scatters soft, open-mouthed kisses along your skin, murmuring your name like a prayer. Then he lifts his head, gently cradling your face in both hands, his thumbs brushing along your cheeks as he holds your gaze.

“I love you,” he whispers, eyes searching yours and when he kisses you again, it’s deep, tender, meaningful. The kind of kiss that lingers long after it ends.

You stay like that, wrapped up in each other, your heart still racing, your skin still warm from the touch of him. As you lay your head against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, something swells in your chest — something soft and quiet and full of hope. You don’t say it out loud, but the thought is there, clear and certain: This feels like forever.

And for the first time in a long time, you believe it might actually be true.

-

In the middle of the night, you wake with a start, disoriented for a second before realizing Han’s side of the bed is empty again. The sheets are still warm, but he’s not there.

You sit up slightly, your eyes adjusting to the dark, then you hear the faint hiss of running water coming from the bathroom. You know the sound too well now. The faucet, turned on not because he’s brushing his teeth or washing his hands, but because he’s hiding something.

Quietly, you slip out of bed and pad toward the bathroom. The door is shut, locked. Another habit. You pause in front of it, barely breathing, and lean your head close. Through the rush of water, you hear his voice. Soft, smooth, laced with laughter. The same tone he uses with you when he’s being sweet, when he’s trying to make you feel special.

It’s too familiar. Too intimate. You don’t wait to hear more. You back away, return to bed with your pulse pounding in your ears. You lie down and face the wall, your back to the bathroom, and you stare at nothing.

This isn’t the first time.

It hits you like a tidal wave, how many times you’ve caught glimpses of this. The movie tickets. The odd excuses. The calls with the faucet on. The locked doors. The silent phone when you tried to reach him. You let each of them go. Rationalized them. Told yourself he would never do that. Because he’s good to you. He makes you breakfast in bed. He kisses you like he means it. He tells you he loves you, again and again.

And yet, the weight of it crashes down on you all at once — not just the betrayal, but the dawning truth that you let yourself believe in the illusion. That you wanted it so badly, you ignored all the signs.

You barely move when the bathroom door clicks open. You hear his steps as he walks back in, the soft rustle of blankets as he slides into bed. He doesn’t say anything at first, just wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you close against him, spooning you like he always does. His body fits perfectly against yours, warm and familiar. And that’s what hurts the most, because even now, even after everything, he still feels like home.

-

Morning light spills through the curtains when you wake. Well, you haven't been sleeping ever since you caught him in the bathroom but Han is still asleep beside you, his features soft and unbothered, like he’s living a dream instead of lying next to the person he’s been betraying.

You move quietly, slipping out from under the covers without stirring him. His phone rests on the nightstand. You hesitate—just for a second—but your fingers wrap around it with practiced steadiness.

You take it with you to the kitchen. Your hands move fast as you unlock it and check his call history. There it is—last night, just past midnight. A number labeled with a generic male name. Smart. Too smart.

You press call to make sure and it rings once. Twice. Then, “It’s only seven, Han. Did you miss me already or—”

You hang up immediately as you have enough to identify the voice. Sweet. Light. Too familiar. Too comfortable. And obviously belongs to a girl.

The coffee machine gurgles behind you as the first drops begin to pour. You stare at it blankly, phone clutched in your hand like it might shatter.

“I have to leave him,” you whisper to yourself.

It sounds easy when you say it. Obvious. Clean. Like a final punctuation to a sentence already long overdue, but something clings. The memories, his laughter, the way he comfort you and makes you feel safe, the whispered I love yous—

The bedroom door opens behind you and your hear his footsteps coming toward you. You don’t— you can't look at him even as you feel the warmth of his arms sliding around your waist from behind.

He groans, his voice rough with sleep. “You didn’t wake me up...”

You don’t answer and he doesn’t notice because he thinks he hides it well.

“Morning, baby,” he murmurs with a soft kiss on the top of your head and he stays like that, holding you like you're the only one he does it to.

The truth sits heavy in your chest—he couldn’t have loved you better. Not on the surface. He did everything right. Sweet kisses, warm hands, soft apologies. He made love feel like a safe place, until you realized he kept the doors open behind your back. Now you’re left staring at the wreckage of something beautiful.

Maybe if he treated you worse, it would be easier to walk away. Maybe if he yelled, if he hit, if he broke things—then you’d know how to hate him. But instead, he kissed you like a promise and lied with the same mouth.

You still don’t know how this ends—whether you’ll walk away or let him wrap you in another apology, another kiss, another lie. For now, you just sit in the quiet, nursing the ache in your chest, caught between the love that was and the truth you can’t unsee. You press your fingertips to your temple, whispering the thought that has wrapped itself around your ribs: I wish you would have been treated me bad.

-

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