#my phone isn't even worth mentioning...

[asureblogs]

"Watch me download PGR for the only purpose of pulling for Dante and Vergil" I would've said but the problem is I don't have enough space on my iPad to download it, I have 64GB in total and WuWa is taking around 40GB, I have Procreate and nothing more basically i have to find a way...

[whatsverstappeningnow]

how f1 drivers react

when they want you back after you break up with them (part two to this fic)

drivers mentioned: MV33, LN4, OP81, AA23, CS55, CL16, LH44, GR63

max verstappen

Weeks pass in painful silence. For days after the sudden breakup, Max tried to call, to text, to contact you. But the longer you ignored him, thinking it was for the best, the more it hurt. Eventually, the phone calls stopped, and the texts too. Your world descended into self-inflicted silence and loneliness.

You knew it would be hard without him, but the loneliness was worse than you could have ever imagined. It settled deep in your bones, carved into your soul and invaded every aspect of your life. Every moment of silence was a reminder of what you had given up. 

Every second of silence was a reminder of how alone you were.

Friends tried to comfort you, tried to tell you that you had made the right choice. But in the middle of the night, with nothing but the cold emptiness of your apartment to hold you, you could only spiral into darker thoughts: you had done the wrong thing. But it was too late. What was done was done. Max had stopped calling, moved on likely. You needed to as well.

You couldn't bring yourself to watch his races. You told yourself that it was for the better. You needed to let go completely. It was the only way you could move on and build a life without Max.

But when you see him again, finally, it’s not at a race. It's not some flashy paddock media day or high-stakes press event, things you used to loathe and love so much. It’s on your doorstep, hoodie pulled up, eyes red-rimmed with exhaustion. 

“I keep waiting for you. Every night. I keep thinking you'll call, you'll turn up at my house. You never do,” he says quietly, holding your gaze for the first time in forever. “Look me in the eye and say it again. Tell me our love isn't worth it. Tell me you don't love me anymore. C'mon. Tell me to leave and I will.”

You open your mouth to reply, not even sure what you could possibly say in response beyond what you'd already said that infamous night, but Max just holds up one hand to quiet you. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out his phone and taps it a few times before a sound starts to play out of it quietly. 

It's you.

Your voice echoes back to you, happy, laughing, talking about something stupid. You hadn't realized he’d saved it. You're not sure why he would until the sound of you hanging up echoes around you both.

I'll talk to you later, ok? Bye Maxie. I love you!

“That’s the last time you said you loved me,” he says, voice low, pure exhaustion dripping from his words. “And I’velistened to it every single night.”

Tears sting your eyes and threaten to fall. Max finally steps closer but still doesn't reach out for you.

“I haven’t driven better. I'm getting worse, I'm making stupid mistakes. I haven’t focused more. I’ve just... missed you. Every day. Every night. You think you were holding me back? I'm scared every time I drive, scared of winning and still going home alone. Scared of doing well and you thinking that it proves you right when I know I'm fucking miserable. I'msorry I told you to leave. I shouldn't have... fuck, I'm just scared, and tired, and I want you. Please.”

Behind him, thundering clouds threaten to erupt and pour down over the city. Dark storms brew with forbearing gloom.

“You want to protect me? You want to make me a better driver? Then stay. Let me love you again. Because losing you has nearly fucking destroyed me."

His hands finally reach out for yours, holding them tightly. His hands are cold, but you find that you don't mind. You need to feel him so desperately that you're willing to endure the torture of the weather on your fingertips. Within you, a deep desire to keep Max warm and safe resurfaces with renewed conviction.

“You are the only thing I’ve ever wanted outside of racing. Please. I love you. I've only ever loved you.”

Despite the tears welling in your eyes, a small smile spreads across your face.

"It's cold. Come inside." You whisper the words, tugging slightly on his hands.

"Only... only if you mean this. I can't come inside if you're just going to turn me away again."

Swallowing guilt, swallowing your hurt and fears, swallowing everything you thought was right that turned out to be so wrong, you say, "Come inside, Max. Please."

Love you think, is the sound of Max closing the door behind him and knowing he is here to stay. 

lando norris

You know you shouldn't watch it, but when the clip comes up on your instagram you can't help but pause and watch. It's instinct: you see Lando, you watch. Despite everything, all you said, all that happened and tore you two apart, you still care deeply for him. 

It’s a post-race interview. Lando’s just gotten a podium, according to the video's caption anyway. He looks as he always does after a tough drive: hair stuck to his forehead from sweat, eyes wide, adrenaline high as he slowly calms down and takes deep breaths inwards. His smile is wide, until the journalist makes a passing comment...

"Must be nice having all the distractions out of the way now."

Something shifts in his expression. It’s barely a flicker, but if you know him—really know him—you can see it. You know what the interviewer means, the media, the sprint, the free practices, quali, it's all out of the way now. He only has to think about starting P1 tomorrow. All the distractions are gone. Almost all the opsticals of the week have been passed. But the joke doesn’t land. His smile falters, then falls completely. His eyes are hollow with want, tinged with a hint of fear.

And then he says it.

“Not all distractions are bad.”

The interviewer laughs, confused, asks him to elaborate, and he seems all too happy to comply. But he keeps going. The world around you seems stuck, you can't take your eyes away from the screen. If you listened carefully, you swear you can hear your life caving in around you.

“Sometimes the things everyone else thinks are a distraction are actually what keeps you grounded. What keeps you… you.”

He looks down, clears his throat, doesn’t continue. What's said is said. When he finally looks up again, staring into the camera lens, it feels like he is looking right at you. His eyes meet yours for the first time in weeks, even if it's just through the screen. The familiarity of his gaze burns. Your heart cracks. You miss him. God, you miss you. 

The video cuts off and you are stuck again in the quiet abyss of your empty apartment. Everything is quiet again. But later that night, you get a text.

I didn’t mean to say that. but I meant it.

Before you can question yourself, second guess your instincts, you reply.

congrats on P1 I didn't see quali but I saw the interview

Then, after a moment of consideration, you add:

I miss you too, btw

It's a few minutes of dead silence, eerie uncomfortable nothingness, before he responds again.

can i call you? please

You think of his words earlier, of the way he looked as you walked out of his life and shattered all you had built together. You call him without thinking of the alternative. 

"Hey," his voice rings out through your speaker.

"Hi."

There’s a pause. The kind that aches. You can hear his breath, unsteady, shallow, like he’s been holding it since the second your name lit up his screen.

“I didn’t think you’d reply,” he admits quietly.

“You didn’t leave much room not to,” you say, your voice almost a whisper. “You're not the only one who feels alone right now, Lando.”

“I know I can’t take back how I made you feel," he murmurs, "I just… I need you to know none of this, none of the podiums, none of the wins, means anything when I’m not coming home to you.”

Your throat tightens. You try to swallow it down, but his words eat at the fear in your heart...

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” you say softly. “Giving you space. Taking myself out of the equation. I didn’t want to be the reason you—”

“You were never the problem,” he cuts in, firm but gentle. “You were the only thing that made the rest of it bearable.”

Another pause. This one is softer. He exhales.

“I want to fix this. I don’t care how long it takes.”

And maybe you should hesitate. Maybe you should ask for more time, time to think it over. But you’ve already spent weeks apart, feeling the ache of a life half-lived. And now, hearing his voice, hearing the tremble he’s trying to hide, something in you unclenches.

“Okay,” you whisper.

“Yeah?” He sounds like he doesn’t quite believe it.

You smile, a little cracked, a little shaky, but real for the first time in days. “Yeah. Win your race, Lan, then come home to me.”

oscar piastri

The past few weeks had dragged by you in a dull, confusing haze. The sun felt dimmer, the rain less harsh, the breeze not so calming. Everything was just... off. You knew adjusting to being alone again would be difficult, but you never imagined it would feel like this. So helpless, so cold.

Without Oscar, someone you relied upon and loved so completely, your life felt empty. You spent your days going through the motions. You woke up, ate, slept, worked. It all felt so monotone. It was impossible to do something without wondering where you would be if you were still with Oscar. 

A seed of doubt planted itself in your mind. Maybe, just maybe, you think, you were wrong. Maybe things would have been better if you were still together. But you cut the sapling before it could grow into a full thought. 

Dwelling on the past was killing you. Dwelling on the past was leaving you tired. Not the kind of tired that sleep could fix, but the kind that left you feeling nothing at all. Heaviness hung in your bones.

Sleep seemed to abandon you these days, leaving you alone in the moonlight hours. The howl of the wind was your only companion in the night.

It’s past midnight when your phone buzzes. With nothing better to do, and no inclining that sleep would find you anytime soon, you reach for it from where it is charging on your bedside table.

Oscar's name stares back at you through the bright light of your phone, blinding you momentarily in the darkness of your bedroom. 

You hesitate before opening it, his name on the screen still does something awful to your chest. Memories of past late night calls, tired giggles and intimate words, swirl around you in a haze of regret. But, to your unexpected surprise, it’s not a text. It’s a voice note. 

You press play. The second you hear his voice, the pounding in your heart seems to double in speed. And yet, the comforting familiar sound also puts you completely at ease.

Hey. Sorry, I know it’s late where you are. I shouldn't— I know— I just got back from dinner with the team. Everyone was laughing about something, and I almost turned to tell you about it. As if you would be there, next to me.

He exhales sharply, so suddenly that it shocks you out of the trance you're in. Hearing his voice again, speaking directly to you, feels like a delusion after all this time. There’s silence for a few seconds, just the quiet rustle of fabric, the unmistakable sound of him rubbing his hands against his clothes that way he always does when he’s nervous.

You can imagine it as if he’s standing right in front of you. But you know that if he was here, standing close and looking you in the eyes, you wouldn’t know what to say, how to act, to look him in the eyes and not admit all the regrets you’d been having.

Missing him feels like longing for a lost childhood toy, something you remember so fondly and yet is so resolutely out of reach. But loving him is something you can never let go of.

It’s stupid, I know. It's been weeks. We haven't even talked once since. I know. I should know better. But I just… I don’t think I’ve gone one day without reaching for my phone to text you, call you. And I haven’t sent anything, 'cause I didn't want to hurt you more than I already have. But tonight it kind of hit me that maybe I should. Text you, I mean. Reach out. So, I guess that's what I'm trying to do. I don't even know if you'll listen to this. I wouldn't blame you if you didn't. I should have fought harder. Should have told you more often how much you mean to me, how much you still mean to me. You were never a distraction. You were my balance. My constant. My love.

You wouldn't hear me then, but I have to make you hear me now. I love you. I love you. I'll say it as many times as you need to believe it again. And I miss you. Every day. I just want to try again. Please, let me show you how much I need you, how much I love you.

You lie there, staring at the ceiling. When the recording stops, you drag the audio back to the beginning and listen through it again. Over and over, you replay the section where he tells you he loves you. 

He sounds just as truthful, just as honest, as the first night he said it to you. The night he held you so close, kissed you so slow and carefully that you wanted to melt into the floor and never touch anyone but him ever again. The night you felt whole, and loved, and so at peace with your life. The night you had remembered over and over through the past few weeks with a longing dread. Suddenly, yet slowly, in small thoughts, then all at once, it feels like you have no option but one.

You don’t text him back. No.

You press call. He picks up immediately.

carlos sainz

You probably should have expected this, should have seen it coming from a mile away. Carlos is not one to let something, or rather someone, he loves slip through his fingers like spring water. He's built his life around the people he cares about, painstakingly carved out a space for each of them in his chaotic, fast-paced life… he wouldn't let you think so lowly of yourself for long. 

It’s only been a few weeks, but it’s felt like a lifetime. 

You open the door of your apartment, dressed in pyjamas and an oversized hoodie that was likely his, once upon a time, to find him standing there. Hair slightly messy. Hoodie zipped halfway. 

His eyes drift over you, slowly, taking every inch of your appearance. It doesn’t feel crude though, or intrusive, his gaze is so familiar, so kind, it fills your heart with joy just to be seen by him again. A small pit of guilt sinks in your stomach, you are the reason you haven’t seen him. This was your choice, after all, one you made for him.

He holds a takeout bag in one hand, your favourite food from the place you always used to order from together when it rained. It was the food that comforted you in your worst moments and excited you when you were feeling your best. 

You haven’t seen him in weeks. Yet here he was. 

He offers the bag, holding it out in one hand while the other settles on his hip. But he doesn’t move closer. He looks stuck in place, unsure of what moves to make and yet so confident in his presence at your front door.

“I’m not here to fix anything. Not if you don’t want me to,” he says softly, a tone of admittance colouring his words. “I just thought… you probably haven’t eaten. You always forget when you are stressed, or tired.”

You take it. Hands brush. He pulls away first. You find yourself immediately missing his touch.

Carlos looks down, then back up, eyes dark and earnest.

“I’ve had a lot of time to think. And I’ve been telling myself to let you go if that’s what you need, what you really want. But I also know you pushed me away thinking it was helping me. That it was the unselfish thing.”

He pauses, breathes deeply as if centring himself. He speaks with a tone that tells you he has been thinking of the right words to say for days, and is still afraid of driving you away.

“But cariño… you were the thing keeping me sane. I didn’t need saving from you. I needed saving with you. I need you to save me. Every day I need you to save me.”

You bite your lip and look down at the bag. The familiar smell fills your nostrils.

“My house is so empty,” you admit, and it feels like exposing the deepest part of your soul. “I’ve still been watching you drive. You’re doing well. I’m happy for you.”

“I’m driving well, maybe. But I’m not happy, cariño. You have known me long enough to know that is the truth.”

You can’t find it in your to meet his eyes, he keeps speaking anyway.

“I’m not driving well because you are gone. I’m driving well despite it. Because my life is nothing but racing now and I am miserable. Every day I think of you. There is no one else for me, and you must let me show you again. Without you... without you I am no one. You make me whole.”

His words are sweet, and so painfully honest that they burn into your heart.

“I’ve missed you. More than I should. Even though I feel like I shouldn’t. I want you to become everything you’ve ever dreamed of. But watching you do that without me…” you trail off, unable to explain the hurt you have inflicted on yourself by forcing him to go. Doing this, this conversation, out in the open feels too exposed. You want to tell him you love him in the comfort of your home. The home you want to share again.

“Do you want to come in?” You ask it in a hushed whisper, like saying it loud will frighten him away again 

He smiles faintly. “Only if you want me to stay this time.”

“Will you? Please? I think... I think we need to talk.”

His smile is soft, understanding, filled with hope, “Of course, my love.”

That night, he holds you close. He doesn't leave, you don't ask him to.

alex albon

You don’t pick up the first time he calls.

Or the second.

But the third? You answer.

“…Hey,” he says, voice gentle and soft, but cautious. He's holding something back. Like he is afraid of scaring you off.

You don’t say anything at first. Just breathe. Just listen. You half expect him to hang up, regret his decision to contact you and disappear again. After all, you were the one who walked away, who could blame him for holding onto resentment and anger and just... hanging up?

The,n quietly, you say, “Alex.” His name feels like the only thing you could possibly say.

He lets the silence stretch out. It doesn’t feel awkward, just heavy. Shared. Weighted with everything that’s been left unsaid for too long. Everything you didn't explain that day, everything you struggled to say. The silence reminds you not of the emptiness of your apartment, but of the comforting quiet of lying in each other's arms. Everything, even silence, feels better with him around. Even if it's just his voice.

“I don’t want anything from you,” he says, finally. “Not really. I’m not calling to change your mind. I just—” He sighs, shaky and unsure. “I just wanted you to know I think about you. Still. Every day.”

You close your eyes and press your forehead to your knee, trying too hard to not let your thoughts spiral away from you. You’re sitting on the floor of your apartment, hoodie sleeves tugged over your hands, and your heart somewhere between breaking and blooming at the sound of his voice.

“I’ve been driving ok, not great, not badly,” he continues. “Doing the media stuff. Smiling for the cameras. Saying the right things when they ask. Everyone keeps saying I look happy.”

Happy, just like you wanted him to be. That's the reason you did all of this. For him. To help him, even if it hurt your soul to do it. 

There’s a pause. Then a quiet, dry chuckle.

“But I’m faking it. All of it.”

Your breath catches, stuck in your throat. No.

“I catch myself thinking about you in the stupidest moments,” he says, softer now. “Like... I’ll be walking out of the paddock and I’ll reach for my phone to text you something dumb. Just muscle memory. Or I’ll hear a song you used to sing in the shower and it’ll hit me like I’ve run out of road.”

You stay quiet, swallowing hard and fiddling with your jumper sleeves. Against your better instincts to run, to hang up and hide yourself from the truth that maybe breaking up wasn't saving him, you stay.

“You remember how you used to tease me for holding my breath when I’m nervous?” he says, voice roughening just a little, like he's holding in a hollow laugh that is bubbling in his chest. “Like, properly holding it—like I’m underwater?”

You smile, just a little. Of course, you remember. 

"Yeah..."

“I keep catching myself doing it again. A lot. I didn’t even realise until Carlos pointed it out during a sim session... said I looked like I was about to pass out.”

Another small pause.

“Anyway,” he says, trying to collect himself. “If this is really what you want, I'm not here to yell at you. But I need you to know. I just... I hope you’re okay. I really do.  But if you’re not, if there’s ever a day you want to talk, about anything, bout everything.... I'm here. I'm always here”

You don't hang up.

"I'm sorry," you whisper into the phone. "I ruined this. All of this."

"No, baby, no. Please don't apologise. You were doing what you thought was right." His voice cracks a little, rushed and urgent, like he’s terrified you’ll disappear again.

“I miss you,” you say. Simple. Honest. Like breathing.

“I miss you so much it makes my chest hurt,” he says. "I know I can’t go back in time, but I want to move forward. With you. If there’s any part of you that wants that too…”

You wipe your eyes again and sit up straighter.

“I want that,” you whisper. “I’m scared. But I want that.” And that's all it takes. 

charles leclerc

After weeks of moping around your apartment, mourning your own decisions and cursing yourself, your friends had put their feet down and ordered you to have a night out. Something to take your mind off of him. Despite the fact that you had no desire to go out, you agreed. More for their peace of mind than your own.

You're dressed in your favourite dress, make-up done, hair perfectly in place. At any other point in your life, you would feel beautiful, but for some reason, you don't feel much of anything at all. From the second you enter the party, some rooftop bar event your friends had heard of through word of mouth, you want to go home. But you don't want to let them down, so you try and stick it out, try to pretend you feel ok.

Time passes by you, and it's hours before you notice it. Notice him. Because of course he is here. Why wouldn't he be?

Charles walks through the dancing crowd and it's like the sea parts for him, people move effortlessly out of his way despite the lack of room on the dance floor. His eyes scan the room and then, as if on instinct, they land on you.

He walks over without any dramatics, but there is a speed in his step. He's afraid if he's too slow you'll disappear into the crowd again. He's barely a metre away when he starts speaking. You can only just hear his voice over the booming music, but the heartbreak in his voice is unmistakable.

“Every time I win, I wish you were there. Every time I lose, I need you.”

You inhale sharply. He's suddenly right in front of you. He looks down at you with tired, hurting eyes.

“You said you didn’t want to hold me back. But love doesn’t hold me back—it grounds me. Keeps me from getting lost in all of this. Cheri, how could you ever believe your love was hurting me? Without it, I am nothing.”

You’re frozen in place, drink in hand, heart in your throat. You thought this night couldn’t possibly get worse... you never imagined it might get better. You never thought you'd get the chance to explain yourself to him again.

“Charles…” you say, barely audible, unsure if he even hears it over the bassline of the song thumping through the bar the screams of joy that pervade around the room, the sound of dancing feet shaking the building.

But he does. Of course he does.

“I know I should have said something earlier,” he continues, closer now, lips practically against your cheek so you can hear him clearly. His hands hold yours, keeping you close with a grounding grasp. His eyes flick briefly to your friends standing behind you, watching from the edge of the crowd, unsure whether to swoop in and save you or stay back and let this moment unfold. You hope they stay away, you couldn't stand to lose this moment because of well-meaning friends. His gaze returns to yours, and it’s the same one you’ve seen a hundred times before. 

“But I wanted to give you space. I thought… if I gave you time, you’d come back when you were ready.”

You laugh softly, but there’s no humour in it. “I wasn’t going to come back.”

“I know,” he says, voice strained and tired. “That’s why I’m here. One of my friends saw you in the crowd, I had to come. I'm sorry. I had to try one last time.”

The music shifts suddenly to something slower, softer. You glance over your shoulder as the crowd shifts to accommodate the new rhythm, but Charles doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he doesn’t care. He only sees you. The rest of the room fades into the background for him.

“I didn’t think I deserved you,” you admit. “I didn’t think I could watch you go out there every weekend, chasing something so dangerous and demanding, and not become the thing that dragged you down.”

“You were never the weight,” he says, without hesitation. “You were the anchor. There’s a difference.”

You don’t speak for a moment, letting his words settle over the noise, the lights, the blur of people around you. You’ve imagined this moment a hundred ways over the past few weeks, some louder, some messier, but none quite like this. There is something so soft about this, despite the noise. 

“You look beautiful,” he adds quietly. “But you don’t look like yourself.”

That’s what undoes you. That sentence. The gentle truth in it.

“I haven’t felt like myself.”

“Then let me take you home.”

“Charles—”

“Not like that,” he says gently, quick to clarify. “Not unless you want that. I just… I want to talk. Or sit in silence. Or be there while you fall asleep on the couch watching something terrible. I don’t care what it is, just... let me come with you this time.”

You look at him, really look. And for the first time in weeks, the ache in your chest loosens, just a little.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Let’s go home.”

lewis hamilton

You’re alone on a walk, one headphone in and hands stuffed into the pocket of your hoodie, desperately trying to shield yourself from the cold wind of the mid-afternoon, when a familiar voice calls your name. The sound of the voice, so comfortingly recognisable, causes you to stumble over your own feet. He's here. 

It's Lewis. Hoodie on, hood up, looking just as surprised as you feel seeing him out in the world. He stops a few steps away from you. The distance feels like a gorge you could fall into if you take a wrong step. The fall would go on for ages, you can't risk slipping now. 

“I’ve been writing, texting you, then deleting it all before I send it,” he says quietly. “Trying to find the right words to say. Honestly, I don't think they exist. Every time I think I've figured out what to say, it just feels wrong.”

You just stare, hands fidgeting in your pocket as you feel stuck to the concrete sidewalk.

"I'm sorry. I know you probably want me to walk away, but if I don't say this now, in person, I never will."

Before you can stop yourself, you say softly, "I never want you to walk away, Lew." The truth of your own words surprises you. Lewis can only smile slightly at the sudden interjection. But he knows, just as well as you do, that you didn't leave him because you fell out of love. It was fear that drove you away.

“I thought I could prove something by letting you go. That I could be strong. But the truth is, I’ve felt lost without you.”

"Lew—"

“I miss you,” he adds, and it’s almost a whisper. “God, I miss you so much. I've stayed up at night just thinking about what you said. I can't believe I let you believe all those things about yourself. I can't believe I didn't fight harder to prove how much I love you.”

You stare at him. This is the version of him that you always knew. The one who cares so deeply, it scares him. The one who never walks away unless he thinks he has to.

“You could’ve sent any of those texts,” you manage to say, voice uneven and slow. “I probably would’ve answered, no matter what you said.”

“I didn’t want to reach for you until I knew I could be what you needed. You need someone who can show you that you aren't a burden. You need someone who can prove how loved you are. You deserve perfection.”

You let the silence linger a beat longer. Then you take a slow, steady step forward.

“I didn’t need perfect,” you say. “I just needed you.”

Lewis reaches out, gently, finally closing the gap between the two of you. “Let’s start again. Somewhere quiet. Just us.”

You nod before your voice catches up.

george russell

It’s been raining all day, light, misty showers that make the city feel cold. The world is sad, you want to say to your friends, but you don't think they'd understand what you mean. Maybe you just mean you are sad. But even that feels wrong.

You’ve left the windows open just a crack, a small sliver of room to let in the crisp storm air as you curl up on the couch. There's a cup of tea in your hand that's slowly going cold, but you don't drink it. It's more for the company than for taste. The TV plays something you aren’t watching. It's just background noise to keep your thoughts from drifting back to him. 

It’s been weeks. Long enough that you’ve memorized the silence his missing presence has left behind. You miss him, but it was all for good reason.

You don’t hear the footsteps outside your apartment, you don’t hear his car as it arrives at your building. But when the doorbell rings, something deep inside you seizes up.

You freeze.

You haven’t seen George in weeks. But when you open the door, he’s there, suitcase by his side, hair messy, expression shaken. You realise suddenly that he must have come straight from the airport. His race ended only 15 hours ago. He's come straight to you.

“I’m not here to argue,” he says softly. “I just want to talk. Please.”

Against your better instincts, you hold the door open and step aside, welcoming him in in silence. He walks in slowly. His eyes scan your apartment like he doesn't recognise it, like he hasn't been there a hundred times before. Seeing him feel so out of place feels like a punch to the gut. It's a reminder of what you said to him, the way you pushed him away so suddenly, so cruelly.

Eventually, after a moment of quiet contemplation and awkward insection, he sits on your couch, wringing his hands in his lap. When he speaks, finally, his voice holds with it a tone of practised care. He's been thinking about what to say for days, you're sure of it. 

“You said I needed to focus. That I needed to be selfish.”

He looks up.

“Well, this is me being selfish. I need you to hear me, let me speak before you turn me away again. Please." 

You swallow the lump in your throat and settle yourself down across from him on the couch. You keep a bit of distance from him, not trusting yourself to be able to not fall apart if you sit within arm's reach. You missed him more than words could explain, but you owed him the chance to speak. You know you do.

After a deep breath, long and slow, he starts to speak again.

"I need you. Not just the good parts. I want the hard days. The fears. The panic at 2 am. I want all of it. I’ve spent every day since you left wondering if I could’ve... should've... done more. So here I am. Doing more.”

You press your hands into the couch cushion beneath you to stop them from shaking, trying desperately to listen to every intonation and shake of his voice, as if you could uncover every thought he's had for the past few weeks if you just listen close enough. 

You aren’t sure what to say. You thought you were protecting him by leaving, giving him an out to finally focus. But now, here he is, telling you the absence of you is the only thing that’s really hurt him. The truth hurts more than your fears ever did.

“I kept thinking… maybe if I just left you alone, gave you time and space, you’d feel free again. Feel more like yourself again. ” His voice dips. “But I think about you constantly. Every second since you walked away. And I don’t feel free... I feel hollow. And you're right, I should be more selfish with my career, my life. So this is me being selfish about what I want: I want you. I want you next to me all the time. Every day. Every night.”

He swallows, hard. Like saying all he's feeling out loud is hurting him. But he keeps going despite it.

“If you don’t want this anymore, truly don't, not because of what you think is best for my career, for me, but because you don't want it, I’ll go. But I had to try. I had to tell you that you weren’t a distraction. You were my calm in the chaos. You still are.”

You stare at him, heart caught in your throat and eyes glued to his sombre gaze. Your voice breaks when you speak.

“I've missed you so much, George.”

His shoulders sag with relief. “I know I'm not perfect. I know I wasn’t always good at balancing it all. But I never stopped loving you. That has never changed. Not for a second.”

He shifts, adjusting his posture sat upright on your couch. After a moment's hesitation, he asks, “Can I hold you?”

When you nod he moves slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid he’ll wake you from some fragile dream. But when his arms wrap around you, it’s like the weight of everything you've ever feared has finally lifted off your shoulder.

You melt into him.

And for the first time in weeks, you breathe easy.

taglist: @fastandcurious16 @coolpeanutchaos @hangingwiththestars

-> ree here! I'm sorry for the length inconsitancy and any mistakes! I tried to just do what felt right for each set up and I have editted this very sleep deprived from uni study... send help for my incoming essay due dates i am avoiding by writing imagines instead...

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - kidnapping, stalking, symptoms of depression, and obsessive behavior. reader's not doing great in this one and dick's doing worse.

Dick Grayson gets around.

Whatever you're thinking, it's not like that - except when it is. He's just the people person, the golden child, the performer. He's everything that Bruce pretends to be whenever he takes off the cowl and plays socialite. He remembers names, calls on birthdays, sends out Christmas cards the second snow hits the ground. He knows everyone, and he gets what he wants.

You get around... less.

Not that you don't show you face. No, someone committed to staying totally anonymous would never make it to one of a hundred annual galas held by Wayne Enterprises, stocked to bursting with reporters and celebrities and wealthy Gotham transplants, eager to make a good impression with local royalty. He spots you sticking close to the wall, moving between polite conversations, careful never to stay long enough to make a lasting impression. When you're not busy, your eyes dart from wall to wall, tracking waiters and taking stock of the exits. Every now and then, the light catches on a diamond ring you hadn't been wearing a second ago, a sapphire necklace too expensive to hang so sloppily from your neck.

You're transparent, if a bit out of place. Even pickpockets usually had the decency to skip charity events.

His course of action is swift, surgical. He corners you next to the bar, offers to buy you a drink. You counter, explain with a smile that you couldn't take a stranger's money. He adopts a new tactic - asks you to dance with one, instead. Another parry, now you're looking for your date. After fishing for a description, he mentions he might've seen them on the balcony. His scalpel run through your throat, you take his arm and let him lead you outside.

The routine is standard, practiced to the point of perfection. Find a corner away from the other guests, apologize for ending your night so early, then produce enough cash to pay half a year's worth of rent for Gotham's most expensive high-rise - just like he has a million times before with a thousand other petty thieves. Dead-eyed, you card through the bills slowly. Finally, you look to him.

"This isn't really my line of work."

Dick grins. "I can tell."

"Is there a closet we can use, or...?"

He blinks once, then twice. You stare at the money in your hands, eyes glassy and expression hollow. It doesn't take long to clear up the miscommunication. You leave with your stolen treasures and a well-earned tip, and Dick neglects to mention the incident in his status report later that night.

The next day, he seeks you out on instinct, tells himself it's no different than a follow-up for any other case. You are not a people person. You don't smile at strangers, or greet your neighbors by name, or let your eyes leave the sidewalk as you make your way through the rush-hour crowd, your pockets a little heavier with every step. Your apartment is a testament to your separation - no pictures, no creature comforts, no spare tooth brush left by the sink in case of overnight guests. There's only one cup in the entirety of your kitchen, a little black mug with white paw prints painted around the center. He leaves a second on your doorstep - this one decorated rim to base with blue jays.

You aren't from Gotham. That's clear enough, but it's cemented by the phone calls he overhears from your windowsill every Sunday morning, all reassurances to a faceless recipient that you're doing fine, that you have plenty of friends, that your stressful-but-rewarding corporate job is keeping you busy enough. You have younger siblings - a lot of younger siblings. He got to know them as he went through your phone, perched on the edge of your twin-sized mattress, watching the slow rise and fall of your chest in stolen glances. The most recent picture was taken more than two years ago, but he can't judge. He knows what it's like to be the trial run, the practice round, the disappointment. At least you have the self-awareness to keep your distance from the people you love, to make sure the only thing you can hurt is yourself. He's never been so strong.

And you do hurt yourself, don't you? He's seen the drawer of treasures you can't bring yourself to sell, the collection of unopened bills on your dining room table, the strung-together days you go without letting yourself so much as see another person. He knows why you want to be left alone, but even you can't go on like that, not forever. Everyone needs someone. No one can completely resist the urge to leave their mark on something else - anything else, even if they really ought to know better.

And you know that, too. You don't even scream when you wake up in Dick's bed, hands bound and body curled up against his chest. It could just be the lingering sedatives in your system, sure, but he'd like to think that you remember him, that you know you and him are two of a kind, birds of a feather. You ruin everything you touch, but maybe, you won't ruin him.

Maybe, just maybe, you won't ruin each other.

[veltana]

Breaking point

✦ Pairing: Roommate!Bucky Barnes/Fem!Reader

✦ Word count: ~2,5k

✦ Rating: Explicit

✦ Warnings/tags: Dub-con (proceed with caution if this might trigger you), pwp, smut and a bit of fluff at the end, possessive/protective!bucky, degredation (slut, fuck doll, cum-bucket), grinding, choking, spitting, pussy slapping, fingering, unprotected sex, breeding kink, creampie, pet name (sweetheart).

✦ Summary: Bucky is done with you going out with losers.

✦ Note: This used to be called I will kill them if they touch you but I never liked that title so I renamed it! Also, you guys didn't know what you were voting for, but it was the banner for this story! Please reblog and comment! Asks are always welcome 💚

Masterlist | AO3

"Please don't scare this one away as you did last time," you beg and look at Bucky's reflection in the bathroom mirror. He makes a face where he's leaning against the door frame behind you and then sighs when you give him a look. "He wasn't worth shit if he didn't wanna fight for you," he points out.

Now it's your turn to sigh and you cross your arms, glaring at him. "He isn't supposed to fight for me on a first date. We're supposed to have a good time and hopefully fuck." Bucky's mouth hardens, and he looks away. He doesn’t like that, at all.

Ever since you became roommates he's been very protective of you, helping you with the smallest things, driving you everywhere you need to go, even if you can drive yourself. Sometimes it's overbearing but most of the time it's nice to have someone care for you like that.

Unfortunately, recently he's picked up a habit of intimidating the people you go on dates with. He stands behind you when they come to pick you up, and his large frame and cold stare make many of them cower. A few have turned around right away, others have asked if that's your boyfriend or something, thinking it was some type of open relationship/cuckold situation.

"Don't say shit like that," Bucky says through gritted teeth. "I don't wanna think about you fucking other people." You can't help the teasing smile that cracks your face. "Makes you jealous?" With a huff, Bucky pushes off and leaves you to continue.

Two hours later your makeup is done and your hair fixed to perfection. You sit on the couch in shorts and a t-shirt, with a glass of wine, waiting until the last minute to put on the skin-tight dress. While scrolling on your phone, Bucky sits beside you with a beer. "So where's the loser taking you?" "Don't care,” you shrug. “Honestly, my priority tonight is to get laid. The previous ones were a little too… bland. But he seems promising." "What do you mean, bland?"

Putting your phone down you look at him, "You don't wanna hear this anyway, you'll just get mad," you point out. "I don't get mad," he defends. "Pfff, you're such a liar, I can see it in your eyes whenever I mention another guy." "Because you deserve the best and all I've seen is trash."

Irritated, you put your glass down too. "Why don't you pick for me then? Who would James Bucky Barnes deem worthy of fucking me?"

The grip on his beer is so hard his knuckles whiten and his lips are a thin line. When he doesn't answer you lean back and start to count people off.

"Well, Steve seems a bit too sweet for my taste but I mean I would not mind trying a slice of that all-American beefcake," you muse. "Sam is so charming and funny! That quick tongue would probably work wonders, if you know what I mean," you wink and watch as Bucky's eye twitch, his jaw clenched hard.

"Tony," you continue. "Well, he seems a little self-absorbed but maybe he's a really selfless lover. Won't hurt to check!" "Loki is so handsome," you bite your lip. "I would surrender my body to him in a heartbeat! But I've heard that he leaves people high and dry and that would be awful."

Tilting your head, you say, "Do you think Thor and Jane would be up for a threesome? I can just imagine eating her out while he fucks me from behind and then we could-"

With a slam he puts the bottle on the table and grabs your face with his hand forcefully, silencing your tirade of words and squeezing your cheeks so that your lips pucker.

The grip is close to bruising and it's an instant pull in your lower stomach. His eyes are black with anger, something you've never seen directed at you before. "No one," he hisses. "Not one of them is fucking you, I will kill them if they touch you."

His hand releases you and grabs your neck instead. You're shocked, and instantly so horny it hurts. Opening your mouth to speak he squeezes harder, making a wheezing sound come out.

"I'll give you a chance to stop this. Tell me right now you don't want this and we'll act as if nothing happened. Otherwise, I'm fucking you into this couch until you can't remember your goddamn name." When he finishes his grip lightens. The rush of blood makes you euphoric and boneless. You want to give yourself to him, let him do whatever he wants. "Fuck me," you whisper.

The kiss is more teeth than lips and the hold around your throat hardens again. You try to keep up with him but it's impossible as he pushes his tongue into your mouth, claiming every inch, making you lightheaded with the lack of oxygen. You gasp for air as he pulls away, releasing you. His gaze is brimming with lust and want now, all signs of anger gone. Then he pushes you down onto the couch.

"You're a kinky little slut, aren't you sweetheart?" he mocks and leans in over you, spreading your legs with his. All you can do is nod and try to wiggle close so you can press your center against his clothed cock. It's clearly outlined in his sweatpants and you hope it's as big as it seems. "If I put my hand down your pants, are you gonna be wet for me?" "Yes Bucky," you whine.

The throbbing is almost unbearable and his smirk is downright sinful. "Come on, rub yourself on me, show me how much you want it." With another whine, you brace yourself against the couch and lift your hips. He doesn't move a muscle to help as you struggle to find the right position.

"That's disappointing," Bucky smacks his lips and frowns. "Thought you wanted this." "I do Bucky, I do, please I'm trying," you tell him desperately. With effort, you get into a good enough position to grind your cunt on his cock through the layers of clothing. It's not nearly enough to curb the ache.

"Useless," Bucky sighs and grabs your legs. "Do I have to do everything?" He pushes your knees up towards your chest, folding you in half and pushing his cock right into your core.

"Sorry," you moan. His mean words have only made you needier and you move yourself against him with abandon. Bucky is motionless above you, not making a sound or saying a word, just staring at you chasing your high. Your movements turn unsteady when you start to come close.

If you were of sound mind you would notice the glint in his eyes but instead, you’re barreling towards your climax. Until he suddenly moves away.

Gawking you stare at him and he just smiles wickedly in return. "Take off your clothes, spread your legs" he instructs and you quickly pull your pants off and discard your t-shirt and underwear, spreading your legs as best you can on the couch. Bucky takes in your bare body, moving his hands slowly down your thighs until his palms frame your pussy.

"Fucking shaved for him too,” he notes with a snarl. You're not sure why that upset him. "Sorry!" you say, just to be safe.

"I don't need your hair curled, your make-up done or your whole body shaved. I will fuck you anyway, sweetheart, no matter what you look like because you belong to me," he growls before he spits on your cunt, sending a rush through you, making you moan and spread your legs even more.

For the first time, he touches you properly, letting his fingers spread the spit all over your pussy before shoving two of them into your soaked core. He pistons them in and out, putting his thumb against your clit and making colors burst before you.

"You want to come on my fingers, you fucking slut?" When you nod frantically he instructs, "Open your mouth, stick out your tongue." A second after you do spit lands on your tongue and droplets on your face. It nearly tips you over.

"Swallow it," he orders and watches you as you do, some form of approval shining in his eyes for the first time. "Who do you belong to?"

The question is too complicated to understand, you can't focus on what he wants. "I don't…" is all that comes out.

"Wrong answer," he says and removes his fingers, making you shout in disappointment. Sharp slaps land on your wet cunt and you instinctively try to move away from it, but he grabs your legs, pulling you back. "Don't you fucking run from me."

"I'm sorry," you cry, looking pleadingly at him. "I'm- I'm yours James, yours to do what you want with. Please, please, please let me come!"

With a huff he pushes his fingers back in, pressing the tips into your g-spot and getting his thumb back on your clit. His unbothered state makes you feel so small and insignificant, heightening the pleasure coursing through you.

As it climbs, your body shakes, your legs trembling from being held open. "I'm- I'm- don't stop!" you beg. Closing your eyes you focus on the feeling of him, his other hand still gripping your thigh hard. You hope it bruises.

"I can feel you, slut!" Bucky's voice is the cherry on top of everything. "Come on my fingers, do it, come for me!" he commands and of course, you do as he wants. With a scream you convulse, almost pushing him out with the sensation flooding you. Bucky is talking above you but you're not sure what he's saying because all you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears.

A hard tap against your cheek makes you open your eyes. "Don't pass out on me, I'm not done with you yet." "Wouldn't dream of it," you smile dumbly, and it earns you a smile in return. But it quickly passes as he pulls off his tank top and pushes down his pants. The cock is just as big as you hoped.

He rubs the head against your soaked center, sending overwhelming sparks through you, making you twitch. When he notches the head of his dick at your opening your blood freezes. "C-condom?" you stutter.

Cocking his head he asks. "Do you really want that? Doesn't a slut like you want to be filled up with cum?" "Y-yes, but, Bucky…" you gnaw your lip.

"I want to fuck my little cum-bucket raw, make sure you feel me running out of you for days," he gives a light thrust, almost pushing inside, giving you a taste of heaven. For a second you look at each other and Bucky presses in just a little bit more. It decides it for you. "Please fill me with your cum Bucky, I need it so bad!" you whine and he chuckles before shoving his fat cock into you without mercy.

Quickly you wrap your legs around his hips, meeting his hard thrusts that are sending your body into overdrive. "Feel so fucking good sweetheart, your cunt was made for me, wasn't it?" he groans. "Yes it was," you answer breathlessly.

He grabs your face. "Those other losers are never going to satisfy you." "No, Bucky, only you!" "That's right, you're my fuckdoll now, sweetheart," he says before he leans down to kiss you. It's much sweeter this time and you grab his head, carding your fingers through his hair, feeling your chest fill with another type of warmth.

When he pulls back he says, "Beg me not to come in you." Your cunt clenches and your second orgasm is suddenly a lot closer. "Bucky, please don't… I can't get pregnant," you make your voice small and frail.

In response his laugh is cruel. "Yes you will, your purpose in life is to be bred. I'm going to cum in you every day til it sticks and then everyone will know who you belong to." "Please, pull out," you beg and reach down to rub your clit, feeling the climax shimmering underneath your skin.

"Such a bad liar, sweetheart," he chuckles. "Are you going to come on my cock? Are you gonna claim me just as I claim you?" "Yes! I just need- harder!" you pant. "Fucking hell," Bucky grunts and does as you demand.

The climax rips through you with little regard for your sanity. The sound leaving your throat makes it raw and a second later Bucky moans your name loud enough for the neighbors to hear. It's almost good enough to feel him finish inside you that you come again, but you’re too spent to do more than shudder.

Then he kisses you again, sweetly, caringly, and pushes his arms in under your body to hug you close to him. "So perfect," he whispers against your mouth. The cums start to trickle out onto the couch but neither of you care, too caught up in each other's lips.

"How are you doing sweetheart?" he asks when he comes up for a breath. "I feel a little high," you confess. "Haven't been fucked that good in a long time."

There is something in his gaze that shifts and he leans his forehead against yours. "I'm sorry. I just… I couldn't take it anymore… I like you so much." "Lucky for you I get off on that stuff," you smile. "And if I had said stop I trust you would have."

He hugs you so hard you can hardly breathe. "Of course, I fucking would." "You can make it up to me by going tender the next time," you smile. "Next time?" "As many times as you’ll have me." He laughs into your skin. "I don't think you're ready for that!"

Suddenly the sound of the doorbell jerks the two of you apart. You stare at Bucky with wide eyes. "My date," you whisper, horrified.

With a smirk, he raises himself on his arms. "I should make you go on that date with my cum running out of you, maybe even let him get as far as spreading your legs just to see that you’re already claimed."

With a groan, you cover your face with your hands. "Don't tempt me," you tell him before wiggling out from under him, finding your clothes, and hastily pulling them on.

Opening the door just a crack, you understand you look a mess by the way your date eyes you. "Sorry," your voice is small. "I wasn't feeling great and then I fell asleep on the couch." "Yeah, you look terrible," the guy notes before handing you one of the ugliest bouquets you've ever seen. Quickly stepping away he says, "I'll call you." but you know he won't. "Great, I'll see you around," you respond before closing the door.

Bucky takes the flowers from you and shoves them in the trash before grabbing you around the waist and kissing you again. "Didn't you say he was promising?" "I have no clue what you're talking about," you answer with a completely straight face but then start to giggle as he swoops you up and carries you to his bedroom.

[orphicsun]

・゜゜Gamer Ellie Headcannons ・．

NSFW CONTENT BELOW, MDNI

✧.* Gamer Ellie wears those plaid boxer-shorts around the house adorned with some random t-shirt she often sleeps in. When she's out and about, she loves her classic flannel or white wife-beaters, sports bra peeking out of the fabric when she moves just ever so slightly. Converse and doc-martins all the way. You'll beg her not to wear it in public, but Ellie's got this one black Call of Duty t-shirt that is she is obsessed with.

✧.* Gamer Ellie ismore introverted than anything. She likes staying inside with you and watching movies with you rather than going on restaurant dates. Speaking of movies, gamer Ellie would be more into comedy and sci-fi than anything. I've mentioned in previous headcannons Ellie would be a huge Jurassic park fan, but some other movie / shows she'd be begging you to watch with her are Airplane, Star Trek, and Pulp Fiction. Anything with action or on her level of dumb humor, and Star Trek for when she's geeking out. It's her guilty pleasure.

✧.* Gamer Ellie's favorite type of physical touch is having your fingers running through her hair. She likes to feels your touch in such a light, vulnerable way. Sometimes when she's playing a game, you'll approach her from behind and massage her scalp with your sweet touch. "Babe, you're distracting me!" She'll complain with a dramatic but playful groan, but her freckled face will melt like ice on a hot day from your touch.

✧.* Gamer Ellie isn't good at multi-tasking. She loves having you all up in her lap while her fingers are punching keys, but she always seems to lose when you're touching her, let alone near her. Why? Her thoughts are filled with the night before when the two of you were about to fall asleep, giggling in bed about some video on your phone, and specifically she's thinking about when you forgot all about sleep and had a late-night make-out session with some 90's movie tuned out on the television. It's so hard to remember to reload her virtual AR when all she's feeling is the way your warm fingers slid down her back and how your breathing turned into soft pants when she got all greedy and latched her filthy mouth onto your neck. Still, she'd never tell you to get off of her lap so she could focus. You were worth every aggravating respawn.

✧.* Gamer Ellie, in bed, isn't some huge dommy-mommy or whatever you're thinking. She's really touchy, sure. But she's honestly just your average lesbian who is absolutely obsessed with her girl, and she blanks at time. You'll be on top of her, and she's got this cave-woman aura going where she's just staring at your pretty face, focused on chasing your lips for a kiss. Her hands are awkwardly perched on her sides because she forgets how to even touch you: you're such a fucking goddess, and she's kind of a loser. You're a savior, though; guiding her hands to your waist with a sweet, patient smile. Ellie will get the cue and her fingers will spread across your waist to the top of your hips, and she remembers how desperate she is. (This one was inspired by me with my gf, you're so real gamer Ellie)

✧.* Gamer Ellie is also a switch! If you want her to be the top, she'll do it, but like I said she's going to be all cute and embarrassed about it. She'll be eating you out and her thoughts will be going at 100 miles per hour: "Am I doing this right?" "She's moaning Ellie, stop overthinking it." And sometimes the only thought she can really be having is "I love pussy." Cute. When she's bottom, which is most of the time, she isn't really all submissive and whiney but more like, defensively flustered like how she got with Dina when Dina threatened to bite her on the couch. Gay panic type of bottom. She does get pretty loud when you use a vibrator on her, though. That's a personal favorite in the bedroom.

✧.* Gamer Ellie did have a Fortnite phase. She hates talking about it but she spent like an ungodly amount on the stupidest skins. She used to make you watch her play at first, and then it was you having to create a whole Epic account so you could be her duo. Ellie's favorite season? Chapter two season seven. Why? Aliens. She got the battle pass and unlocked the alien skins, too. A little after she got super obsessed with it, like yelling at some 12 year old boy telling him his mother wishes she swallowed him, she moved on to a game that wasn't making her yell at at her screen. You were thankful.

✧.* Gamer Ellie is a huge night owl. While your sleep schedule is pretty average, she will blink and it'll be four in the morning. She'll groan and pop her back before stripping down to underwear and a t-shirt and then crash on your shared bed, making you stir from your rest. She sleepily curls her body into yours, peppering the warmest smooches wherever(probably with her eyes closed or half-way, at least) and muttering out apologies for waking you in the most ethereal voice known to woman-kind (it's raspy and the one she uses during sex when she's attempting to be a good top).

A/N: Thank you everyone for over 500 followers! I hope to post some longer fics this week or at least some more arcane fics. I promised some Jinx content, hopefully that'll be soon. Love you all.

[y2kas13]

Can She Stay? (Paige B. x reader)

Paige b. x dads best friend's daughter!reader

Summary: Paige goes with her dad to his best friend's house meets his daughter and quickly becomes close.

cw: fluff, rizzler paige lol, spicy but no smut, reader isn't given a set race or weight just mentions of curly hair and being on the 'thicker side' but nothing too defining y/n used srry

a/n: (I wrote this months ago and never knew how to finish so I’m gonna post it how it is if you wnat a continuation I definitely will) I'm actually from and live in CT so I'm gonna use the name of a college from here for realism its not important tho so don't worry lol thank you for tuning in to my poll for those who interacted this is technically my 2nd fic on Tumblr but my other one sucked and flopped 😭 so hopefully this is better. I appreciate interaction!

Paige was a go-getter, constantly up and running ready to take on the day and do what needed to be done.

Needless to say, she didn't want to get out of bed and go with her dad to sit around and listen to old dad jokes for the next few hours.

She loves her dad, but after weeks of training and hard work, she wants to mindlessly scroll on her phone and eat some well-deserved junk food.

"Come on Paige it'll be fun I promise it'll be worth your while. watch you'll have so much fun you won't wanna leave! now come on Paige!" Hearing her dad have so much enthusiasm trumps her feelings of wanting to stay home. She changes out of her pajamas into black loose-fitting sweatpants and a white crop-top she puts her slides on and gets in her dad's car and falls asleep.

Feeling the car come to a stop makes her open her eyes and see that they are presumably at her dad's friend's house. She rubs her eyes and stretches to wake her up. She hops out of the car and walks up to the door after her dad.

Before her dad can even finish knocking a man who looks the same age as her dad opens the door. "Bob! there you are old timer hurry up the game is coming on." He ushers them in and both Paige and her dad hurry inside.

Paige takes in the living room while her dad and his friend playfully banter with each other. Before Paige can open her mouth to say anything she hears soft footsteps coming toward the living room which causes her to look up.

"Dad, what's all that noise?"

Paige sees probably one of the prettiest girls she's seen in a while. Beautiful curly hair held out of her face by a simple headband, she's wearing a simple blue crop top similar to her own and the smallest pair of black pajama shorts she's seen in forever.

The feeling of the girl's eyes also looking her up and down causes Paige to finally stop staring and look away. "Come here baby let me introduce you!" The pretty girl steps further into the living room to stand by both dads which causes Paige to follow without even thinking. The girls' dads introduce them to each other, "This is my daughter Paigey she plays basketball at UConn she's a little star." Bob says with obvious pride in his voice which causes Paige to slightly blush and look down waving him away playfully at the nickname. This elicits a small giggle out of the girl which makes Paige smile a little harder and look up at the girl seeing that she's already looking at Paige. "This is my baby she goes to Southern and she's the student council president at her school." Pride is also evident in his words, the baby name makes the girl turn away in slight embarrassment.

The TV in the living room starts playing a loud sound alerting the dads that the game they were awaiting is finally starting so they offer that the girls should go hang out together in the girl's room. They head towards the girl's room.

"So baby huh?" Paige says with a small smirk on her lips, the name used making her laugh.

"Oh whatever Paigey," The girl rolls her eyes playfully and sits on her bed, "I have a real name you know." Paige looks around the room taking in the aesthetically pleasing room with light grey walls dark hardwood floors and posters of all her favorite shows and artists on her wall.

Paige sits down at the small dark wooded vanity now looking at the girl perched on the bed, "Care to share then princess?" the nickname princess causes the girl to spring up and look at the blonde girl at her vanity

She shares her name with Paige to which Paige compliments.

“So student council president huh? You’re a smart girl aren’t you.” Paige says with a smirk but there’s no condensation or malice in it.

The curly haired girl nods making her curls bounce and flop in her face slightly. “Yep school has always been my thing I’ve been best at.”

Paige gets up from her vanity and walk over to the bed. She looks the curly haired girl in the eyes and moves some of the hair that fell in her face. “Maybe you should come by my school and see me do what I’m best at.”

[atxxzist]

someone worth loving | c.s

summary: everyone deserves to matter to someone, to belong in this bleak world, and to exist for a purpose... everyone but you

pairing: choi san x f!reader

genre: angst, fluff, romance, honestly idek but comfort? lots of trauma

word count: 4.9k

warnings: lots of insecurities and flashbacks, mentions of abuse, mentions of sex (the smallest), slight mention of drugs, slightly inspired by cherry 2021

a/n: idk if it might be confusing. it's a v diff style of writing i'm trying out and experimenting with. it makes more sense when you picture it like a movie lmfaoo sssfhfhfhkgd

you suppose everyone deserves to be loved--something not only exclusive to human beings.

you wish for every stray and abandoned animals in the world to find a home, somewhere to belong and to feel welcomed in the palms of their owner's hands--and that for every stray and abandoned kids to do the same--grow up to find their place in this world that with a lack of love, can turn even the strongest souls into broken pieces.

for there, love isn't just validation or appreciation--it is the knowing feeling that you matter, belong, and exist for something bigger than just yourself. and perhaps those things aren't so important for someone who's rightfully content in themself, but it might make the difference for someone who has nothing else to live for.

to matter, to belong, and to exist for a bigger purpose--everyone deserves to experience all these things, or at least deserves the chance to even if they wind up fallen in the end.

you're part of everyone, so what's with the irony that you feel you're the only one part of the demographic who doesn't deserve to be loved?

maybe the sentiment started when your mother left. your father calling her a 'fucking bitch' on her way out as the shattered vase painted the door a new dent and his screech filled the entire room before looking you in the eyes.

you were only eight years old then.

but he looked at you nonetheless. at your face and features that's a perfect mirror of your own mother--someone he now loathed with a passion, and all the scars and wounds on your body are the consequences of it.

for looking too much like her. for being your mother's daughter. for making his life harder. for simply existing.

or maybe it started with your first boyfriend. the first boy to give you real butterflies but also a broken heart.

you didn't know anything then--how to move your lips when you kissed for the first time, where to place your hands when hugging, or how to be someone worthy of being his girlfriend. you just knew you liked him.

but you were so carefree then, walking into the relationship wearing your heart on your sleeves and your soul bearing for him to see; no filter or anything, thinking that if you just be yourself, he'd like you just as much.

oh how wrong were you.

"i want to break up." you remember the day as clear as the weather that afternoon, the sun sitting high above the blue sky that was a little too harmonious while your entire world was crashing down in comparison.

"w-what? why?"

he didn't even have the courtesy to do it in person, the phone held up against your ear so tightly, you were sure he could hear the thrumming of your heart through it.

"because..."

"is it because i didn't go to that party with you last friday?"

or the friday before, and the one before that too. because you didn't like loud and crowded places or having to strike conversations with strangers. because you hated the smell of alcohol and especially how someone acted when they were under the influence.

"it doesn't matter why. i've already made up my mind," he answers almost instantly, but his voice rather calm like he must've practiced the exact response for the hundredth times.

because you weren't close with his friend group, all of them too extroverted and outgoing, you couldn't help but to feel out of place every time he brought you around.

but mainly because he finally listened to them... when they'd talk about how picky you are, how you thought you were too good for anything, and how boring you are... all while thinking you were a fool to their snarky side comments and patent dislike of you.

so it could either be your father or your first boyfriend, but it could also be your second boyfriend.

it's funny to think back to how confident you were at the time, ready to conquer love and all of its hardships, but your second relationship was a whirlwind of unexpectedness and more so because you thought you learned a lot from the previous relationship.

you were called picky so you tried to be more open-minded. went to places you usually would never go and even ate shit you knew you didn't like.

you apparently thought you were too good for anything, so you tried everything your boyfriend suggested whether small or big--so much to the point where it felt like you weren't even your own person anymore.

you were called boring so you finally went out to your first party and pretended like you belonged there for almost four hours while doing your best to act like it wasn't your very first time tasting alcohol.

you did all of that only for him to tell you that very sentence the same as your previous boyfriend did.

"i think it's best we break up."

at least he had the courtesy to say it to your face, but hell, it didn't make it any better. if anything, it was worse--the fact he was standing in front of you and there was nothing you could do to change his mind.

and when you asked him the same question you did before, it hurt even more to watch him say it in real-time.

"it just feels like you try too hard sometimes. like you're not being yourself, and i just don't know if that's someone i want to be with."

or maybe the sentiment didn't fully settle in until your third boyfriend.

the one where you thought you had it all wrong in your first relationship, which is why it lead to the doom of your second one so you made sure history wouldn't repeat itself because you really really liked him.

you were still "picky" but you also kept an open mind and never shyed away from trying new things if it made him happy.

you had your own hobbies and life outside of your boyfriend, but you were never short on showing interests or support regarding anything he did or was passionate about.

you were still boring, but went to a party once in a while and tried things just to try it, always setting your boundaries when needed and never going further than your limits.

you tried so hard to balance things out--between being too much and too little, always making sure you stayed somewhere in the middle because you really wanted it to work.

so naive of you to have thought that if you just did everything right, things would fall in place.

your last and third boyfriend made the heartbreaks of the first two relationships look like kid's play in comparison... by cheating on you.

the worst part was you never got an explanation for why he cheated--not even a mere phone call. you confronted him through texts and he broke up with you on the spot like it was your fault you caught him.

so that was that... all your failed attempts at love and why you were starting to think maybe you were just part of that small, unfortunate group of people who wouldn't ever matter in this bleak world.

you weren't someone worth loving.

"or maybe it's all of them?" san says, your gaze moving from the leaf you were playing with to perk your head up at him, both your eyes meeting.

there's your father; your first, second, and third boyfriend--then there's san.

"and why is that so?" your lashes flutter up at him as he rubs gently at your head currently resting on his leg, the night lit by the few stars peeking behind him.

"because that's just how it is, no? of course we all have our breaking point, but it's usually the result of things building up over time. for example, i didn't break up with my ex over that last event alone. we already had a ton of issues beforehand."

"so what you're saying is all my ex-boyfriends broke up with me because i gave them multiple reasons to?" you quip, your tone teasing and lighthearted just to get a reaction from him.

you met san your last year of university through a friend you shared a class with.

he had showed up in the library one evening after wooyoung, who bothered you every day in marketing class until you subconsciously gave into the growing friendship.

you thought san was quite endearing and definitely too cute, but you weren't looking for a relationship and the fact he already had a girlfriend made it easy.

the second time you met him, he no longer had a girlfriend.

you were definitely not hiding in the kitchen at the last college party you would ever attend, watching as people poured in and out of the entrance for the drinks right beside it, when you suddenly recognized a familiar face.

the light kick to his butt takes him by surprise, his reaction when turned around looks like he's about to give one back until he sees it's just you--his expression easing in response.

"hey," you greet, a coy smile on your lips. "thought you weren't gonna come. wooyoung said you'd be visiting your girlfriend."

"oh." he chuckles it off, not pained or anything. he's seemingly relaxed even uttering the following words, "i broke up with her."

you raise both your brows in shock before settling on a simple, "i'm sorry." not entirely sure what to say or do to console someone with an assuming fresh heartbreak (you were usually the one on the receiving end).

"nah, it's good," he brushes it off, everything about him right now from the way he stands and speaks with the smallest smile tells you he's not entirely sober. "she was a bitch anyway."

"you know, it's not nice to call any women a bitch," you tell him, crossing your arms.

"i'm sorry," he says, sounding like he actually means it, "i'm a bit high right now. someone offered me some pills right before i came."

you snicker at that. "i can tell."

you can't quite describe how things unfolded that night; it's strange--amusing even. you originally planned to be there for an hour only because you'd be graduating soon and had work in the morning, but you very much triggered a sequence of events when you sent that kick flying toward san's butt.

one moment you guys were in the kitchen, then the next, you're both going for a walk where he told you all about his ex-girlfriend and why he broke up with her.

"i commute to her two hours from and back every weekend, yet, she never wanna do the same for me. and then when i do get there, we either argue because she wanna go to another fucking party or be out with her friends. i know it's hypocritical to say that considering i'm here, but shit, at least i'm no longer surrounded by her and her equally obnoxious social circle."

"no, i totally understand," you assure him, both your shoulders brushing against each other's as the music from the house grows faint with each step.

"yeah, i said no more going to parties so she throws one instead. left the room after we got into an argument where she told me to go fuck myself; i finally went out after some time and find her dancing on some table like a stripper so i just straight out left in the middle of the night and drove the two hours back."

"that's horrible. and she didn't care you left?"

"not 'till the next morning at least. woke up to a bunch of texts from her asking where the hell i am and how dare i left, blah blah. i broke up with her on the spot then. i know, awful of me to do over texts but i didn't wanna deal with her any longer."

"i think you're totally in the right, though i do know firsthand how it feels to be broken up with over texts. in this case, i'd say she deserved it and i probably did, too." you contradict such a statement with a light laughter.

san slows down with his steps momentarily, turning to look you in the eyes, a small frown decorating his lips. "but you're so sweet and actually pleasant to be around."

your expanding laughter echoes through the empty street at the comment. "i mean, at one point your ex must've also been quite sweet and pleasant to be around as well if you got with her in the first place."

a quiet snicker falls from his lips, nodding his head because you do have a point. "i guess so."

one conversation turned into another, your legs started to get tired from all the circling around the block but your mouth going on and babbling nonetheless while you and san went through all the initial stages of getting to know one another in just that span of time.

from finding things you two had in common to competing in terms of who had the worse ex (spoiler: san won), everything felt so natural and seamless with him, you really couldn't help but to act impulsively that night.

"it was in my guts she was cheating because she always had flock of guys around her even when i was there so who the hell knows what she was doing when i wasn't. well... that and the fact she admitted to it out of spite when i broke up with her over texts."

a scoffing laughter bubbles from you, attempting to hide it but letting it loose when you see he finds it even funnier--the smile on his face bigger than one should be.

he adds, "the last two months of the relationship, she no longer wanted to have sex and made me felt like shit whenever i'd ask."

"i've gone a little over a year without sex. two months isn't too bad," you drop casually but regretting it almost instantly. you were trying to find a middle between consoling him and being relatable but it just comes off wrong and even dismissive.

you shake your head. "sorry, what i meant to say was--"

"no, you're good," he cuts you off, the amused look on him making you relaxed, realizing you're overreacting.

then, a short silence fall; a tension decorating the air that you've been trying to push back and deny, all of a sudden coming out of hiding in this moment.

"hey," he calls, your blinking lashes meeting his rather soft eyes, "do you wanna go back to my place tonight?"

that was all it took. all he had to do for your back to be pressed against the door of his barely lit bedroom, his hands all over you while he kissed and tugged at your lips as if he's done it for the thousandth times.

you never considered yourself one to sleep with someone you weren't in a relationship with, but you gave yourself up to san within a single night, stripping your clothes away and bearing your soul to him in the most vulnerable and personal way, and he did the same in return.

he kissed you like he meant it, touched you like he wanted you, and fucked you like he loved you.

it was a unique experience that had conflicts swirling in your chest the morning you woke up to the naked boy sleeping beside you, his toned and muscular figure a complete contrast to his serene state.

you left that morning without saying anything, not wanting to disturb his sleep and truthfully, not having much to say.

you didn't think much of what happened after. you didn't want to. you were completely fine with the fact you guys slept together once and that was it. you didn't wanna think about where you stood with san or what you guys were supposed to be because after your last relationship, you didn't think you were ready for another one until a long while.

you were also completely fine with the thought that maybe last night was san's way of coping, given he just got out of a relationship. you were okay with the possibility that you were a rebound.

so there was your father, all of your ex-boyfriends, and then san. but san wasn't like any of them--he was worse.

"so what you're saying is all my ex-boyfriends broke up with me because i gave them multiple reasons to?" you quip, your tone teasing and lighthearted just to get a reaction from him.

he shakes his head. "no, of course not. i genuinely don't know why they broke up with you at all."

he goes on to place a soft, gentle kiss on your forehead before backing up to look you in the eyes again; your heart sinking into your chest at the foreign feelings of safety and belonging.

a full day after the escapade, you got a text from an unknown number. san had managed to find you despite you initially wishing he didn't.

hey, i hope this is okay. i'm san btw 👋 we never exchanged numbers or anything so i had to ask wooyoung for yours. i'm sorry if this is a little creepy lol. i wanted to reach out soon but i wasn't sure if i should. please let me know how you're feeling and if this is okay (if it's not you can be honest). i really enjoyed our time together and i'm talking about every second of it (not just the end of the night)

the guilt you felt that day was unforgiving.

he was careful with his words and very considerate of you; the tone inbetween the lines assuring if you didn't wanna go further with this, you didn't have to.

so although there was absolutely no pressure, your impulsiveness got the best of you--a mix between trying to salvage the situation and your guilt, and having a genuine liking for san, you found the light in a rather dark void that maybe... it wouldn't be so bad.

you thought there was no harm in giving the relationship a try--that, with time, had a high chance of fizzling out just like all of your past relationships.

you thought that just like all the other men in your life, he would eventually grow tired of you... then he'd want to leave.

you thought that regardless of any predictions coming to life, you'd come out fine in the end. unscathed.

and for that, you got yourself into a position even worse than in any of your past relationships... because you learned early on that choi san was simply too good for you.

he picked up fast on what you liked and didn't like, so you never had to play pretend around him. if you didn't wanna go somewhere or do something, he always caught on and was perfectly fine doing what you'd like instead.

he encouraged you to be your own person with hobbies and a life outside of him while still being an integral part of your routine, sharing his passions and interests when he saw necessary to the relationship.

he didn't look at your scars and wounds of the past in disgust or judgement. instead, he loved to place assuring kisses on them and draw little stars over it--such gesture making your heart caved every time.

he never asked for more than what you could give--more than what he knew you were capable of, and it was a concept you were not familiar with.

it's a saturday afternoon when your hair's spread all over san's lap on the couch, both lazing around during the two days of the week you guys have time off work and even more time for each other.

it's the small moments like these that makes you feel at home. when you both can just enjoy the other's presence, and when silence speaks the loudest comfort.

you're just wasting time on instagram, scrolling endlessly when a certain video piques your interest: a slideshow and time-lapse of a couple from the very first picture they took together to the most current one--spanning over 10 years together.

"look, babe, isn't this cute?" you say, unable to help but share the excitement with san, replaying the video for him to see as the endearing smile on his lips bring one out from you as well.

without much thought, you let slip, "i wish to find a love like this." your eyes still to the screen and oblivious to the drop in san's expression.

"i love you," he suddenly says out of nowhere, your gaze moving to him immediately as your breath catches in your throat. "i love you, y/n."

for too long, you just stare at him. your words dying in your throat and all parts of your body unsure of how to respond to such a statement.

"thank you," you return quietly, trying your best to disregard the sight of san's chest deflating or the look of disappointment on his face.

you weren't familiar with someone liking you just for being you, but more so, you weren't familiar with being loved especially when you didn't try hard enough.

after all, you went into the relationship in the first place thinking it wouldn't work out.

everyone deserves to matter to someone, to belong in this bleak world, and to exist for a purpose... everyone but you.

you didn't feel like you deserved to be loved by san.

you jump at the sound of the door opening, your heart beating loudly in your chest at just his mere entrance into the apartment.

"hey baby, what's up?" he greets concernedly, happy at the sight of you but the text you sent and your current stance like a dark cloud hovering over him.

it was just a short and casual text asking him when he was gonna be home because you have to talk to him about something, but it was quite unusual and out of fashion for you.

you never bother him unless you know he's out of work.

"i'm going to japan," you break it quick and sudden, san doesn't even have the time to digest the meaning behind your words.

"japan?" he only repeats so casually, throwing his bag onto the couch before continuing, "yeah, we can go to japan."

you have to squeeze your eyes shut, a look of impatience on you that san doesn't miss. you don't wanna do it, but you have to.

"no, san. just me... permanently," you whisper the last word, your eyes to the ground because you feel you already know what his looks like.

"you don't mean--y/n, no." the switch up is fast once it hits him, going from realization to denial, pacing around the room and shaking his head. "you're not being serious."

"i'm serious."

"so what the fuck, this is it?"

you breathe an annoyed sigh, still in avoidance of his gaze. "look, i just need you to be mature about this."

"i wanna be mature about it but you've never even talked about wanting to go to japan, and now you just expect me to be fine with it?"

it was the first time you saw san truly angry, the look of helplessness and frustration that day on him like nothing you had seen before.

for once, you did the breaking up but the aftermath was nothing like you imagined. you thought you'd feel a lot better because you weren't on the receiving end this time, but you felt even worse.

it made you wondered if any of your exes felt like this. if they laid at night and thought about you. how much they hurt you and if they made the right choice--because those questions certainly kept you up many nights after leaving san's place.

"hey," you say upon the door opening, your walls already coming down at the sight of his disheveled hair and tired face, fighting the crack in your voice to even utter the following words, "it'll be quick."

there's still a couple of your things at san's place and you had asked earlier if it's okay you come over to get them. that, and that you want to say goodbye to him one last time.

he lets you in without saying anything and you head straight for the bedroom, picking up the few clothings of yours in the hamper and throwing it over your arm while he watches in silence from behind.

you definitely feel the hair raising at the back of your neck, not sure what to do or say and just trying your best to put on a show... that you're fine. that your heart isn't breaking into a million pieces at the thought of leaving him.

then you hear it: his soft, pleading voice like music to your ear that you've been missing so much for the past three days.

"please? can you please rethink this even just a little?"

you look over your shoulder to him standing at the doorway, his face and cheeks now flushed red making the incoming tears well at your eyes as you try to blink it away, turning back to stare at the hamper so he doesn't catch it.

"i know the relationship hasn't been perfect. i haven't been perfect. but if you just give me another chance i promise i'll do everything--"

he doesn't get to finish because you're full on sobbing and he's running to your side in an attempt to comfort you when really, it should be the other way around.

you shake your head, his thumbs at your cheeks and wiping away the tears as you finally look him in the eyes.

"no, don't say that. you're perfect, san," you tell him. "there's absolutely nothing about you that needs to be changed."

and it's one of the truest things you've ever said. something you should've said so long ago.

he was and is so perfect, it actually hurt... so much to the point that you started to get afraid the relationship wouldn't work out. that he'd end up being like all the other men in your life and want to leave you.

you thought if you did it first, it wouldn't be so bad.

"san," you call his name, his forehead pressed against yours and his breath ghosting the tip of your skin, "i'll be staying..."

you stop momentarily, san not saying anything almost like he knows you're not done. "and... i love you."

he smiles hearing those words and you think you can hear his heartbeat as he closes in on you to deliver a soft kiss to your lips. "i love you, too."

you always thought so much about how it feels to be loved, but never how it feels to love. that is isn't a one-way street--for someone to be loved, someone have to give that love first... and it was scary.

you liked all your ex-boyfriends, maybe even your dad as a father when your mother was still around, but you didn't love them.

"my father and all of my past relationships... i don't know which one is it, but i never felt quite the same after. like i was afraid i was just gonna keep disappointing anyone i come across," you open up, speaking your soul out to san under the dark night as the hill you're both laying on overlook the city.

“or maybe it’s all of them?” san says, your gaze moving from the leaf you were playing with to perk your head up at him, both your eyes meeting.

“and why is that so?” your lashes flutter up at him as he rubs gently at your head currently resting on his leg, the night lit by the few stars peeking behind him.

“because that’s just how it is, no? of course we all have our breaking point, but it’s usually the result of things building up over time. for example, i didn’t break up with my ex over that last event alone. we already had a ton of issues beforehand.”

“so what you’re saying is all my ex-boyfriends broke up with me because i gave them multiple reasons to?” you quip, your tone teasing and lighthearted just to get a reaction from him.

he shakes his head. “no, of course not. i genuinely don’t know why they broke up with you at all.”

he goes on to place a soft, gentle kiss on your forehead before backing up to look you in the eyes again; your heart sinking into your chest at the foreign feelings of safety and belonging.

you smile to yourself, pulling from his gaze and back to the leaf in your hand. "i appreciate such compliment."

because to love is to give a part of yourself to another person, and when they break that love, they break a part of you. you were so afraid of being broken again, you reserved that part even when san was willing to give himself up as a whole--and for that, you are so thankful.

whether you were being picky, snobby, or boring, he loved you through all of it. through all your scars and wounds and everything that came before him, he still loved and loves you.

he finds you worth loving even when you don't, and makes you feel like you matter to someone for once. that you're gonna belong and exist for something much bigger, and you hope your love in return does the same for him.

[juniperdugong]

Relationship Quirks 95s ver.

Aka habits I can see the boys doing in a relationship || 95s || 96s || 97s || Maknae line ||

Scoups Calls you his "wife" while you guys are still dating

NOT AROUND YOU... at first but I doubt that the guys wouldn't secretly take video of him whining during practice talking about, "I miss my wife..." all pouty and everything (he saw you this morning), and NOT send it to you.

He's awkward when you bring it up because he doesn't know if you feel that way about the future of your relationship but once he knows you do feel the same way WHEW you do not hear the end of it.

Suddenly, all the reservations he makes are preceded by "Well, me and my wife...", anytime you're brought up in a conversation dude glitches out and HAS to mention you as his wife at least once (especially if it's to someone he thinks might be interested in you), and the yearning only gets worse! He'll leave for tour and after he texts his customary airplane goodbye message to you your phone will be blowing up with texts from the boys complaining about having to hear their leader practically sobbing about how much he misses his wife.

Jeonghan Steals your stuff

Has big "What's yours is mine" mentality, but don't worry! What's his is yours too! He swears it! Despite the drastic difference in how much he's using, borrowing, or straight up taking your stuff...

Let's be clear though, he never takes things he thinks you'll miss and if he finishes something of yours he always makes sure to replace it pronto. If you do get upset he makes a mental note to not mess with that particular item ever again.

Have you noticed a suspicious amount of your clothing (mainly hoodies, hats, and bags) go missing and suddenly see your boyfriend wearing them during a live? Yes. Has there been multiple arguments about this behavior? For sure! Does it absolutely warm your heart when you're at a concert and see a staff member run on stage to hand Hannie his current comfort item (a childhood toy of yours that you didn't even know was missing from your room)? Absolutely, it does. (Apologizes profusely once you find out...doesn't mean a single word of it and you know it because he's giggling the whole time)

Joshua Buys 2 of everything

Since the dawn of your relationship, Shua has gotten 2 of every item he buys. His initial reason was to get to know one another better by trying out things the other liked. This then spiraled to him doubling every single grocery item, clothes he buys, and pretty much anything he orders. Could be an insanely valuable item worth thousands that he's getting paid to promote but if there isn't a matching one for you then it's off the table. And no, he doesn't necessarily want to be "matching" all the time but he likes knowing that you guys could match whenever you wanted to.

He also gets extremely offended if you question why there's so much of everything, seriously he doesn't even want to hear it, like "Because it's ours! And we share! So we need double! Do you hate me or something!?"

"Babe, why do we have so much shampoo..." "I'm promoting it." "There's 2 of every type in here." "Yep." "We don't ne-" "We do need it." "It's too much." "I don't understand what you're saying to me right now."

A/N: The brainrot I have for these men is so real rnnnnn. I just had to separate these by years bc it was getting too long :( I'll have 96s up by today too, so stay tuned for that 96 line OUT NOW!! (Have to do it for my babe Nonu) Reblogs and Comments are much-appreciated lovelies!!

TAGLIST (open): @bemybabiibish

[callmeakaashi]

– can you blame me? ❀*ੈ⋆ ⋆

synopsis: you and tsukishima have been rivals for years now. you know what makes the other tic – and recently it's been your ex-boyfriend. the two of you are forced to be student panelists but turn into more when a research mixer happens the first night. genre: grad school!au. angst, rivals-to-lovers. enemies-to-lovers. fluff. angst. milddd smut (if you squint). wc: 3.4k warnings: lite smut. drug usage. drinking. language. taglist: @chososbbygrl (because you always believed in my writing <3)

kei tsukishima is not your friend. he's very far from it actually. he was just another annoying-ass man from your grad program. another asshole ready to correct you when your answers strayed from fully correct, or even just simply unsure.

but now, him and you were boarding your flight for the annual neuroscience convention your school attended.

being the first and second (respectively) in your class, it was apparent you'd be student ambassadors as soon as it was even mentioned.

of course, he had to one-up you by being the first to volunteer.

and you couldn't have that. so here we are at 4am. in line to board, him behind you – and your fucking delta app wouldn't load. "pfft." he snorted. "you should've just added it to your apple wallet, y'know like a normal person?"

"shut. up. kei." you sighed under your breath, connecting your phone to and from the airport wifi again before finally seeing the pass.

"about damn time." he sneered.

it would be a long trip.

you slept throughout the flight, occasionally waking for refreshments before leaning your head against the window and dozing back off. but as you landed, you began to wake. "god, we're already here?" you said to yourself, mostly.

"and i can't believe you chose to sleep through it, instead of prepare." tsuki said, dryly, not even looking up from his laptop.

"maybe if you actually had a life outside of this shit, you would stop being so uptight about it."

"and maybe if you cared a little more, that-"

the landing announcement had begun. the two of you went silent, pushing your trays up and beginning to adjust your belongings.

out of the corner of your eye, tsuki sucked his teeth and shook his head at you before giving his full attention to his phone.

"pathetic.." he said, beginning to stretch as he stood.

the plane had landed now, and san diego wasn't that far away anymore. "bitch." you muttered under your breath, bumping your shoulder against his as you reached for your bag.

his head whipped around and though your eyes were on your bag, trying to steady it in your hands before putting it on the ground, you could damn near feel his eyes narrowing. "welcome to san diego and thank you for flying with us this morning!" one of the flight attendants chirped. you gave a half smile. it was 5am. there's almost nothing to smile about if there's not a redbull in sight.

"ignore her. you know how mornings are for some people." tsuki laughed, nudging you with his elbow. "you know, i actually hate you?" you mock asked, walking through the terminal at this point.

"oh, the feeling is mutual. i see why that little boyfriend of yours isn't on your profile anymore" your boyfriend. well, ex.

"and why that little girlfriend of yours is.. what? nonexistent? like any grown woman wants to put up with your mouth 24/7." you spat. silence. he didn't turn around but you saw his jaw tense.

it just slipped out. and he'd mentioned your ex first. if hurting his feelings is the price you have to pay to get some silence – maybe it's worth it.

the uber was silent too. tsuki, full of arrogance, was headphones on in his own little world looking at the map as you moved deeper into the city.

"i wouldn't want a girlfriend like you, anyway." he finally says softly, leg bouncing viciously.

"that was never an option."

the driver's eyes dart between the two of you before he turns the music up a few notches.

a sigh escaped your mouth as you slumped lower in your seat, pulling your hoodie down to feel some sense of comfort.

the golden state was gonna hold all the bad memories, ironically, it seems. between being stuck with tsuki for the next four days and your ex-boyfriend, iwaizumi, transferring to school here, nothing was promising.

no, it wasn't that he didn't want to be with you. he couldn't. not when you were across the country at johns hopkins. or at least that's what you told yourself after that second (and last) phone call where he said he couldn't do this anymore. and in his words, he "can't feel that you love him."

the car pulled to the front of some hotel, tall and sleek, across from a baseball stadium, and click, the car doors unlocked. "well.." the driver cleared his throat. "we're here."

your tongue scraped the roof of your mouth as you took in your surroundings.

check-in went by in a blur. tsuki talking to the receptionist, giving both of you a room key before the two of you were in an elevator heading to the eleventh floor, where the room was.

"so your slides aren't finished are they?" tsuki asked.

was this his version of small talk? acting – no, genuinely hating you, and then asking if your priorities were in order.

"why do you care?"

"because i deserve an actual rival, not this half-baked, heartbroken – whatever this is," he looked down at you, adjusting his glasses. "if i knew some breakup could just get you this distracted, i would've just broke your heart myself."

a breath caught in your throat. your lips parted and then pressed together again. your eyes met each other and he raised an eyebrow, expecting a response.

but this time, you didn't have anything. maybe tsuki breaking your heart would've been an easier fate.

the elevator couldn't open fast enough.

"look... my bad." tsuki sighed, pursing his lips.

"yeah, whatever." you grumbled.

standing at the room felt like the longest time ever. "fucking door." tsuki fumbled, attempting to scan the keycard on each side.

eventually, that little light turned green and he pushed the door open with more force than anticipated.

the room was nice. it was elegant in a quiet way. the windows faced the beach, a spacious desk in the corner near a lamp, two beds adjacent to the desk. a balcony, two chairs, and small table.

you made a mental note of another place to sneak off to tonight.

maybe california was getting a little more bearable.

"hm. this is calming." tsuki hummed, a flicker of warmth behind his eyes. you're half sure this is what his apartment back in baltimore looked like.

"yeah, it's nice." you said, striding through the room before placing your bags closest to the bed near the window. he rolled his eyes but didn't debate.

is this his version of an apology? either way, you'll take it.

the air from the ac was crisp. the sun shone through the windows. it's only 2pm. the only thing going on today was optional – some rooftop mixer for panelists and professionals and all of those swanky titles that were a little too old to be in the game. shaky hands of surgeons past their prime.

it was enough to make your eyes roll. plus, unless something drastic has changed, chances are your ex, iwaizumi would be there too.

you unpacked your lime suitcase and changed into some pajamas. between jetlag, tsuki, and a full four-day conference, missing a mixer wouldn't kill you.

the free drinks would be the only thing missed. your internships lined out the door and a resume so long, even google wouldn't read it. who cares.

you huffed as your back collided with the bed. tsuki shot you a look.

"don't you dare," he began. "we have a mixer tonight. this isn't a vacation."

"fuck off." you shot back, popping an edible into your mouth like candy. "i wanna watch my movies in peace tonight."

"what? to all the boys i've loved?" he chuckled. "you're not sitting in here sulking and crying all night."

"he'll be there, you do know that, right?"

"and?"

"i don't want to see the man that moved across the country and left me behind." you stretched, as the words burned the back of your chest.

"man," he snorted. "he couldn't even find the student center when he was on campus. that's your man? i bet he couldn't even find the clit."

"the WHO?" you laughed, shocked that he would even say something like that.

tsuki shrugged, a smile tugging at his lips as he took a drag of the vape he snuck on the plane. "it's true." he huffed.

"enough!" you hollered, an airy, out-of-breath giggle escaping your lips.

"i'll get you a lemon drop if you go." he taunted.

"deal."

the next few hours practically flew by. tsuki lost in his laptop before taking a nap. you scrolling through instagram, avoiding iwaizumi's green story bubble before falling into a dream of your own.

and then tsuki's three alarms – one for 8:15pm, another for 8:45pm, and the last one for 9:00pm. you only had one for 8:30. your eyes groggily opened to tsuki's perfectly made bed and the ties he's debating between strewn out onto the comforter.

"you really need a tie?" you sighed, clicking the power button on your phone to check the time.

9:03pm; 57 minutes until d-day.

"you're not seriously asking that, right?" tsuki half-groaned, looking you up and down out the corner of his eye.

you did know better than to ask. he always shows up dressed to a tee. he never not has. even his airport fit – charcoal grey sweatpants, hopkins pullover, matching headphones.

asking was just force of habit.

iwaizumi always dabbled between a regular tie, a bow, or honestly nothing – even just leaving one or two buttons undone for button-downs. your heart ached thinking of it before your eyes met tsuki's and he turned away.

you hadn't even realized but you'd been staring. the buzz of the edible still there.

"hm?" he hummed, questioning.

"nothing. don't worry about it, kei."

"you're being really fucking weird." tsuki sighed, before turning on his heels and heading to the bathroom. you caught a glimpse of his eyes in the mirror, still studying you.

the same look you've seen him give when the lecture slides start to get a little too complicated. that look that something's not accurate – not right.

you scaled the space between your luggage and the bed, carefully unwrapping the burgundy dress you brought for this event, just in case.

you slipped the dress on before throwing a t-shirt on over it to do your makeup.

you zoned out halfway through. prep done, brows filled, and lashes on. now for the main event.

you had both airpods popped in now, an amalgamation of your liked songs playing in your ears. until justin bieber's flatline kicked in, heavy bass pounding like a warning.

"she became a victim to my busy schedule"

your mind raced as the lyrics sunk deeper.

did iwaizumi ever miss you?

you missed his laugh. the way he'd scrunch his nose when he really laughed.

the absolute mess him and oikawa would make of his room before parties.

tears pricked your eyes at the thought of someone else getting that version of him. silly and loving, but not for you.

"shit." you exhaled, breathless and shaky.

you could feel eyes on you. tsuki sat on the edge of his bed now, adjusting strands of hair to look just the way he'd like. "what now?" he shot back.

you shook your head no but his footsteps felt closer. you tried to cover your face but he met your gaze in the vanity looking back at you.

"get a grip." his voice laced with something a little deeper than anger but a little softer than respect.

"iwaizumi's doing his shit right now. do not let your stupid little memories of him hold you back from doing what you gotta do."

he didn’t even blink. just stared you down in the mirror, sizing you up like he could will you back into yourself.

"right. you're so right, tsuki." the words fell out. "now what time is it?" he smirked, a low evil chuckle slipping out. "9:27. i'll leave your ass here if you're not ready by 9:50."

you whined but he just shrugged. "being early is being on time, sweetheart."

the rooftop was mildly packed. music drowned out in the background of voices. everyone looked polished, quiet luxury, but make it nerdy. the faint scent of lavender and vanilla wafted around you.

"so i do owe you a lemon drop," tsuki leaned into your ear, still looking around. the two of you made your way to the bar and before you knew it, you were being pulled away by advisors and researchers alike, talking about neurons and plasticity and some new "groundbreaking" research.

you spot tsuki across the room, laughing with some researchers from your undergraduate alma mater. he notices you staring and rolls his eyes before he points towards his phone.

ding, a text from him

"shouldn't you be, idk, mixing?"

"sorry, just didn't know you were an ass kisser"

"i'm glad you came." your advisor admits, as she puts a hand on your shoulder. "we need more talent like you in the field. passionate, dedicated – i'm excited to see what you do later down the line."

"thank you." you smile, taking another sip from your cocktail glass. your fingertips felt cold against the smooth glass and yet somehow your palms were warm, sweaty.

"go. enjoy yourself." she shoos you away proudly, and you make your way to one of the benches in the far corner, overlooking the city.

the warmth of the drink filled your chest and for the first time in what felt like a long time, you could actually breathe.

the skyline looked beautiful. fairy lights twinkled around you. the city didn't feel so painful anymore. it felt endless, like you were meant to be here.

a smile tugs on your lips as you catch tsuki leaned against the glass panel of the railing further down, smirking. his hands are in his pockets and then he glances over to you again, looking at you reflectively.

and then you see him. messy brown hair, a sage button down with the top two undone, that little gold chain. iwaizumi.

some girl had her hand on his chest.

he had seen you, face dropping slightly before getting back to his conversation.

your heart dropped. it felt like someone was sitting on your chest. like it had dropped the same amount of floors available. somewhere on the ground level, your heart was there. you were half sure it was scampering around in the lobby while everything around you crumbled.

your fingers gripped around your glass now, unsure of if letting go is something you're even capable of. a silent gasp caught in your throat.

"no. no fucking way." you muttered to yourself, eyes widening as he made his way over... with that girl.

the chances of seeing him tonight were supposed to be low. you'd done the stats in your head when tsuki offered the lemon drop. it was 1 (or 2) in 350, according to the eventbrite.

the music and the lights surrounding you felt dim and so far away. you'd placed your glass on the table in front of you without even realizing.

you couldn't see it now, but tsuki wasn't smirking anymore. his eyes were sharp, steady on you. he stood straighter now, faltering to come over after pushing himself off the railing.

he was in disbelief. the same shock you had. no way he was making his way over with some girl that wasn't you, her touching him the same way you would.

"hey." iwaizumi said, smiling coyly. it felt more like guilt than shyness. he'd never been an introvert.

"hey." you mirrored, unsure of there were any appropriate words in your heart for this interaction.

"what's up?" tsuki said, now behind you with a steady hand on the small of your back. his hands were cold but they radiated all over, backless dress be damned.

his eyes flickered between you, iwaizumi, and the girl. he smiled politely, aware of the company.

"yeah.." iwazumi cleared his throat. "just introducing my pretty girl to some of my old friends."

"doesn't look like there's much to introduce." tsuki chuckled, running his other hand through his hair.

"you sure?" your voice came out hoarse as you elbowed tsuki in the ribs. she chuckled, but nothing was funny.

"mmm, still a diva." iwaizumi said, mostly to tsuki. at this point, tsuki was the only thing grounding you. the only other options would be to actually float away or to punch him in the mouth.

no way he actually just said that. i'm the diva? and not the person who wanted a "change of scenery" and didn't just mean a different research program.

her eyes darted between you and iwaizumi, analyzing. "you're such an asshole, iwa," she giggled. "nice to meet you!" she chirped, sticking her hand out.

a chill crept up your spine. it was over. there was no hope of rekindling, even just feeling the grief and calling you. he had a girlfriend and you hated her. and worse, envied her.

the wind left your chest, you felt the tears start to well, and as much as you hoped they'd fall – they didn't.

instead the words "nice meeting you" escaped your lips and then you saw him. iwaizumi's eyes flickered between you, and the contact tsuki had with your back. patient, steady, drawing little circles as the interaction occurred.

"it's really good seeing you." tsuki said, his voice low.

his hands moved mindlessly – up your back, your neck, a subtle tuck of your hair behind your ear.

the contact felt normal, natural even – until he noticed. he didn't need to say it. his touch already did that.

it wasn't obvious, but enough to say "she's not yours anymore."

maybe it was the lemon drop or maybe just the tension building in your stomach.

fine. let him move on. maybe you would too.

the interaction ended there with iwaizumi being pulled away by some peers. tsuki's hand rested on your back as the two of you made your way to the bar.

"i fucking hate him." tsuki said, voice sharp and gravelly.

"me too." you said, the air in your lungs finally free.

the server had delivered your drinks and the liquor went down like water. your mouth was flowing now.

"y'know, he's actually a fucking cunt. and not like how you are." you chuckled.

tsuki snorted. "really? and what's exactly the difference?"

"at least you're honest. and you're hot in a brooding way. a way that says i understand you, not some surface-level frat boy shit." you rambled, gesturing with your wine glass swaying.

he scoffed, jaw slack before a giggle escaped his lips.

"you're fucking drunk," he cackled, shaking his head in disbelief.

"fuck you!" you shrieked. "but, you do get what i mean, right?"

"mhm," he took another sip of his drink. "so you're calling me emotionally mature?"

"and capable of feeling something deeper than a kiddie pool," you snorted.

tsuki's eyes dropped to your lips before he turned away for a moment, looking around the room at everyone still mingling, talking about god knows what.

your skin buzzed like static, radiating everywhere, and too much to be contained. heat rushed to your cheeks like a second drink hitting to fast.

"let's go." you rambled, hand finding tsuki's. his gaze snapped back to yours the second your fingers curled into his.

the two of you found your way to the elevator in what felt like a hurry. silence in the hallway as the music played sounding further away.

the doors shut and tsuki leaned past you to press the 11 button and the scent of his cologne pushed past your face – sharp, clean, and far too distracting.

"sorry if i said too much at the-,"

"shut up," he said.

you barely had time to blink before his lips were on yours. your hands slipped into the soft curls at his nape, the other curling into his tie.

a soft moan slipped from lips as your back met the cool elevator wall.

"man fuck him. and his girl. i've got the prettiest one in here."

tsuki's voice was low, raspy, and hot against your skin, just before he kissed right under your ear, trailing down your neck.

the elevator dinged.

your floor.

his tie was still in your fist. the two of you stood, breathless, looking at one another. you peeked out into the hallway, scanning your surroundings.

"come on."

tsuki's eyes darkened. his grip on your hand tightened as he began to lead you toward the room. the hallway blurred around you.

kei tsukishima was not your friend but maybe something a little bit more now.

please do not copy, alter, or repost my work. ©callmeakaashi 2025.

[enbyfvcker]

Okay, just- Picture Laura and Wade doing the hear me out trend. She didn't even have to convince Wade, he was down already.

Laura's phone recording them and a deformed cake that Wade baked as they stand in the kitchen.

Logan's sitting in the living room, smoking, bored out of his mind, so he eavesdrop.

"Ellie."

"Gurl, what?! That's my daughter you're talking about." Wade gasps as Laura sinks the paper with Ellie's picture and a toothpick on it on the cake.

"So what? She's pretty."

"She has a girlfriend."

"Which brings me to this." Laura grins as she spikes another paper, this time with Yukio's picture on it.

"Oh, you're really your father's child."

Logan shrugs in his seat.

"Come on, your turn."

"Alrighty." Wade looks through the papers he printed and pulls out one with a Spider-Man picture. "Spidey! I mean, it's obvious, but worth the mention."

Logan raises an eyebrow at that, his attention now fully on their conversation.

"Yeah, I hear you." Laura chuckles.

"Hey, take ur eyes off."

"Well, my turn again." She grins and sinks a toothpick with a Gambit's picture.

"The minion guy? Come on, he speaks gibberish."

"It's not gibberish, it's french. It's charming."

"It's bananas."

"You're boring."

"I'm not, I just have good taste." Wade places a picture of Catwoman, and Laura tilts her head to the side.

"Who's that?"

"Oh, you won't know her. She's got different copyright owners, if you know what I mean."

"I really don't."

"You next, kiddo."

"Magik." Laura announces, placing the picture on the cake that now has little space left.

"Go after her and leave my kid alone, will ya."

"Bitch, I go after whoever I want."

As they record the video, Laura places other people on the cake, but Logan isn't really focusing on that. He's too busy focused on who Wade chooses: he hears Cable, Colossus, Mystique, Emma frost... and he gets more grumpy with each one, crossing his arms and taking a deep swig of his cigar to contain his nerves.

They eventually end filming it, and Wade gives little jumps to the couch, sitting down and throwing his legs over Logan's.

"Hey, Wolvie. Watcha doing?" Wade grins but Logan doesn't even look at him, tossing his legs away, grunting.

"What? Cat got your tongue?" Wade teases but doesn't receive a response again. He pouts. "Wolvieeee? Helloo?" He waves his hand in front of Logan's eyes but nothing.

"Oh, I know that look." Laura places a hand on her hip. "He got the same one that day when that TVA guy kept ogling you." She explains. "He's jealous."

Logan's ears and face heats up, and he just sinks deeper on his seat.

"Whaaat? Oh, that's rich. He actually is! Look, he's blushing!"

"Shut the fuck up, both of you."

[lila-went-missing]

Hey girl! Can I request some fluffy Vi headcannons? <3

Absolutely! I'm finally writing on my laptop, partially because I have the live UConn feed on my phone. They 're playing Tennessee and I'm STRESSING, they're down four points in the last quarter. I hope you love this but I'm sorry if it seems rushed. This kind of turned into general relationship hcs but it’s all very fluffy. X

Fluffy Vi headcanons

For starters, Vi has had anything but an easy like and it really shows through the way that she acts around people.

Originally I think she would be a bit standoffish, especially right after leaving Stillwater.

It might take a while but she would get used to having you around. Her body would definitely take a while for her body to catch up to her mind. Any time you reach out to touch her she might tense up or flinch back, but she knows you wouldn't hurt her. She'd get there eventually it just might take some time and patience.

On the other hand she would love to be touching you.

I wholeheartedly believe that one of her love languages is physical touch.

She can convey feelings through contact that she can't with words.

She would constantly have a hand on you, whether shes holding yours, keeping it on your thigh, or just a hand on the small of your back as you walk.

She likes to have a physical reminder that you're safe and right there.

She'd love it when you lay in her lap, doing your own thing while she reads a book.

When they robbed Jayce's apartment the first place she went was the bookshelf. You can't convince me this girl isn't the biggest bookworm.

I feel like she would run a hand through your hair while you traced patterns on one of her legs.

I also think she would love to read your own copies of the same book and later discuss. I saw someone else mention this and I loved it.

Vi definitely sees herself as a protector so she would love being the big spoon.

The feeling of holding you against her, covering your body with her own.

Especially with how big she is.

She's like 5'10, BROAD shoulder, MUSCLES!!! She'd for sure cover most of your body.

She would not care how much you weigh or if you have some chub, she would pick you up and throw you around in her arms. Argue with the wall.

But despite all of this, sometimes she would need to be held and babied.

She wouldn't ask for it outright, at least not at first.

She would have this look on her face, her brows slightly furrowed and an almost undetectable frown.

But you see it of course.

So you would pull her into your lap, or on your chest, and just lay with you for a while.

Vi seems like the person to LOVE having her hair played with and her back rubbed.

I mean borderline purring because she’s so relaxed.

But who can blame her. With all the work and fighting she does I know her back is full of knots.

Our girl does NOT get a break.

Other than physical touch I think she’d be big on acts of service.

I mean come one her whole life her purpose has been to protect people so you can’t convince me she doesn’t like doing things for you.

It’s a whole range of things. From grabbing something off the top shelf to beating up a guy who made you uncomfortable when you went out for drinks.

Sometimes you have to force her to relax.

But it’s all worth it to her if she’s making your life easier.

I can see you patching her up quite frequently.

Even though she doesn’t fight in the pits anymore she does fight a lot of people for you.

There are a lot of bruised knuckles in your future.

After a while though she’ll settle down, more focused on making you happy than beating up a guy for looking at you.

She loves you very much. It may take her a bit to say it but she does.

She’s shows you her love everyday too through her actions.

You’re by far her favorite person.

She definitely calls you cupcake, among other things.

Other than cupcake, her favorites are probably babe, baby, and princess in a playful way.

HEAVY on Princess if you’re from Piltover.

But she says it with so much love that you don’t mind the playful jab.

I think she’d be addicted to you tracing her tattoo.

Plus you’d never get bored because it’s so big and intricate.

It’s another thing that would knock her out in like five minutes.

Moral of the story she’s addicted to you and wants to spend the rest of her life with you.

[babyangelsky]

Okay. I had lunch, dripped barbecue sauce on my shirt, got the barbecue sauce out of my shirt, watered my plants, watered myself, and now I'm finally ready to put some thoughts down.

The thing most largely on my mind, apart from you know...everything?

The implosion had to happen this way.

And it had to happen this way because Sei and Kazuaki had already resolved not to end their relationships.

Complacency is a trap that's very hard to break out of. It almost tricks you into believing that change isn't worth it even if on some level you're aware that it's needed. Except in this case, the change has already happened. They agree to stay as they are so nothing will change and nothing will be destroyed, but it's been changing and that change has gone willfully unacknowledged.

Or it was going unacknowledged, I should say. But it can't anymore because Sei and Kazuaki both broke pattern.

I thought it was odd that Kaori made no mention of how her boyfriend took off in the middle of the night in the pouring rain and didn't come back. Their relationship is very broken but surely that would be a noteworthy occurrence.

Especially given the timing. He takes off moments after she rejected his attempt at intimacy and then just doesn't say anything? Just says she was bored and that's that?

Nope. That is not in fact, that. Kaori didn't say a word only because she never says a word. She exists in her relationship with blinders on. She likes everything about Kazuaki except that he's a man and won't question what that means or why that might be. She's content with the lack of intimacy, knows that Kazuaki isn't, and chooses to live with him asking her for sex instead of saying anything.

She's just as complacent as he is, albeit for different (possibly comphet) reasons, and since she's chosen not to think about it, it's been pretty chill for her.

Until Kazuaki broke pattern.

He didn't go back to his side of the room after her rejection like he always does. He went off-script. He left and didn't come back until the next day and that is a noteworthy occurrence.

So noteworthy, as a matter of fact, that she checked his phone after saying herself that she isn't the type of person to do that. And she didn't just check his phone, she left the house with it!

But not without first smashing the storm glass that Sei gave her on the floor, because in reading those emails, her blinders were torn off. There is no pretending anymore.

For her, or for Fujisawa.

He won't say anything either, but his face more than speaks for him. He knew Sei was lying him before Sei even made it out the door and he was not happy about it. Sei thinks Fujisawa is hiding something from him and I think he's right. What's more, I think that what Fujisawa is hiding is his displeasure and his jealousy.

Because after having seen this episode and the preview for next week's, there is not a doubt in my mind that Fujisawa is jealous. Not because he has romantic feelings for Sei, which I really don't believe he does, but because Sei is breaking pattern.

Everyone in this show is complacent. Everyone. But for Fujisawa in particular, I believe it's less about accepting the way things are and more about needing things to be a certain way. @respectthepetty went more into detail about that here.

And so far, the way he needs things to be IS the way they have been. Nothing has shaken the boat. The towels have all been white, there's been no TV, no parties, no flashy clothing, no one talking to Sei without going through him. Even Sei's attempts at connection and Fujisawa's repeated rejections are part of it because that's also happening the way it's supposed to.

But now the king of non-disruptive design is being disrupted. Sei is going places. He's talking to more people. He left the house in the middle of the night and lied about where he has going and Fujisawa has put himself in a position where he has to pretend to believe him. He has to pretend that nothing is happening.

Except that he can't, because now Kazuaki's phone call has utterly and completely destroyed any hope Fujisawa might've had to be able to bury his head in the sand and carry on as normal.

And he is not going to react well to having his control shaken.

When complacency is this profoundly seated, dragging everything out into the open and being forced to deal with it is the only way for an actual sustainable change to happen. You almost do have to be removed from choice because breaking pattern isn't enough.

You have to break EVERYTHING apart to such a degree and in such a manner that you cannot put it back together in the exact same way it was before.

[heavenlyraindrops]

Can I request a bit of lucifer x reader where reader is a new resident at the hotel but also extremely powerful like could almost be an overlord if they wanted but are shy/hate people so they try to just keep to themselves and be as quiet as possible but end up in a forced proximity situation with the king of hell himself (who they have a horrible crush on) and something pushes them over the edge we get some fluffy confessions but also a bit of dry humping (I liked your pervious story with it) and afterwards they realize being tangled up with Lucifer himself probably isn't going to keep them out of the spotlight but oh well? (I hope this isn't too much you said the more specifics the better and works got me to burned out to write it myself )

ʟᴜᴄɪꜰᴇʀ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ- “ꜱᴛᴜᴄᴋ” ——> word count: 3.5k

Warnings: drinking, tiny mention of blood/violence, sexual content, dry humping, forced proximity

hiii anon tysm for the ask I love it, it’s perfectly specific and I had sm fun writing this ! I’m not too good with fluff but I tried my best, I hope you like it!

You didn’t want to be an overlord.

Despite your monumental power- it was just too much. The other overlords scared you, and you despised the attention. 

Instead of choosing any overlord-ish career endeavours, you’d opted to help Charlie, your friend, with her hotel. It was better, it was easier, especially much more than having to mingle with power-hungry demons. And Charlie herself was charming enough to make working with her seem attractive enough. 

“[name], I’m so happy you’ve decided to help me,” she beamed, clutching your hands, eyes sparkling. And as she hugged you fiercely you realized with a rush of warmth that it was worth it.

Vaggie nodded behind her, yet her eyes held apprehension as she swept her gaze up and down you. “We need all the help we can get,” she said tersely. You nodded wordlessly. Charlie turned to look at her. 

“Believe me, Vaggie, she’ll be a great addition.” She hugged you again, sideways. “[name] here just happens to be super powerful! It’ll be really useful to have them around.” You flushed bashfully at the praise. 

Vaggie nodded and smiled stiffly.  

Over time you’d made it your mission to get Vaggie to like you. Need help moving these boxes? Telekinesis. Loan sharks bothering the hotel? Incinerated. Angelic warfare? You were more than willing to paint the streets gold. And you did it, too, terrifyingly easily, without a single word spoken. You were never one to talk more than you needed to. Normally you wouldn’t, but you did it discreetly so that word wouldn’t leak that it was you, and plus, you could use Vaggie’s trust.

You sighed, placing down a box Vaggie had asked you to move as everyone crowded together in the lounge, colouring pencils and markers spilled across the floor. Charlie’s soft murmurs had ceased as she put down the phone. 

You cleared your throat, to catch her attention and focus it on your quiet voice. “Hey Vaggie. What’s in this?”

Vaggie looked up. “Books, for the library. It’s too he-“

It lifted up into the air behind you, and you stared at her blankly. She cleared her throat. 

“Right, you can do that. They belong in the library.”

You set for the door, the box trailing behind you in the air. Charlie sat up properly. “Won’t you join us, [name]?”

You nodded quickly. “I’ll just drop these off first,” you mumbled, before giving a tinkly little wave before slipping in through the door.

Sighing, you quietly made your way down the hallway towards the library. Grappling with the lock before swinging the door open, wincing as it creaked, you switched on the lights. Dust billowed up where you moved and even more as you set the box down with a thud.

“God, this storage unit so fucking tiny,” you muttered to yourself. The door fell shut.

You tried to open it but it wouldn’t budge. It was jammed. You slammed the base of your palm against the door. It took you a good few seconds of pulling and twisting until it clicked back open. 

You sighed, running your hand through your hair before going back to join the others. 

You smiled wearily in greeting, your hand throbbing as you sat down and picked up a piece of paper. It rustled in your hands. You looked around, an unspoken question.

“Mindful colouring,” Charlie replied, the tip of her tongue sticking out in concentration as she carefully coloured within the lines. Vaggie smiled softly. Your eyebrows shot up as Niffty took in a deep sniff of a Sharpie and suddenly began to shake- not that anyone paid her any mind.

“Cool,” you said, not really knowing what else to say before picking up a pen. Angel Dust shifted behind you, his paper catching your eye. 

“Angel, you can’t just draw dicks all over your sheet,” Vaggie chided.

“Sure I can, toots,” he said, scribbling down another one in bright pink marker. You sighed and scratched a few lines into your own sheet. 

“By the way,” Charlie said. “My dad’s coming tomorrow.”

Your heart seized. 

No-one noticed the look on your face as the room fell into casual conversation. Only you could feel the thrumming of your heart in the back of your throat. Heat crept up your face. 

A hand landed on your shoulder. Charlie’s concerned face appeared in your vision. “You okay, [name]?”

You struggled to dredge up words to assure her that you were, eventually stuttering out a single word.

“Y-yeah.”

She nodded, pursing her lips. You gave her a wobbly smile. The conversation resumed without you. 

Eventually night fell and the group had dispersed, aside from you, Angel and Alastor at the bar while Husk rubbed down a glass. You glanced sideways nervously at the overlord, who lifted a gloved finger. 

“Whiskey,” he ordered nonchalantly, leaning on his elbow as he flicked his hand at Husk- who rolled his eyes and grumbled. You hunched over your hands as you quietly requested a drink, before Angel made his own order.

“So, dear.” Alastor’s glass clinked as he set it down on the counter, smile widening as his eyes fixed onto you. “You’re quite powerful, [name].”

You shrugged, taking a gulp of your drink, figuring you’d need it to get through the conversation anyways. It burned the back of your throat, bitter and woozy. “I guess so.” Alcohol had always managed to loosen your tongue. Angel and Husk fell into conversation on the other end of the bar. Alastor leaned closer.

“Then why don’t you become an overlord, darling? You could seize half of the Pride ring with that power. We’d work wonderfully together.” His eyes sparked with excitement. You pulled away.

“Don’t wanna,” you said bluntly, turning back to your drink. You heard him huff lightly, yet the smile never left. 

“Why not?” Radio static buzzed in your ears.

“I can’t. I just can’t. Being well-known…dealing with other overlords and sinners and even royalty…” you threw your hands into the air. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Al, but I’m not exactly a people person.” You threw back your head and took another gulp. “I’d rather live without the attention on me.”

He gave a low chuckle, tracing the rim of his glass. “Oh, but there already is. Despite keeping to yourself, and hiding who exactly you are, you haven’t exactly made an effort to hide your abilities. Not from us, anyways.”

“And I have no obligation to,” you slurred. “I’m content with what I have.”

He seemed to be thoughtful for a moment, finger still tracing patterns against his glass. Then he sighed. “Fair enough, dear.” You blinked, surprised as he patted your shoulder. “If you ever change your mind, you may consider me and Rosie allies.” 

With that offer he stood up, dusting down his coat and emptying his glass. He nodded curtly. “Farewell.”

And then he left. 

Angel Dust’s arms were around you within moments, his chest floof pressed against your back. You giggled a little, ticklish. 

“Hey, toots. What was Smiles talkin’ about?” He released you, spinning your stool around so that you faced him. Husk had moved towards you two as well. 

“Just asked me why I wasn’t an overlord,” you mumbled. They both looked at you expectantly. “No, I’m not explaining. I’m sick of it. I just don’t wanna.” You sighed and slumped onto the bar counter, almost knocking your drink over before Husk steadied it.

“That’s fair,” he said gruffly. Angel Dust shifted behind you.

“If you’re not drinking that, then I will.” His hand reached for your glass.

“Take it,” you mumbled. He did.

Husk had disappeared to mind his own business, leaving you and Angel to talk. You could feel his smirk burn into your back, and turned to look at him. “What?”

“So, I’ve been noticin’ something…” he leaned his elbows on the counter, placing another hand on his hip, as his smirk widened.

“Uh huh,” you said, not sure where this was going. 

“And whenever someone mentions him, or he shows up…Don’t think I didn’t notice the look on your face during Charlie’s little bonding thing.”

You swallowed, throat dry. “Who’s he?”

Angel waved his hands around animatedly. “Devil Daddy. Short King. Ya know.”

“Did you just call him ‘Devil Daddy?’”

“Yeah, I did,” he said proudly, giving you a bold stare. You sighed and ran your hands through your hair, and with your growing silence his smirk split into a grin.

“You’re not denyin’ it.”

“Denying what?” You spread your hands in front of you, exasperated. He rolled your eyes.

“You got a crush, toots.”

You pressed your lips together.

He jabbed a finger at your chest. “See? Y’ain’t denyin’ it!”

“Yeah, maybe I do.” Your words seared through your throat and tore from your lips, face burning with embarrassment. “What’s it to you?” 

He snorted. “Can’t wait to see him tomorrow, huh?”

“No,” you squeaked. He chuckled with triumph, ruffling your air.

“Good luck, toots.”

“Thanks,” you muttered.

-

You groaned, stirring in your sheets as the red light peeked in through the curtains. Niffty was jumping on you, knocking the breath out of you as she landed on your chest. She pulled away, face inches from yours, hair tickling your cheeks. 

The words came out in a jumbled, hysterical mess. “Wake up! The bad boy’s here and he’s been here for an hour and you’ve just been sleeping!” 

You tore Niffty and the bedsheets off of you before scrambling to get yourself ready as she scurried out. 

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck,” you muttered under your breath as you tried to fix your hair and stripped yourself of your clothes, stepping into the shower. You tugged a comb through your wet hair and quickly rummaged around for clothes- and all the while your heart thrashed against your ribcage at the thought of seeing Lucifer. 

A few minutes later and you’d managed to make yourself presentable. You sucked in a breath, smoothing your hands down over your stomach to fix your clothes, and then stalked down the stairs. 

Charlie looked up, blonde hair falling over her shoulders. You tried not to look at the man sitting next to her. 

“Hey, [name]!” She waved and then gestured to Lucifer. “My dad’s here!”

Your eyes shifted to him and immediately burned again- his sleeves were up, coat and hat off. His blond hair was slightly tousled in that perfectly messy way- you tore your eyes away from him after giving him a small smile and back to Charlie. 

“Sorry I slept in. I must have had too much to drink last night.” 

Charlie smiled, waving her hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it.” 

You smiled nervously, feeling Lucifer���s gaze burning through you. Charlie waved you over next to her. You sat down awkwardly, knotting your fingers together in your lap. 

“I’ll just go get a drink of water,” she said quickly, shuffling off. “I’ll be right back.” You and Lucifer both nodded. He turned to you.

“So,” he said. The air burned with awkwardness. “You look- you look nice today.”

Heat flooded your entire body. “Really? Thanks.” You looked away, unable to find the courage to compliment him back. “I mean, I only woke up less than ten minutes ago,” you chuckled nervously. He laughed.

“You seem to have a talent for looking effortlessly beautiful, then.”

Was he flirting with you?

Before you could answer with an absolute stuttering mess of word vomit, Charlie tottered back. “So anyways,” she said, turning back to her father and continuing their previous conversation. “We’re making a library. [name]’s helping with it.”

“Really?” He balanced his elbow on the side of the seat, his eyes fixing onto you. Your face burned. 

“I- yeah, I am.”

He chuckled at your answer, then his eyes flicked between you, Charlie, then you again. Charlie piped up. “How about you show him, [name]?” She grabbed you both my the arm and ushered you to the door.

“Oh, it’s not really- it’s not really ready-

“It’s fine!” She waved you away. You and Lucifer stared at each other. You could see him swallow, then grin and flick his head at the door.

“Go on, then. Show me.”

You briskly walked down the hallway, feeling his presence behind you as you began rambling. “Well. The bigger room is where we’ll eventually have the library but we’re keeping all the stuff in this smaller room right now, well actually the stuff was already there except we’re just moving it now so-“

“You can show me both,” he murmured as you stopped outside a door, breath hot on your nape. You flinched at his closeness and opened the door. 

He glanced inside. “It’s quite…empty.”

“Like I said.”

“I guess so. Other room, then?”

“Sure.” You turned. “It’s just a storage unit, though. There’s books, bookshelves, lights and decorations and stuff.” 

He hummed as you opened the door.

“Wow,” he said, stepping into the dark room after you. “How do you even move around in here?” Something clinked and the clutter shifted, before he almost tripped over a box and into you. 

“I don’t know,” you said, with a light huff of laughter as he grabbed your arms to steady himself. The places where his fingertips pressed into your arm burned. The door swung shut.

The room flooded in darkness. You flinched, Lucifer’s yellow eyes glowing at you, cutting through the shadows and you laughed nervously, shuffling around the mess to reach for the door handle. Your hand closed around cool metal, and you tugged. 

It wouldn’t budge.

You tugged again, and it took a few moments of you grappling with the handle for Lucifer to come over and try it himself. He stood behind you, reaching past your arm to-

CRASH!

You let out a small yelp as you were immediately pressed against the door, Lucifer being thrust up against you. Your forehead knocked against the wall and your head spun. 

“Fuck,” he cursed behind you, breath skimming across your shoulder. You shuddered. “Something fell and I-“ he squirmed, “I can’t move.” Your eyes fell to his palm, splayed out on the wall above you to steady himself. 

You parted your lips but no sound came out for a few moments, until you forced yourself to speak. “It’s okay. Do you have a phone?”

Silence. Then: “No. I left it in the other-“

“Yeah. Me too.”

You both fell silent, and it began to gnaw at you so you scrabbled at the wall, looking for the light. You searched for at least five minutes but couldn’t find it. Your hand fell back to your side.

“Can you turn around?” Lucifer muttered. “This feels…this is kind of weird-“

“Yeah, yeah,” you said hastily, voice breathless as you shimmied to the side so you could turn around, your back to the wall instead. You bit your lip as you looked at him, a blond lock of hair falling in front of his eyes. His breath was warm on your lips. 

“I feel like this isn’t much better.” 

“I guess not,” you laughed nervously. He started to look anxious so you awkwardly patted his shoulder.

“They’ll find us,” you reassured him. “They’ll realize we’re gone and they’ll come looking.”

His lips twisted into a wry grin. “I hope so.” 

You could feel his heartbeat thrumming against your chest. You tried to look everywhere except him, but the closeness wasn’t exactly helping- his eyes searched your face, expression dropping. 

“Hey, [name], I- I know that this isn’t the ideal position to be in, and that you’d rather be anywhere else than stuck with me right now, but-“

“That’s not true,” you said quickly, then pressed your lips shut as he looked at you in surprise. “You’re… you’re nice.”

“I- really?” He chuckled nervously. “I mean- I always thought you hated me.”

You blanched. “What? No, that’s-“ your face grew hot at the look on his face, and your gaze dropped downwards. “What makes you think that?”

“Well, you don’t really talk to me that much is all.” He licked his lips nervously. “I mean, you don’t talk much but- me, it’s like you’re specifically avoiding me. So I just assumed.” 

You stared at him for a moment. “That’s far from the truth.”

He gave a low, quiet laugh, nerves eased. “What’s that meant to mean?” 

“I like you,” you blurted out. The stunned look on his face seemed to slow down time. You swallowed and then turned away, not that it would get you anywhere away from him- he seemed to have pressed even closer to you- flush up against your body. Or it could have just been your imagination. 

“Well, I’m glad,” came the relieved reply.

“N-no, I mean, I like like you. Romantically.”

Silence.

Fuck. You should have just not said anything and-

“I’m still glad.”

Your eyes flicked to him. “Huh?”

“I like you to, [name].” He grinned. “I like like you. Romantically.” 

The air around the two of you felt like it was burning, oxygen sucking out of your lungs as your knees buckled. This had to be some sort of fever dream. “Really?” Your voice sounded weak to your own ears. He drew closer, humming. 

His lips met yours. 

Heat pooled under your stomach as he pushed you roughly against the door, lips moving in time with his as you snaked your hands around his shoulders and dug your fingers into his hair. He pulled away, face flushed. 

“Sorry,” he murmured. “I should have asked.”

“It’s fine.” A smile danced along your lips. “I liked it.” His hands fell down to your waist, then hips, pulling you closer. Your core brushed against his, and you flinched, but he didn’t notice as he buried his head into your shoulder in an embrace. 

“This is nice,” he muttered, and you hummed. “I’m glad- this sounds selfish, but I’m glad that we got stuck in here.” He laughed, a beautiful sound. 

“Really? Exactly how long have you had eyes for me, my king?” You teased, newfound confidence born from how comfortable the vibe had gotten. He shivered at the title you’d called him by. 

“Since I saw you help Charlie with those loan sharks.”

“So…when I commit an act of violence?”

“Hush. Don’t question it.”

You squirmed a little, trying to get into a comfortable position, and he stiffened. “Don’t do that,” he muttered. You did it again and he sucked in a sharp breath. 

“Don’t do what?”

He didn’t say anything, instead opting to hide his face from you. “Lucifer?”

You felt something press up against your abdomen. 

You flushed heavily, then chewed on your lip, wondering if you should drop it or toy with him. Your own desire flooded you at the thought. You tapped his shoulder. “Kiss me again?” You mumbled. He glanced at you, not knowing whether you’d noticed or not. 

“Anything you ask of me,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over your lip before pressing his lips to yours.

You ran your hands through his hair again, and just as he was about to pull away you sharply tugged him back in, pressing your crotch against his. You could feel his breath hitch. “[name], what are you doing?”

“Nothing,” you said innocently, grinding slowly. His face flushed as you felt him harden, and suddenly you were burning too. “What do you think I’m doing?”

He didn’t answer, instead immediately diving in for another kiss and catching you off guard. His tongue swiped across your lips, which didn’t part, until his hand snaked its way up to your collarbone, wrapping around your neck and pressing gently at the base of your throat. You gasped, and his tongue slipped in, making you shudder. 

“Lucifer,” you gasped as he pulled away, hips rolling into his, desperate for friction against your cunt, which was already drenched. He peppered kisses down your jaw and collarbone, hands falling back to your hips and pushing you back up against him.

“Fuck,” he grunted, a languid grind of his hips against yours making you throb. He latched his lips back to your neck, leaving a hickey. You whimpered as his hands smoothed up your sides, thumbs worming their way under the hem of your shirt and holding you steady by the waist as he continued his desperate humping against you. Your core pulsed, drawing closer to the edge-

Suddenly he pulled away, running his hands through his already mussed hair. “What?” You asked breathlessly, anxiety spooling in your stomach. “Did I do something wrong?”

He shook his head, then bit his lip and grinned. “The opposite, actually.” He reached behind you. The handle clicked, air buzzing with magic. You stared at him, finding it even harder to ignore the throbbing in between your legs.

“You could do that this whole time, couldn’t you?”  You accused. He arched a brow and you flushed. 

“Don’t act like you couldn’t either,” he winked before kicking the door open. His hand closed around your wrist. 

You huffed, face burning as you realized- getting tangled up with him wasn’t the best idea if you wanted to avoid attention like you’d told Alastor. But the pleasure you were feeling told you that you didn’t care. 

He turned to you. You flushed. 

“Now. Where’s your room?”

[feelbokkie]

L♡VE IN F♡CUS | Chapter 30

WARNINGS: swearing, mention of childhood trauma and abandoment

PAIRING: idol!Changbin x fem reader

GENRE: smau, crack, angst, fluff

P♡V: 1st/2nd person (depending on how you view it)

SUMMARY: Amateur concert photographer Y/n has recently been promoted to junior music journalist. Her first assignment? An exposé on the popular Kpop boy group, Stray Kids. Spending an entire tour doing in depth interviews with eight men seems simple enough, but one member isn't exactly open to the idea. Will Y/n be able to break down the walls around his heart, or will her big break turn into a big disaster?

TAGLIST: ♡PENED

W♡RD C♡UNT: 7,260 (i am so sorry)

SCREENSH♡T C♡UNT: 2

A/N: i am so very sorry for the delay. hopefully the wait was worth it

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

©feelbokkie (2024) — all rights reserved. reposting/modification of any kind is not tolerated.

"You know it's supposed to be in the 100s today, right?" Changbin sighs as he flops down onto the couch in front of you. "You're actually going to die from overheating if you go out like that."

You set the iced coffee you're drinking back onto the table and resume scanning the test shots you took of him earlier. Chan sits behind the two of you as the hair stylist finishes fixing his hair. Music plays through someone's phone as everyone else around you cleans up their mess.

The room you're in is one of the spare rooms used specifically to hold the group's concert outfits and whatever they're required to wear for individual schedules. In moments like this, the room doubles as a dressing room when someone has a schedule that requires them to be ready before they leave the hotel.

You woke up late, having missed your first two alarms so that you could join Chan and Changbin for breakfast. By the time you finished getting ready, you had to meet them in the room to take test shots and make sure their overall appearance matched the overall theme of the shoot. Not wanting to delay the day any more than you already did, you were planning on grabbing a piece of fruit from the hotel's complimentary breakfast on your way out only to be met with a muffin and iced coffee when you walked into the makeshift dressing room.

"It's cold right now. I'll take my jacket off later when it starts to warm up." You let out a low sigh before setting your camera aside and resuming your breakfast.

According to your weather app, it's supposed to be the hottest day of the week. You're skeptical given how cold and gloomy it is currently. It almost looks like it might rain any second now. Even if it does get hot later, you're hoping it after you've finished working for the day. You may be able to survive the heat but your camera most likely won't.

"Yeah, but you're wearing all black. That's going to attract heat. You're wearing an oven."

The oven in question is a zip-up hoodie two sizes too big draped over a black tee shirt that's closer to your actual size but still a bit looser around your frame. To top off your monochrome outfit, you're wearing baggy cargo pants and the hat Changbin bought for you. It's a stark contrast from his outfit, a slightly oversized tee shirt with a random faded beach designed with the sleeves and sides cut off into a muscle shirt paired with a pair of baggy ripped blue jeans. You almost want to tell him to bring a jacket just in case.

It's overkill, you'll agree with that. But it hides your figure well while you're out in public. It worked well during the airport trip out of Seattle. Not a single photo of you appeared online and there were even whispers of you being fired from the staff when fans couldn't find you. Having the kids call you 'hyung' helped sell the allusion as well.

“You know you don’t have to do all that anymore, right? They moved on,”

Just as suddenly an earthquake can destroy the foundation of someone’s home, your scandal with Hyunjin did its best to wreak yours. The subsequent and frequent aftershocks made it feel like another one was coming to reduce the rubble to dust. And while a “big one” did come the seismic plates shifted elsewhere leaving a more devastating catastrophe. A new scandal, one much more riveting than an alleged relationship between an idol and their staff member, had captured everyone’s attention.

Someone from a junior group who had just barely gotten out of their rookie period had gotten a girl pregnant.

A bigger quake, one with far more casualties, took the interest of the netizens that circled over you like vultures and they flew off to feed on a more appetizing meal. Leaving you lying in the rubble and staring at the sky as you waited for another aftershock.

“Noona,” Changbin calls softly as he waves a hand in front of your face.

You clear your throat and set the muffin back down. “It’s hyung today, remember?”

A smile slowly creeps onto Changbin's face as he glances over you. “You don’t look like a hyung.”

“Oh?” You clap your hands together to get rid of the remaining crumbs before reaching back to hide any pieces of your hair from sticking out. You fully zip up the hoodie and fluff it out. You pull the brim of the bucket hat down to cover most of your face. “How about now?”

Changbin pauses for a moment before reaching his hand out to brush off a bit of muffin your chin. The sudden touch catches you by surprise. Another pause as he thinks for a second, his hand still on your face. Finally, he pulls his hand away and leans back in his seat. “Too pretty,”

“You do realize what industry you work in, right? Men can be and are pretty.” You say almost too quickly. The room suddenly feels hotter than you know it's been the entire morning. You clear your throat and pick up your iced coffee, pausing for a moment as you bring it to your mouth. You take a quick sip and look off to the side at nothing before adding, “Go look in that mirror over there.”

After a moment of silence, you flip up the brim of your hat so you can see again as you continue drinking. You sit there quietly as Changbin stares at you. The tips of his ears are alarmingly red and the blush on his cheeks is a bit darker than you remember seeing earlier. The corners of his mouth twitch as he tries, and fails, to contain the smile that is quickly taking over his face. “W-well, t-t-that’s not…not what I—“

“Do I look okay?” Chan asks as he walks up behind you, oblivious to the conversation the two of you are having.

You shift your attention to Chan and give him a once-over. He fixes a rogue strand of hair, moving it off of his forehead and into the waterfall of curls leading to the end of his small mullet. He's wearing a faded tight-fitting ringer tee with baggy blue jeans hanging off his waist, just the smallest sliver of his midriff poking through the gap between his shirt and pants. But the second he raises his arms, you know his shirt is going to expose more. "Are you comfortable wearing that?"

"Yes," He nods with a sort of derpy smile.

“Then you look good. Let me take some test shots of you before we go. Go by the window, please.”

“Okay,” Chan says eagerly in a small, almost child-like, voice as he walks over to the large window. The room is far enough away from the ground floor to worry about the windows being open and fans peeking through.

You take a few quick pictures, only using the light from the window to mimic the conditions you're about to work in. After a few solo shots of Chan, you call Changbin over to stand next to him so that you can make sure they look good together. After a few more shots, you go to the gallery and check the images, making sure you don't have to send either one of them back to the makeup chair. Both Chan and Changbin walk over to you and try to look too. Chan stands across from you, looking at the pictures of himself upside down. Changbin comes up behind you, looking at the camera from over your shoulder. The room is suddenly hot again.

"We're good," You quickly shut off your camera and head back to the table to pack everything away again. "Let's go,"

***

You should have known better to trust the weather app. You should have listened to Changbin, not that he was correct either. Not entirely anyway.

It's not in the hundreds, but the high nineties might as well be. The breeze that occasionally blows through is more like the air that comes out from the exhaust of a car than the expected cool and refreshing summer breeze.

You sent Chan and Changbin off to go take selfies for inclusions while you sit off in the shade of a tree fanning your camera with your bucket hat at a nearby park. It overheated while you were taking a duo picture of Chan and Changbin at the beach. Annoyingly, it shut off right before you could take a picture of Changbin chasing Chan holding a stick with a bit of seaweed hanging off of it. Or rather, you hit the shutter, and then it shut off. Hopefully, if there was ever a moment for luck or god or whatever to be on your side, the picture got captured before the camera shut off.

"Is it working now, noona?" Changbin plops himself beside you on the grass.

You let out an annoyed sigh at Changbin refusing to help with your cover by calling you 'hyung.' It's one of the main issues of the day with him. At first, when you took pictures of them while you were out in the street or in other parts of the city, it was fine because most people were still in their homes. But as the day drags on, there are more opportunities for them to get spotted, only adding to your stress.

"Did you finish taking those selcas I asked for, Changbin-ssi?" You ignore his question while you try turning your camera on again.

"Yes,"

"Did you send them to me?"

"Yes,"

"Alright," Once the camera turns on, you turn it off again and get up from the grass. "Let's go find Chan and shoot somewhere else."

You grab your jacket from the grass, quickly shaking it off and checking each part of it. While you're busy making sure your jacket is free from grass stains, Changbin wastes no time grabbing your camera and camera bag. "About that...how about we go somewhere indoors for a while. We can cool down and not worry about your camera. There's an arcade near here that's pretty much empty and it looks nice inside."

"Did you go off wandering by yourself when were supposed to be working?" Now clean, you tie your jacket around your waist as you look up at Changbin. Strands of his hair from his curtain bangs are now sticking to his forehead. Before you do anything, you're going to have to let the makeup artist fix him up again. Luckily for you, they promised they would stay nearby just in case.

"I was working," You go to reach to take your things from Changbin just for him to sling them over his shoulder. "I just happened to find the arcade while I was walking. It's pretty cool in there too."

You try to take your things again but Changbin takes a half step back. Frustrated, you scratch the back of your head with one hand and rest the other one on your hip. "We have to get permission to take pictures in there. Did you even ask?"

A blank expression flashes across Changbin's face as he thinks for a moment.

"That's what I thought," You mutter to yourself.

"There you two are!" Chan calls from behind you. Both you and Changbin turn around to find the leader jogging towards you with a small plastic bag hanging from his arm and three cups in his hands.

"Did both of you go on side quests?" You scoff in disbelief, an amused smile creeping on your face.

"I was walking back and I saw a fruit stand...Sorry, the pineapple got me." Chan gives you a shy smile before handing you a pink drink. "It's strawberry lemonade. Fruit is good for you when it's hot like this."

Defeated, you take the strawberry lemonade and walk over to the picnic tables in the corner of the park. Chan and Changbin follow behind you, animatedly talking about something you can't hear. You shove your hat back on your head as you sit down on the bench. You're more exposed now and there's no way someone isn't going to recognize the loud pair.

"What were you two talking about?" Chan asks when he reaches the table. He places the bag and the last cup in his hand on the table. Changbin has the other one, a pale yellow drink.

"Changbin wants to go shoot inside of an empty arcade." You sigh as you finally manage to get your things back from Changbin as he sets them on the table.

Chan's eyes light up with a slight twinkle. You can almost picture a tail wagging behind him excitedly as he stops going through the plastic bag. "Really?"

"Yeah but noona says we can't go."

"Hyung," both you and Chan correct him.

"And I didn't say no. I said that we have to get permission from the owner. They'll probably say no." You add.

"Should we go ask? It'll be cooler at least. And we won't have to worry about other people." Chan pulls out three fruit cups from the bag and leaves two of them in the middle of the table. He wastes no time opening the last one and immediately goes for a piece of pineapple.

"That's what I said!" Changbin shouts excitedly as he grabs Chan's shoulder and shakes it, nearly making the older man drop the grape he was trying to eat.

You shoot Changbin a quick glare before rolling your eyes and fishing your phone out of your bag to check the time. You let out a quiet sigh when you see that you have about an hour and a half left of the allotted time for the pictures. If you didn't have to deal with your camera overheating, you wouldn't have wasted so much valuable time. "It'll probably be easier to go to the arcade. I was hoping we could head up to the Hollywood sign and take some pictures, the view is supposed to be beautiful."

"I like the view from here," Changbin says suddenly. His voice soft and small, almost as if he didn't mean to voice his thoughts.

"Hmm," You glance over at Changbin. His eyes are focused yet soft as he stares at you, a small hint of admiration in them. You put your elbow on the table and rest your chin in the palm of your hand as you look back at where you were earlier. Just across the sidewalk, you can see the ebb and flow of the ocean hitting the sand. You almost avoided going altogether, but something about the way Chan and Changbin screamed 'beach day.' It would have been a waste otherwise. "Yeah, the view is pretty nice."

"The ocean always looks beautiful," Chan speaks behind his hand through a mouth full of fruit. "You two should eat though, I think the sugar is starting to attract bees."

You hum quietly as you continue to watch the water, almost like you're lost in a trace. Something about the beach is calming, even if you're not physically on it. Just staring is enough to slowly pull your worries away. Your free hand wanders to the middle of the table, reaching for the fruit cup.

You yank your hand back quickly as something brushes against you and there's a sudden stinging sensation at the tip of your fingers. You sit straight up and look at your hand, flipping it around while trying to find a sign of injury. Three fine lines appear on your forehead when you don't even find a scrape on your skin. You look back up at the cup, trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

Ba-dum

Your face softens with your mouth hanging slightly ajar when you find Changbin also examining his hand in confusion. Despite the California heat cooking you alive, a chill runs down your spine eliciting goose bumps to spread across your arms and legs as Changbin's head snaps up. His sparkling eyes locked on yours with an expression that only mirrors your own.

"What just happening?" Chan asks confused as he looks between the two of you.

"Nothing..." You reply as you shake your head, bringing you back to reality. "I have to call your makeup artist so she can do some touch-ups before we go. Eat your snacks, I'll be back."

You can't get up any faster as you nearly trip getting up from the bench. Your heart does inexplicable somersaults in your chest as you walk away from the table.

What the hell was that?

***

"Chan, I guarantee if you stick your tongue out cheekily and wink with the tip of your straw or top of your slushie showing, Stay will absolutely lose their minds." You call from the floor of the arcade.

"Like this?" Chan asks as he perfectly replicates what you tell him to do.

"Exactly!" You cheer as he snaps the picture on his phone before taking a bite of fruit.

After your call with the makeup artist, you managed to find the arcade Changbin was talking about and talked with the owner. Or rather, the owner's son who didn't care what you did. You could have told him that you were robbing the place and he would willingly give you the key to the register and go back to scrolling on his phone.

You took a few pictures of Chan and Changbin playing various games for the next hour. You did your best in the dimly lit arcade and the flash of your camera. You should be able to edit the pictures later, but it's probably going to take hours to do so.

After you finished working, you sent Chan and Changbin to take a few more selfies while you parked yourself in the corner to eat your fruit cup and check the pictures. Your time is up with them but Changbin is engrossed in a claw machine in the back of the arcade. With no rush for the rest of the day, you decided to just sit in the air-conditioned room while you finally ate your snack. At some point, Chan disappeared and reappeared with slushies for the three of you and played some games while he waited for Changbin.

"Ah, my tongue is blue..." Chan notes as he checks the picture on his phone.

"It'll be fine. Just send it to me." You brush off.

Nobody's set foot in the arcade the entire time you've been there, fortunately. You're not sure if it's because of the obviously outdated games like Dance, Dance Revolution and Donkey Kong or the music that makes you feel like you walked into a different decade. Either way, you're thankful for the break.

"We're going to be here forever..." Chan groans as he sits down next to you.

"He really wants one of those toys, I guess." You shrug. Changbin's eyes immediately locked onto the claw machine the second he saw it earlier. Every time you weren't taking a picture, his attention would drift back to it. Eventually, you took a picture of him playing it and he hasn't left yet.

"Yeah, but it might be cheaper to just buy whatever plush he's trying to get at this point." Chan leans his head against the wall and takes another sip from his slushie.

"Yeah, you're probably right. It'll probably end up being the most expensive thing he buys during this leg of the tour."

Chan hums in agreement looking out in front of him. After a moment in silence, Chan pulls his phone out of his back pocket and responds to a message on his phone. From the corner of your eye, you can see a long text thread.

"Noona, do you want to come to dinner with us tonight?" Chan asks as he sets his phone down in his lap.

"Dinner?" You shift your attention to Chan. It's still too early in the day to think about dinner.

"Seungmin hasn't shut up about kimchi jjigae for about a week and Hyunjin found a place in Koreatown that's supposed to be really good. It's a hole-in-the-wall sort of place too."

"I would love to but I have a lot of things to get done tonight. A few comebacks are happening next week and I haven't done my reviews for them yet." You lie. You're ahead of album and come back reviews that you're done for the entire month of June barring any surprise drops.

"Take it from one of the biggest workaholics in the music industry--maybe even in the whole world--but you don't have to work every minute of every day."

You shove another piece of fruit in your mouth. "I'm not working right now."

"Technically you are." Chan chuckles.

"Eating fruit is my job?" You joke.

"That's a dream job. I wish I knew that was a possibility."

"Maybe in your second life."

"I'm being serious though. Not about the fruit thing. About the working thing. You're going to burn yourself out."

You set your now empty cup down in the space between you. "Didn't I overhear you and Changbin talking about meeting up with Jisung later tonight to work on some music?"

"That's different. We actually take breaks. We just are going to have a quick meeting, we're not going to record or anything like that tonight."

"I take breaks."

"That is the biggest lie I've ever heard come out of anyone's mouth. You're worse than Seungmin." Chan scoffs, his head lazily turning towards you.

You keep your eyes forward, staring at the title screen for Galaga. Even if the restaurant is not popular--even if the attention is no longer on you, you can't go out with the group. If anyone spots you out with them, it'll cause more trouble than it's worth. If you sit even in the same vicinity as Hyunjin and someone spots you, the chaos will start again. Even if you sit as far away from Hyunjin as possible, people will say that you're just doing it for appearances to throw off the media. You can't win either way. Unless you refuse to play altogether.

"Look, it's fine. It's better if we keep a clear...boundary between me you the eight of you. That way there aren't any more misunderstandings and you guys don't have to deal with the added stress."

"Yeah but..." The thought dies in Chan's throat. He knows you're right. The scandal with Hyunjin wasn't just inconvenient for the two of you, it affected the entire group. Fans had been attacking the other members online either getting mad at them for not mentioning the "relationship" earlier or begging them to be single. A huge mess all around.

"Okay, we can leave now." Changbin walks up suddenly. His hands shoved into his front pockets.

"Out of money?" Chan teases when he doesn't see a small stuffed animal anywhere on Changbin's person.

You laugh to yourself while you get up and pick up your bag and trash from the floor. You toss the cup in a nearby trash can and adjust your bag on your strap.

Changbin shakes his head as he pulls his hand out of his pocket. He stretches a fist out in front of him before opening his hand. Palm facing down, something small falls from his hand. It only falls for a second before it's suspended in the air, being held by a small loop still connected to Changbin's hand. The object moves around a bit, swinging back and forth before you notice it's a small stuffed cat drinking a coffee keychain.

"You spent all your time over there and that's what you got?" Chan laughs as he pulls himself off the ground. "You could have gotten that at a dollar store for less than what you paid."

Changbin shrugs nonchalantly as pulls the cat charm back into his fist. He moves his fist more towards you and, with his palm facing up this time, opens his hand again to reveal the cat.

"All that for a keychain?" You ask in disbelief. You've been waiting for him for at least 20 minutes.

"Yeah, but it's not really my style. You can have it." He sticks his hand out more towards you as he tries to offer it to you.

You stare at it for a moment. It's rather cute the way the black cat is holding a cup of iced coffee. "Shouldn't you give it to the resident cat enthusiast?"

"No," Changbin takes your free hand and places the plush in the palm of your hand before making you close your fingers around it. "But it reminded me of you so I think you should have it."

Ba-dum

You press save on your laptop before letting out a large yawn and stretching your arms over your head. After a few seconds, you lower your arms, pulling your shirt back down with one hand and rubbing the back of your neck with the other. You tap your phone screen after fixing your shirt to check the time.

3:09 AM

“Shit…” You mutter under your breath.

You didn’t plan on staying up this late. When you got back to the hotel you immediately got to work importing the pictures you took today. Because of the damage to your laptop, everything takes longer than it should. So, while you waited, you took a small nap, which ended up being longer than you intended. You woke up close to dinner time so you went and grabbed food from a nearby restaurant and ate while you worked.

Editing the pictures also took a little longer than you thought it would. The gentle breeze caused stray hairs to fly around. And you had to do a lot of color correction for the arcade pictures. You also had to reformat the images that Chan and Changbin sent you to save you time later. You were so locked in, you weren't aware how long you were actually working. Luckily, you don't have to be at the venue until the afternoon. So can sleep in a little if your body will allow it.

While your laptop, held together by duct tape and prayers, saves your work you go and take a shower to get ready for bed. You’re busy wrapping your hair in a towel when you walk over to check if it’s done. The huffing and puff of your computer overheating from doing a basic function makes the room hot. You turn the air conditioning on and walk back into the bathroom to do your face routine. Just as you finish, so does your computer.

3:25 AM

You shut your laptop off and double-check that your camera batteries are charging. Once you’re satisfied, you grab a Ziplock bag from the pack on the TV stand and your room key before leaving.

The stillness of the hotel hallway is eerie. It's almost like you stepped into a space where time doesn't exist. It's different from the hallway of an apartment building where you can hear signs of life no matter the time of the day. Hotels, on the other hand, feel almost haunted by everyone who ever stepped foot in them.

You walk to the end of the hall towards the ice machine. As you get closer, the humming of the machine fills the void of quietness. Nearby is the elevator. You don't have to worry about anyone coming up. The entire floor is blocked out for the tour and for added security, the only people who can access the floor are those with the code. Amid the scandal and learning about how there's at least one person working for The Seoul Star: Supernova who is tasked with following the members to catch them in a scandal, your one sense of relief is knowing that they can't come up to the floor.

You fill up your Ziplock bag of ice and make your way back to your room. You hum quietly to yourself as you try to figure out what time you should wake up tomorrow and whether or not you should head over to So-Fi Stadium early to get some footage of fan interactions. You went and got some pictures of the fans camping out back in Seattle but you heard how insane the lines were for the merch presale yesterday. It's expected to be just as insane tomorrow...well, later today.

"Ah,"

You're attention is brought back to the present when you bump into something--no someone--causing you to stumble a bit. You don't fall, your collision wasn't that hard, but their hand rests on your upper arm to prevent you from falling further.

"Sorry, noona. I didn't think anyone was out here." Changbin says quietly. He releases his grip around your arm once he senses that you're stable.

"It's fine, I should have been paying attention." You brush off awkwardly. If you thought you were going to run into anyone, you would have gone out without the towel on top of your head. If it wasn't for the fact that the hallway is cold and your hair is still wet, you'd pull it off right now to save yourself from further embarrassment.

You look back up at Changbin only to be met someone almost unrecognizable. His face is pale and a little clammy. His hair is sticking up in all different directions and looks like it might stay that way. His eyes are darting around looking for...something. His body is so tense that he's shaking. Genuine concern feels your body. "Hey, are you okay?"

"Me? Yeah, no I'm good." He breathes, his voice shaky.

"So good that you're just wandering the hallway at three-thirty in the morning?"

Changbin presses his lips into a fine line as he tries to come up with a half-decent answer. He looks everywhere else but you. "What are you doing out here in the middle of the night?"

You hold up the bag of ice in front of his eyes so he can see it clearly. "I was working too long so I need to ice my wrist before bed."

"You wouldn't need to ice your wrist if you came with me to the gym more often to strengthen your wrist."

"I know you didn't come out here to lecture me about rehabilitating my wrist." You lower the bag again and tap Changbin's arm, forcing him to look at you. "What's really going on?"

More silence sits between the two of you. The only thing filling in the quiet is Changbin's slow, shaky breathing. A dull pain in your chest appears as you continue to watch him.

“I know I don't exactly give off a comforting vibe," You pause for a second, choosing your words carefully. "but you can talk to me if you want. Completely off the record.”

Changbin laughs to himself quietly. "Last week you were going on about how you don't need to be taken care of or people to care about you and yet, here you are."

You ignore his remark, hardly reacting to it at all. He's right, you don't need to be taken care of or burden other people with your issues. But taking care of others is your nature.

Changbin shifts from foot to foot while he studies your face, almost like he's trying to read your brain and find some sort of ulterior motive behind your words. After looking for a moment and unable to find anything, his eyes soften.

"I...I couldn't sleep," He says simply, his voice tight and crackling.

"Oh?" You reply simply, urging him to keep going.

"It-It's nothing," Changbin says quickly. He leans back against the wall next to him and slides down into a crouch. He lowers his head between his knees and runs his hands through his hair. "I'm just being stupid."

Your body is faster than your brain as you move to sit next to him. By the time your brain catches up to your body, you're unsure of what to do next. Too many seconds are passing between the two of you.

"I don't think you're being stupid. Sleep isn't always easy. I can't even imagine the amount of anxiety coursing through your body the night before you perform in one of the largest venues in the world." You bump shoulders with Changbin, trying to cheer him up.

"It's not that," He lifts his head and leans it against the wall. "I...I have these really intense...dreams? Nightmares? I don't get them often but when I do...it’s just not a good feeling."

“What do you do when you get those dreams?”

“I just go to one of the members. But I'm pretty sure everyone is asleep right now. Even Chan hyung."

"And you talk about your dreams with them?"

"No," His eyes are focused in front of him as his hand absentmindedly plays with the plush carpet between the two of you. His hand accidentally brushes against yours for a moment, causing him to freeze for a moment before he continues. "But we would just talk about whatever. Or watch TV...listen to music...play video games."

You bring your knees to your chest and rest your wrist in a way that allows you to place the ice pack on it comfortably while you hum to yourself in response. "When my niece and nephews had trouble sleeping or had a nightmare I would tell them stories until they fell asleep again. Sometimes I would just hum too if I was too tired."

"You're an aunt?" Changbin's head snaps in your direction. You pick a spot on the floor and focus while the gears turn in Changbin's head.

"That's what you heard in that entire sentence?" You scoff in disbelief.

"I heard about the story part but you're so quiet about your personal life, it's shocking to hear you give up information like that willingly. I didn't even know you had an older sister until her live streams came out. You never talk about your home."

"Seoul is my home." You correct almost defensively. You pause for a moment, collecting your composure as an uneasy feeling brews in the pit of your stomach. “I know what you’re trying to say but that…place never felt like home.”

“I’m sorry for bringing it up. You don’t have to explain everything if it’s that uncomfortable. I was just curious about the noona lore.”

“Noona lore?” You laugh, a genuine one that fills your chest with warmth.

“Like I said, you don’t talk a lot outside of work things. It almost seems unfair that you know so much about us and we know hardly anything about you. But I understand if it’s hard to talk about. Your sister is a bit…”

“She’s a bitch. You can say it, I won’t be offended.” You finally look over at Changbin, who stares at you with an amused look on his face. His lips are slightly parted with one corner curved into a smirk and eyes wide as saucers. “She’s 42 and somehow I’m more mature than her.”

“42?”

“Hm,” You hum in response. You ponder for a moment if you should even be telling him this. Weighing your options, you let out a sigh before starting again. “My mom had me late. My sister was turning 13 when she had me. I had an older brother too. He had just turned 18.”

Changbin’s face drops immediately in the middle of your explanation. “Had?”

“He’s not dead or anything!” You say quickly. “It’s slightly more complicated than that.”

You’re not exactly sure why—maybe it’s the ambiance of the hallway or your lack of sleep catching up with you—but you consider telling Changbin everything. How your siblings are actually your half-siblings. How their father was long gone off somewhere far away from the shit storm that is your mother. Eventually, she met your father and fell head over heels in love with him. At some point, he stopped loving her and her solution to get him to stay was to trap him with a baby. A baby he definitely did not want. He did try though, according to your sister. He stayed with her for your sake and all was well. But soon after you were born he was certain that parenthood, and a relationship with your mother, was not the path he didn't want to go down. From then on, your mother shifted the blame onto you. Your brother, freshly 18 decided to not go to university like he was originally planning and stayed to take care of you and your sister as your mother grew more neglectful and out of control. When you were old enough to start going to school and your mother was stable enough to actually care for her children, your brother decided to go back to school and earn a degree so he could get a proper job and help out more. Maybe even adopt you once he was a bit more financially stable. Like a switch had flipped, your mother went insane going on about how he was abandoning like both of your fathers. She kicked him out and threatened to call the police if he came back or if he talked to you or your sister. He tried after that. He’d still take you to and from school. Gave your sister lunch money and made sure you had something to take with you for lunch. And when your mother found out, she kept her word and called the police claiming that there was an abduction attempt. He didn’t get arrested but he knew that she would keep calling until he actually was behind bars. So for his sake, and yours, he stayed away.

But you spare him the sob story. Nothing good comes from reminiscing this late at night. And you’ve already gotten emotional in front of Changbin more times than you’re comfortable with in the last couple of months. Besides, it’ll give him another reason to pity you and that’s the last thing you want. So instead, you face forward and tell him a half-truth.

“We just lost contact over the years.”

Changbin nods, understanding that you're not willing to go further. More silence fills the hallway. A soft thud comes from one of the rooms. You're almost certain one of the other members, probably Jeongin, rolled off their bed.

Sensing the uneasiness radiating off of Changbin, you hold your good arm out, palm facing up, for him to take. He hesitates only for a moment before taking your hand. You're not sure why, if it's the heat of his hand or general exhaustion quickly taking over, but you feel hot. Like someone on the hotel staff just turned up the heater for the whole building. A new sound, a loud rhythmic thumping, rings in your ears as the two of you sit there, holding hands and saying nothing.

"What stories would you tell your niece and nephews?" Changbin asks suddenly.

"I would mostly just repeat the fairytales I would hear in school. My eldest nephew was born when I was 5. The other two were born when I was 9 and 10." You think for a moment trying to recall those fond memories with your niece and nephews. You quietly chuckle to yourself when you remember a botched version of Jack and the Beanstalk that you once told them. "I might have taken some creative liberties though."

"Tell me one?" He asks softly. His voice is small and laced with sleep.

"You want me to tell you a children's bedtime story?" You smirk lazily as you turn your attention back to the younger man.

"You can tell me any story you want to. Or you can just talk about whatever. You can even recap the day if you want." His voice hushed, a whisper of tenderness in the almost intimate moment. "I honestly don't care what you talk about. Your voice is so calming, I can just listen to it all day. It's...it's almost like listening to my favorite song."

Ba-dum

You think for a moment, your brain suddenly devoid of every story you've ever heard. So you make one up. It's more nonsensical jumbled-up words than anything. You're almost certain you blending in some actual children's stories and creating a convoluted story loosely based on Wonseok and Frankie about two members of a trio that hated each other and ended up falling in love. At some point, around the time the two main characters start to fall in love, Changbin's head lands on your shoulder. He was slowly slumping over as you were talking earlier so you weren't as surprised at the sudden contact. You would have thought he fell asleep if it wasn't for the familiar drumming of his fingers along the back of your hand.

As you finish the story, silence hangs over the hallway like a comforting blanket. The thumping noise, now louder, is still present. But so is Changbin's calm, even breaths. Part of you worries about how uncomfortable this position must be for him. Another part of you worries about how you're going to wake him up. If anyone walks out of their room and sees the two of you in the hallway sleeping hand in hand, there'll be rumors spreading through staff and the members like wildfire.

You're slowly nodding off yourself in the tranquil silence. Your eyes are shut and your head is resting on top of Changbin's.

"Noona?" Changbin asks suddenly.

"Hm?" Is all you're able to manage in your sleep-ridden state.

The drumming on your hand stops mid tap and for a second you're convinced he's just talking in his sleep. His breathing is still even and quiet, not showing any sign of stirring.

You push the ice pack off of your bad wrist and decide to let yourself rest for a few more minutes before waking up Changbin and sending him off to his room.

“I think I’m falling in love with you.”

Ba-dum

Your eyes shoot open and the pounding in your ears gets louder and faster. Your mouth is impossibly dry as you try to swallow the lump in your throat. You can't remember how to breathe.

“…What?” You ask after a minute. You look down at Changbin, who hasn't moved an inch from his position, in disbelief as you replay what you just heard in your head.

I think I'm falling in love with you.

Maybe you fell asleep without realizing it? Maybe you're dreaming? Maybe you're losing your mind?

Still, you can't bring yourself to look away from the sleeping man on your shoulder. The man who spent the first few months of you two knowing each other hating you. Who completely shut you out and made working with him difficult. The man who frustrates you to no end for reasons you can't begin to understand. Who has been slower to warm up to you than an oven during dinner prep.

Changbin slowly lifts his head off your shoulder and looks up at you, his eyes conveying a vulnerability that you've never seen in him before. He brushes a stray lock of damp hair from your face and tucks it into the towel on your head, his touch lingering as he drags his finger back down your face. Your breath hitches in your throat the longer he stares at you.

“I’m falling in love with you."

Ba-dum

—

Buy me a coffee?

—

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[crazedbluette]

Skeletons (and Guns) in the Closet

A John Wick x Ex-Assassin Male Reader

Summary: You and John have built a quiet life together—peaceful, normal… but neither of you is what you pretend to be. When John accidentally uncovers your past, you both learn something surprising: you’re not alone in the shadows you left behind. And maybe, finally, you can stop running from who you are.

Trigger warnings: PTSD, violence, trauma references, identity concealment, emotional suppression, past abuse, brief mentions of blood, dissociation, mild language, implied mental health struggles, slight smut near the end

A/N at the end! Not beta read, we die like John Wick. Y/N not used, Readers downstairs area isn't mentioned.

FDNI!!!!

The apartment smelled like fresh espresso and rain. Jazz murmured softly from the record player. You could hear the gentle click of John’s mug being placed on the windowsill, followed by the slow rustle of his sleeve as he leaned into the light.

It was raining again.

Of course it was. Your favorite mornings were always rainy ones. The world outside slowed down, wrapped in soft grey fog. Everything in here felt warm by comparison—lit by amber light and the kind of quiet only found between people who understood silence wasn’t absence.

John moved like he was born in it. The kind of quiet that came from knowing violence intimately, and choosing—again and again—not to live in it anymore.

At least, that’s what you believed. What you hoped.

You weren’t sure when you’d fallen in love with him. Maybe it was the way he kissed you good morning without a word, or how he always made enough coffee for two even before you’d moved in.

You weren’t supposed to fall for anyone. You’d built your life out of lies—fake names, burner phones, dead drops and distance. You had killed for nations and corporations alike, walked away from it all, and told yourself you could start fresh.

You told yourself that this life with him was real.

But neither of you were what you appeared to be.

You came home late. Wet from the rain, grocery bag slung over your shoulder, fingers aching with the cold.

The apartment was quiet.

Too quiet.

You noticed the change before you even stepped fully inside. Something in the air—off-kilter. Still.

And then you saw it.

The bookshelf.

Slightly ajar. Just wide enough for someone to see what was behind it.

Your heart stopped.

You dropped the bag without thinking. Apples spilled across the hardwood as you stepped forward, already knowing what you’d find.

There he stood.

John.

Back turned to you, eyes fixed on the wall-mounted arsenal that had been hidden behind a lifetime’s worth of literature. Weapons. Files. A few currencies, a few names. Everything that made you who you once were—laid bare.

He didn’t speak right away. He reached for a knife, turned it in his hands. The handle was black and polished, inlaid with a symbol only three men in the world would recognize.

He turned it over slowly. “You know,” he said, voice calm, “you really should’ve changed your dead drop codes. 4-1-6-9-Theta is old-school.”

You swallowed, hard. "You know what that is?" You asked, unsure if you even want to know the answer to your question.

He turned then. His expression wasn’t angry. It wasn’t even surprised. It was… knowing. Tired.

“I used to use that cipher myself. A long time ago.”

You stared at him. “You’re not… who I thought you were.”

He let out a breath through his nose. “Neither are you.”

You sat across from him on the couch, your secrets heavy between you. The weapons closet was closed again, but the damage had been done. The truth wasn’t going back behind a lock.

John had poured you both whiskey. His hand didn’t shake. Yours did.

“I used to be known as the Ghost,” you said quietly, not meeting his eyes. “Some parts of Europe… Casablanca, Istanbul—they still talk about me like I’m a myth.”

He said nothing, just watched you.

“I got out five years ago. Faked a body, disappeared. Told myself I’d never go back.” You looked at him. “Told myself I could be normal.”

John sipped his drink. “And I’m the Baba Yaga. Or what’s left of him.”

Your blood ran cold.

“I heard stories about you,” you said. “I didn’t believe most of them.”

“They’re probably all true,” he murmured. “But I’m not that man anymore.”

A long pause.

You turned your glass in your hands. “How did we not see it? In each other?”

“I think we did,” John said, finally. “We just didn’t want to.”

The quiet that followed wasn’t heavy this time. It was relief.

You’d spent months learning John’s routines. The way he folded his shirts with military precision. The way his voice dropped when he asked if you’d eaten. The way he always positioned himself between you and the door in public spaces.

He noticed your tells, too. The way you scanned exits. How you never sat with your back to a room. The tremble in your fingers when you slept too light, dreamed too deep.

You had both known. Somewhere, in your bones, you had known.

But knowing didn’t make what you had any less real.

John leaned toward you, setting his glass down. “I never lied to you. I just… didn’t want to go back to that world.”

“Neither did I.”

He reached for your hand.

You let him take it.

“I’m tired,” he whispered. “Aren’t you?”

Your throat tightened. “All the time.”

His fingers brushed your knuckles. “Then let’s stop running. Together.”

You exhaled slowly. “I don’t even know what that looks like.”

John offered a rare, soft smile. “Let’s find out.”

That night, you didn’t make love like men who were trying to forget something.

You made love like men who had found something.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t frenzied. It was slow, reverent—hands mapping scars like old stories. Lips tracing collarbones, fingertips ghosting over hipbones. You moaned into his mouth, breathless, as he held you like you were something rare and fragile.

You whispered each other’s names like prayers.

And when you were both lying there—skin to skin, hearts pounding—you felt something you hadn’t felt in a long time.

Peace.

John kissed your shoulder. “You’re safe.”

You rolled to face him. “With you… yeah.”

In the morning, sunlight slipped in through the blinds in soft ribbons.

You padded into the kitchen, shirtless and groggy, and found him reorganizing your weapons closet—again.

“You alphabetized my sidearms,” you said flatly.

He didn’t turn. “Your trigger springs were stored next to your .22 ammo. That’s chaos.”

You sipped your coffee. “You’re lucky I’m in love with you.”

He turned to look at you, eyes crinkled at the corners. “I know.”

You walked up, wrapped your arms around his waist from behind, rested your chin on his shoulder.

“No more secrets?”

He covered your hand with his own. “Never again.”

You stood there in silence, two killers with your arms around each other, surrounded by hidden weapons and half-eaten pancakes and sunlight.

For the first time in years, the world didn’t feel like a battlefield.

It felt like home.

A/N: "Pierre this isn't Whisking Hearts Chapter 1" GUYS, I KNOW. It's already finished, I'm just having it proofread by a friend before publishing! This isn’t my best work but I was rewatching the John Wick franchise and I was reminded how 🔥 Keanu Reeves is. I was literally writing this while watching lmao. But have this while waiting for WH Chap 1! Graphic and Divider are below!

Graphic

Divider

Please reblog and comment if you liked it! It helps keep me motivated!

[sehnsuchts-trunken]

Twenty-Five Going on Forty-Seven

dbf!jake seresin x fem!reader 12k words (.....yes. 12k. i-)

summary: Flirting with the guy who fixed your car turns out to lead to much, much more when you find out he's actually not just some random guy, but your new neighbour and father's new best friend, Jake Seresin.

a/n: porn with plot. a lot of plot. and a lot of porn. 18+ obviously. reader is twenty-five in this, jake is forty-seven. this is entirely based on my new fixation on dbf!jake. i have so many thots. so many that they led to a 12k oneshot lmfao. anyway, as always, a list of things to watch out for:

pet names used in an unholy way, safe sex (i fucking managed to finally give them a condom whooooohoooo), oral sex for the both of them (yes i also wrote a blowjob. this is unbelievable i know), dom!jake, some praise kink, a smidge of strength kink at the end. a lot of begging. as always. mention of shower sex. mostly vanilla. jake fucks in missionary because he wants to be nice for his first time with her. if there's ever a sequel i swear to god he will be the most unholy fucker ever

top gun masterlist | dbf!jake seresin masterlist

The first time Jake meets you isn't the first time he's supposed to meet you. He's supposed to come by for dinner that evening, to finally get to know the daughter your parents have told him so much about. And it's not his fault that he meets you seven hours earlier that day. Not really.

Because the pictures your parents had kept showing him were all old. Mostly childhood photographs, some from your graduation, but none recent enough to connect the dots.

So it's really not his fault that he doesn't recognise you when he sees you standing there on the side of the road, phone clamped between your ear and shoulder, the hood of your car all the way up. With how wildly you're gesturing, Jake guesses that you're not particularly close to fixing whatever problem you have.

You're wary when he pulls up behind you and opens his door. It's rarely a good sign when random men prey on very obviously helpless and distressed young women. But Jake doesn't even get closer at first, just stands there in the opened car door and asks if you need any help. For a little moment, you debate whether it's worth the risk. Then your father's voice rings out from your phone and you decide that there's not much this guy could do to you in broad daylight on a well used street with your father on the phone.

So you tell him the truth. Yes, you most definitely have a problem. The way he makes sure it's okay for him to come over and take a look calms you even more. He's considerate and careful and maybe you're actually lucky and he's just a guy who genuinely wants to help.

He steps out from the door and walks up to you and honestly, for a moment there you're startled. He has to be in his forties, but damn, he's attractive. Suddenly you're glad you picked your sundress over your sweatpants this morning.

You let him lean over your car and take a closer look.

"If he can't help, I'll just come pick you up and we'll call a tow truck", your father says after you've filled him in on what's happening. Honestly, you'd really rather not have to call a tow truck though, because that's just going to cost you a bunch of money again, which isn't particularly the way you want to spend it.

Also, this guy leaning over your car - and you're not even denying that you're very much eyeing him up - seems like he actually knows what he's doing there.

He takes a minute or two before he comes up again. He's smiling, which you take as a good sign. He opens his mouth and you hear what he's saying - but because you have no clue what it is that he's trying to tell you, you just nod along. You're not a mechanic, you don't know the goddamn terminology. Something something battery, something something fuel pump, whatever. You take the time to notice his accent instead.

The good news is he thinks he can fix whatever he's found, but you'll still have to get it checked out later on.

He walks back to his own car, rummages around and comes back with a toolbox and an unopened water bottle.

"It might take a while", he tells you as he offers you the bottle. "Feel free to turn on my radio."

You take the waterbottle and bite down on your lip to keep from grinning. He's sweet. Goddamn. Because you've deemed the whole thing safe, you tell your father goodbye and hang up - you honestly just want a bit of privacy to stare at this hunk of a man who's bending over the hood of your car again and offering you a very... good look at his backside.

It's summer. He's wearing a wife pleaser, which is reasonable in these temperatures, but the sight of his forearms working almost makes you feel like he knows what he's doing by wearing it. Does he have a wife to please, though? He's old enough to have kids - your age, maybe a few years younger. He's about as old as your dad. If he has a wife, maybe he's wearing it for her. Maybe she likes the way his biceps flexes just like you do.

You squint at his hands as you uncap the water bottle and take a sip. There's no ring as far as you can see. Would it be entirely unreasonable to assume he's... single?

It's been a minute, maybe, when you decide it's probably awkward for you to stand there and watch him, so you go with his suggestion and lean into his car, palms bracing against the seat to reach for the radio.

You turn it on, switch through a few channels until you find one you like and turn the volume up. Because it's probably just as awkward if you stay in his car - if not bordering on creepy - you step around the opened door and settle yourself against the hood. Your thighs stick to the warmed metal, but that's something you're willing to deal with.

Your eyes cling to him as he works. You don't know what the hell he's doing, you just hope he knows and you're not left with an even worse problem after. But he doesn't seem like that type of guy. And since he's seemingly unmarried... You don't stop yourself from staring.

Fuck, maybe he has a girlfriend, not everyone gets married at thirty. Not everyone wears their wedding ring either. But a girl can dream, right? And you're dreaming, for just a few minutes. You allow yourself to dream.

He looks so good. He looks so fucking good.

Sandy-blond hair, cut short, but not too short, broad, broad, broad shoulders... those arms, that back.

When he straightenes and looks at you, greasy fingers and a triumphant grin on his lips, you also have to admit that he's got chiseled fucking features. You swallow hard and do your best to pretend you haven't been ogling him.

"All done", he says. You raise your eyebrows.

"Really? That quickly?"

He grins and takes a step back, offering you to take a look yourself. You bite back a smile and push off the hood of his car - your hips are swaying as you walk, yeah, but as far as you're aware, he's single and just fixed your car for you, for free, in less than fifteen minutes.

Also, he's hot.

"Looks no different to me", you admit. He lets out a chuckle.

"Try it", he says, reaches for the hood and pulls it down as you slip into the driver's seat. You look up to him through the windshield before you turn the key in the ignition and-

The car starts.

The fucking car starts.

He's actually managed it.

You turn the key back and shake your head in disbelief. If he hadn't accidentally stumbled upon you, you'd probably have had to call the tow truck by now. Instead, you reach for the glove compartment and grab your purse.

"How-", you start as you climb out of the car seat again, shutting the door behind you. "How the hell?"

He chuckles.

"Actually, don't tell me", you interrupt yourself, throwing your hands up. "I don't even want to know. Here."

You reach into your purse and pull out disinfection wipes, offering them to him. He takes one with a smile and a drawled thanks and cleans off the grease on his hands before folding it up and letting it disappear into his pocket.

"So you're my knight in shining armour today", you say, biting down on your lip. Fuck it. You're gonna find out here and now whether or not he's single. "Otherwise I'm sure the tow truck would've cost me a hundred bucks - at least."

"Yeah, probably", he agrees, his eyes dropping to your mouth for just a second.

"Well, then", you smile, as coyly as you can manage. "How can I thank you?"

And just as you hoped, he stills, taking you in - maybe for the first time, you're not sure. His eyes rake down your body, your cleavage, your waist, your legs. His lips tug into a grin, but when he looks back up at you, he's serious.

"No worries", he tells you. "I'm not the tow truck."

He's not pushing you. Actually, he's doing the opposite, and you're not a fan. Maybe he isn't single after all. Maybe he does have a girlfriend. Or a wife. Or maybe he's not interested. Maybe... but you can give it a try, right? Just one try.

"I can't just drive off", you argue, blinking up at him a little more, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Fuck, are you really doing this? Your breath catches for a moment. But then again, if he isn't single, you're just gonna get into your car and never see him again. So who cares? "How about I give you my number?"

Your heartbeat quickens as he looks at you and straightens up. He's still grinning. You can't quite figure him out.

"I'm forty-seven, darling", he chuckles. You try your hardest to ignore how that pet name sounds, all sweet and intimate and god, you'd do a lot to have him say it again.

"So?", you ask and raise an eyebrow. "Does that mean you don't have a phone?"

Jake shakes his head with a chuckle, but you keep looking up at him so seductively, keep smiling so flirtatiously that he can't help himself. You're wearing such a pretty dress, such a dainty necklace around your throat. And you're serious about this.

He's had younger women flirt with him, yes, but usually five, ten years younger at most - and even that's been a while, because he isn't going to bars every night anymore.

You're really young. You're too young. You're, what, twenty-six? You can't be much older.

But you're stunning. Gorgeous eyes, kissable lips, glossy and plush and for just a moment, Jake loses himself in the images his mind seems to produce immediately when he looks at you - has been, from the second he'd spotted you through his windshield.

He's old enough to know better. But he still reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his phone.

...

The first time Jake officially meets you is seven hours later when he knocks on your parents' door and takes a step back to wait for it to open.

"That's gotta be Jake, someone get the door!", your mother's voice calls out, and it takes a few seconds until he hears soft footsteps coming down the hallway.

Then the door cracks open.

And there stands-

You.

You're smiling widely for the entirety of two seconds. Then your face falls.

Jake feels like the rug is pulled out from under his feet. He tumbles deep down a dark, dark hole as he stares at your pretty eyes, all shocked and wide, mouth open.

"You", you let out, almost breathless.

"You", Jake echoes, in quite the same tone.

Within seconds, you're stepping out onto the porch, closing the door behind you and holding out your hand in front of you, as if to keep him a safe distance away.

You're quick, almost stumbling over your own words as you come to conclusions and try to grasp all their consequences. Jake has a hard time even listening to you. He's frozen in his spot, barely comprehending the entire situation.

The young woman that had so unashamedly flirted with him this morning - that he had most definitely flirted back with - is his neighbour's daughter. His friend's daughter.

So he's fucking frozen in spot, yes.

He's frozen even as you're ushering him into the house with a smile on your lips that's just a bit too wide. He's frozen as he sits down at the dinner table and frozen as your mother offers him a beer. He's frozen as he settles on the couch after and as your father turns on a football game. He's frozen as you scoff at the tv and disappear up the stairs.

Your father asks him what's wrong, but there's no way Jake can tell him.

Even without your lecture on the porch, there would've been no way he would have admitted that he's got your number saved in his phone, "Twenty-five" with a winky face emoji behind it.

So he says he hasn't been all that well - maybe getting the flu or something.

Which is bullshit. He doesn't get sick. He's been sick two, maybe three times in all his life.

But he does think he'll be sick when you take your last step down the stairs half an hour later, in pajamas that barely cover anything - satin or something, he's too focused not focusing on your bare skin to notice anything except your bare skin, really. You just traipse over to the kitchen on tiptoes, eyes glued to your phone, hushed voices reaching his ears when you talk to your mother before you reappear in the living room.

"I'm going to bed", you announce, phone clutched tightly in your hands. "It's been a long day."

Jake can't hear your father's answer. He can't hear the commentator or the cheers from the tv. He can't hear anything, not when you're standing there in the doorway, when he's concentrating so fucking hard on not looking at you.

He fails miserably.

His eyes rake down your body so scorchingly hot that they burn holes into your skin. You have to swallow hard at his expression.

You're not tired at all, actually. Yes, it's been a long day, but if anything, you're buzzing with adrenaline. Which is worse. Because the entire dinner long, you've just had to sit there and stare at him and not do anything about it.

So you're aching to finally hide away in your room, to crawl into bed and contemplate what the fuck is happening. And, just maybe, to dip your fingers into your pajama shorts and think about his shoulders, his arms, his jawline...

Jake manages to grunt some kind of 'goodnight' before you flee - but he doesn't manage to drag his eyes back up from your stomach, all exposed and on display for him. And he doesn't manage to hide it from you.

...

He sees you often over the following weeks. He's been over at your parents' house almost every day for the past six months anyway, and that doesn't change just because you've come back home. Your father still invites him for football games, your mother still talks him into coming over for lunch or for dinner or both and whenever they're outside tinkering on something, he's being called to help.

And - because of course, it's your house as well - you're there, too.

All around him, all the time.

At first, it's innocent. You walk into the kitchen to get a glass of water and smile and say hello. You sit on the couch on a call with a friend and wave at him through the window. You come back from a walk with the dog and ask how he's doing before you disappear inside.

But then there come moments... Moments in which you lie down on a sun lounger in a skimpy bikini while he's painting the fence with your father, sunglasses high on your nose, a book in your hands, rubbing sunscreen into your skin and biting your lip when he can't help but look at you. Moments in which you brush up against him in the kitchen with a giggled 'Sorry', your mother's back turned to you as she grabs milk from the fridge, his fists clenching at his sides, his coffee cup held decently in front of his crotch. Moments in which you sit next to him on the couch and have to lean over him with a lengthy apology, your father just disappearing into the bathroom, your palm high enough on his thigh to stagger into the inappropriate.

The only time he's safe is at work. And even then, you're on his mind constantly.

Those pretty dresses you wear all the time, low-cut in the front and so short they hardly reach past your mid-thighs, in all colours of the rainbow. Those skimpy tops with the flowers on them and jeans-shorts or skirts he's more than once noticed are actually skorts.

He shouldn't be attracted to you. It's so wrong on so many levels. You're too young, much too young, twenty-two years younger than him. And - worse - he's best friends with your father.

He can't be attracted to his best friend's daughter. He simply can't.

It's wrong. It's so, so wrong.

But he can't help himself. He can't help himself when you brush up against him, when you touch him, when you look like that right in front of him.

He doesn't know how he survives those first weeks. He doesn't feel like he's alive, really. Every waking thought is of you - of you and of how wrong it is that he can't stop thinking about you. That he keeps imagining what it would be like to hold you, to kiss you, to-

No.

No, he can't.

Even though you're making it practically impossible for him.

And it's not like you really know what you're doing either. But ever since the car incident that very first day back home, you've been picturing those arms, those shoulders - and after the first time you caught sight of him working shirtless on some project in the backyard with your father, those fucking abs. All glistening, sweaty skin, that v-line, that happy trail...

It's not your fault he's starring in all of your late night fantasies now. It's his. It's his because he shouldn't be allowed to look that fucking good, to smell and sound and feel that good, when you can't have him. Because of course you can't.

He's twenty-two years older than you. He's your dad's new best friend.

You can't.

You can't flirt with him like you want to, you can't have him, because it would be wrong. But you also can't not.

You don't mean to taunt him, not at first. At first, it's just instincts. Talk to him, get his attention. But the more you're around him... the less you can control yourself.

You want to then. You want to graze your fingers across his thigh when your father isn't looking, you want to suck the straw of your drink into your mouth while you blink up at him, you want to accidentally drop your spoon and bend over in front of him. You want to because you know he wants you to.

Even though he doesn't say it, even though he forces himself to turn away when you walk by him, you see the way he looks at you. You catch him staring, you catch him eyeing you up and down. You notice the tick in his jaw and the way his fists clench at his sides. You watch his knuckles turn white as he grabs the neck of his beer bottle and takes a deep sip.

You know he's most definitely attracted to you.

Because even if you imagine half of those things - there's still the car incident. There's still your number saved in his phone. There's still 'darling' on your mind. Mostly the way he's repeated it since then, two or three times maybe, each one inspiring more sinful bedtime scenarios.

You can't.

He can't.

And yet neither of you doesn't.

...

Your parents are away when it happens. Your dad has to go on a trip for work and he takes your mother with him, surprises her with an extra weekend of romance just for the two of them. They're gone by Wednesday morning and won't be back until Sunday afternoon and even though you're twenty-five and have experience living on your own, they've asked Jake to check in on you, just to make sure you're okay.

The first time he 'checks in on you' is involuntary. He's just come back from work, it's Wednesday, 3pm, and he's sitting down on his back porch with a beer when he spots you.

He really doesn't mean to. He hadn't even known you were there.

But the fence between your house and his isn't high and so it's only natural that his eyes flick over to your garden once.

And then twice.

Because you're climbing out of the pool in the tiniest black bikini Jake has ever seen in his life, looking like some angelic, biblic, ancient goddess - your hair in a messy bun, droplets of water running down your bare skin, muscles working as you pull yourself up the little ladder and put both feet against solid, dry ground, leaving wet footprints with every step you take until you grab your towel, sling it around your shoulders and-

Look right at him.

Your lips tug into a flirty grin. You wave at him, your hand lingering in the air a second too long before you wrap the towel tightly around yourself and tread towards the fence. Jake can't do anything but watch you go and swallow hard.

The other option would probably be to drag you into his arms and ravage you until your throat is sore from screaming his name.

So he just sits there and stares at you instead.

"Hey there", you greet as soon as you're close enough to the fence that he can't look past your belly button anymore.

"Hey", Jake says and for whatever reason, his voice sounds raspy even to himself. Your grin only deepens.

"Do you have plans for dinner yet?", you ask. You bat your lashes at him innocently as you dry off your arms. "I was going to order take out."

So that's why three hours later, Jake rings your doorbell, in a black button up he spent twenty minutes picking out. The last time he'd spent that long in front of the closet, he'd been about fifteen years younger and about to go on an actual date. This isn't an actual date. This is anything but a date, because he's only supposed to check in on his best friend's daughter. He's supposed to look after you. Keep you safe.

But you open the door in an oversized, washed out band tee and smile so stunningly that he forgets what he's supposed to do in about half a second.

There's a moment of silence as Jake stares at you. He knows that damn band tee.

"Is that... mine?", he asks in disbelief as he waits for the sight to sink in, which it does not do. His mind blanks completely. It's not just that it's oversized and that you look like you're drowning in it, which already has him imagining the way he could flatten his palms against your stomach and feel for you in that heap of fabric. It's also that he knows this fucking shirt because he's been wearing it for the past ten years.

You look down like you're just realising what you have on, not like you'd almost had a heart attack when you'd seen it in the laundry basket, squealing so loudly that your mother had come in to check on you. Jake had worn that shirt the same day and apparently forgotten to put it back on when he'd gone home, so your mother had put it in the laundry.

She hadn't realised that you'd stolen it for yourself before she could wash it. She probably hadn't paid it that much attention.

You had though. And tonight had felt like the perfect occasion to wear it.

"I found it in the laundry", you say truthfully, looking up at him with big eyes. "Dad said it wasn't his so I just took it. Maybe a mix up. Do you want it back?"

Your fingers reach for the hem of the shirt down by your thighs, tugging mindlessly up just a tiny bit. Jake almost stumbles over his own words with how quick he is in denying you.

"No, no, keep it", he reassures. "Keep it."

You let go of the shirt as your grin widens.

"Okay then", you say softly, turn around and leave the door open so Jake can get in. You stroll into the kitchen, crack open the fridge and grab the freshly made iced tea while Jake closes the door behind him and puts away his shoes.

It could have easily been awkward. Honestly, Jake isn't sure that it's not. But it doesn't feel like that. It just feels... heavy. Drowsy. As though you're moving in slow motion, looking at him over your shoulder with a sultry grin. And in his shirt as well. His fucking shirt, it's unbelievable.

You're smiling at him over Chinese take out food with the radio playing softly in the background and the dim kitchen light on and it could have been almost normal, almost nothing, almost just a friendly dinner with his best friend's daughter.

But it isn't.

It isn't because you're leaning over the table and stealing a spring roll from him, grinning at him when he starts to protest. It isn't because you're pushing him back down onto his chair when he wants to get up and help you clear the table, leaning most definitely too close to him to grab his plate and bending most definitely too far down to put it into the dishwasher. It isn't because you're opening a bottle of whiskey, pouring him one and only then asking if he's going to stay and watch a movie with you.

You've already poured him the drink.

Not that he'd been planning to say no.

You're not close to him on the couch, not really. You're a respectful distance away as you put your own drink onto the table in front of you and grab the remote. You're still a respectful distance away as you scroll through a bunch of movies and ask him if he's got any preferences - besides football, of course.

But when you decide on a movie, on one of those rom-coms he'd never watch willingly, you're draping your legs over his and brushing your hair away from your face and he has to swallow hard.

His hands drop to your bare skin almost instinctively. He can't keep them off of you, not when you're this close to him, not when you're offering so prettily. It's like he has to touch you, has to brush his thumbs across your ankles.

This could all be normal. This could all be usual.

Jake doesn't bother paying attention to the movie. It's not like he could possibly pay attention to it, not when his fingers are running up and down your soft skin. So he doesn't really mind that he misses their first kiss, even as you look up from the drink you're refilling with a gasp and wide eyes to watch.

Jake just watches the way your hair frames your face, those droplets of iced tea on your lips before you wipe them off. He's sure he could taste them if he tried to.

You lean back into the couch then and stretch and your shirt - Jake's shirt - rides so far up that he catches sight of your underwear. Fuck.

He has to grab onto you hard so that he doesn't launch himself right on top of you. His mouth is dry all of a sudden, so dry that he has to swallow. You blink up at him as you feel his hands clench around your ankles, your teeth digging into your bottom lip to keep from grinning.

He needs a few seconds to even look up at you. It's like his eyes are glued to that expanse of bare skin at your hip, clinging to the thought of you in your underwear right before him. You're always wearing shorts. You're always wearing shorts. You're always fucking wearing shorts.

Shit.

He shouldn't. He can't.

But his hands brush up your calves and he does look back at you then, which really isn't better, because your lip is still caught between your teeth and your expression is so sinful that he has to bite down on his own tongue.

"Jake", you breathe, all soft and quiet and that's it. That's his breaking point.

You can't just say his fucking name like that, not in his shirt, not while presenting him such a good look at your underwear, and expect him to be okay.

"Fuck", he mutters, then he's on you.

It's an uncomfortable position. You're half turned to him, half away, your legs are still thrown over his lap, which means he can't really push close to you, but his lips are against yours, so firmly, so passionately that you can't care, not right then.

Your eyes fall shut and you kiss him back with the same fervor, the same heat, the same fucking desperation to finally feel him. You part you lips almost too eagerly, too quickly, just so he can stroke his tongue along yours. His hands dig into your thighs, grabbing you tightly, and your arms cross behind his neck to drag him down to you - just that your legs are really in the way now and you have to try and pry one from his lap so that he doesn't crush it, which isn't all that comfortable and takes a while too long to still be sexy. You hardly mind. Jake doesn't either, only pulls his knees up to the couch to climb on top of you.

The whole thing is complicated and annoying and decidedly too time consuming, but his lips are on yours and he's pressing against you, catching himself with a palm against the couch cushions and lowering you to lie down, every single touch frenzied and hurried and hot. Heady and heavy and horny.

You're dragging your hands through his hair, tugging, pulling, scratching your nails across his scalp. He's grabbing your hips with his free hand, grasping your thighs, tangling his fingers in your shirt and digging them into your skin.

You're grinding against him. Not softly, not carefully, not secretly. You're wrapping your legs around him and grinding against him, almost without realising it - you need to be close, you need to be closer. You need to move. You need to feel him.

At the first moan you let out, Jake stills. When you breathily add his name, he pulls back entirely.

It's cold and empty without him, cold and empty and confusing as he settles back on his ankles, panting and wide-eyed. Your arms and legs drop to the couch as you try to catch your breath.

"No", Jake mutters. "We can't."

You push yourself up onto your palms, chest still heaving as you look up at him. Your cheeks feel so hot that you're sure they're embarrassingly red by now and your mind is still hazy with what just happened -

Jake had kissed you. He'd kissed you and you'd kissed him back.

And now he isn't kissing you anymore and you're absolutely not alright with that. You need him to kiss you again. You need to dig your hands into his hair and feel him knead your thighs again. You need to find out what it's like to rake your nails along his arms and scratch down his back.

"Jake", you breathe, staring at him all wide-eyed as he shakes his head and inches even further away from you. He seems like he's in a trance. You repeat his name more forcefully and reach out for him - but he only shakes his head again and runs a hand down his face.

You still for the entirety of two seconds. Then you sit up, inches closer to him than necessary, and toy with the hem of your shirt. You've got a hunch that giving and taking the sight of your underwear will only help your case here.

"Why not?", you ask as you watch his eyes drop down, just like you'd wanted. His breath catches.

"You're twenty-five", he begins, his voice a bit too rough to sound unaffected. "And I'm friends with your father."

You take a long look at him.

"Would you if you weren't friends with my father?"

You bite down on your lip and blink up at him as prettily as you can manage. You're quite sure you know the answer. Especially with that car incident... With your number saved in his phone. With that smug grin you still see in your fantasies.

He hadn't been too concerned with your age back then.

"I am friends with your father", Jake says, all the while struggling to drag his eyes back up your body.

"But if you weren't", you go on, not ready just yet to leave this be - because you know that if you back down now, you'll never get a chance again. Not like this. Not with him. "If you weren't friends with my father. Would you?"

A muscle ticks in his jaw. You hold your breath - one, two, three seconds. Then he's on you yet again and this time, this time with no end in sight. Not as he pushes you back down onto the couch and sets both his palms down next to your head. Not as you wrap your legs around his waist and work the buttons of his shirt, fingers moving so frantically that you slip up more than once - not that you care.

You're kissing Jake. After what has felt like an eternity of teasing and quietly flirting, you're finally kissing him, touching him, feeling him. On top of you, all around you.

Yes, he fucking would. You were right.

His shirt finally unbuttons and you can hardly push it out of the way quickly enough to run your hands down his chest - exploring his collarbones, his abs, that fucking happy trail that has been driving you insane ever since you saw it for the first time. Your fingers brush bare skin, warm, hot, bare skin, before they catch on his waistband. He grinds his hips onto yours as you draw your fingertips along his belt and swallows the moan you so pathetically let out.

You're just about to get to work on opening his belt buckle when he shifts his weight onto one hand and grasps your wrist with the other, pulling an inch away from you as he does so, lips parting in sticky intoxication.

"Jake", you mewl, but when you blink open your eyes he's already shaking his head softly and- grinning. Grinning that smug grin that you've been dreaming of. The one you haven't seen since the very first time you met him. Not with your dad around or directed at anyone else, no. The grin that takes your breath away right then, and you can't even tell why.

It's confident and cocky and cheeky and so, so very, very sexy. Fuck.

You stare at him with wide eyes and parted lips, too caught up in taking him in to notice how he's bringing both your hands up over your head.

"If we're doing this, I'm doing it right, darling", he mutters, all low and rough and the pet name has you clamping your thighs even harder around him. "And only if you want me to."

You can't nod quickly enough.

"I need you to tell me, baby", he grins, exposing those pearly whites that you'd very much like to feel biting into your neck or something. "I need you to say yes."

"Yes, Jake", you push past your lips, breathless and panting and desperate. Desperate for him. "Please."

His chuckle reverberates in your own chest. He runs his hand down your side and rubs a soft circle against the bare skin of your hip, catching on the flimsy fabric of your underwear.

"Already begging for me", he mutters with a grin, his fingers hooking into your waistband. Your hips buck up into his and a moan drops from your lips and Jake just keeps on grinning. Keeps on running his thumbs along your hip bones. "That easily."

You can't even deny it, deny him. You need him to touch you and you need him to do it now.

"You're lucky I want to taste you, because I'm sure it'd be fun to tease you", he chuckles, holds you down against the couch as he sits back on his ankles, keeping your legs spread and the dark spot on your underwear right on display for him. "I could keep you here all night."

You're not sure what excites you more - the promise of all night or the tasting you part. Either way, you bury your hands into your own hair and tug hard to keep yourself from sitting up, pushing him onto his back and riding him into oblivion. He wouldn't let you anyway, you're guessing.

Jake runs his free hand down the inside of your thigh and you really have to concentrate on not moving then. Every touch, every brush and every stroke sends shivers down your spine and pools in your core, heating up each inch of your skin.

When he reaches your underwear once more, he hooks his second thumb into it as well and tugs. Your jaw clenches. God, you've gotta keep still, you've just gotta wait-

He looks up then and raises his eyebrows.

"Please, Jake", you breathe, before he can even say anything. His eyes drop again and he pulls your underwear down, down, down, pushing your knees together to slide them off your legs and you're holding your breath, holding your breath in this intoxicating mess of a moment as he parts your thighs again and leans in. Leans closer.

Leans... not close enough.

Instead, he grabs the hem of your shirt.

"As much as I like that you're wearing my shirt", he mutters, already pushing it up and exposing your stomach to him, "I want to see you."

You let out a pathetic little moan, loosen your hands from your hair and pull his shirt over your head instead, dropping it down onto the floor without looking or bothering where it lands. You're not really bothered about anything besides getting Jake's mouth on you right now.

You're dripping already, dripping down your own thighs as he takes you in - all naked, all bare in front of him, soft skin and smooth curves, chest rising and falling with your heavy breath, eyes half-closed, lips parted and kiss-swollen.

It's wrong. He shouldn't. But he's already gone too far and now, now, with all of you for him to see, to touch, to feel, he can't go back. He can't ever go back.

He wants to burn this image into his memory forever.

"Jake", you whisper, voice just as soft and silky as the rest of you and he snaps out of his trance, runs his fingertips over your stomach, studies you as your breath catches. He leans down again, but his eyes are fixed on you still, focused even as he presses a kiss to your hipbone, then to the inside of your thigh. His teeth graze your skin and his fingers brush against the underside of your boobs.

Fuck.

You bite down on your lip.

Jake thinks he might be in heaven as he palms at your breasts, swiping his thumbs across your nipples and watching your expression change ever so slightly. He breathes against your wetness and his eyes flicker down to finally look at you, dripping for him. His fingers still for just a moment.

If he does this, there's no going back. He's crossing a line that he can never uncross.

But in all honesty - he's already long crossed that line.

So he flattens his tongue against you and tastes you. And you throw you head back and let out a moan that's so filthy that he can't even be bothered to care about what fucking lines he's crossing anymore. He just buries his face in your wetness and basks in the way your eyes roll back into your head.

Your hands dig into his hair all by themselves, tug and pull and push him closer, further into you. You taste heavenly. You are in heaven. You're in heaven with Jake between your legs, brushing his tongue through your folds, sucking your clit into his mouth and groaning into you. He's running his fingers over your breasts, palming and grasping at them, circling and tracing.

That's when the movie stops.

You hadn't even realised it was still on, to be honest, but now, in the silence, your moans echo three times as loud. Jake bathes in the sounds you're letting out. You're absolutely gorgeous like that, teeth tugging at your bottom lip, cheeks flushed, eyes fluttering closed before you blink them open again to look at him, to watch him as he lays between your thighs.

You're soaking in the way he swipes his tongue against you, the way he palms at your skin. With every touch and every brush, you can feel the knot tightening. Can feel the tension in your limbs growing. Can feel the way your legs are starting to clamp tighter, tighter and tighter around Jake's head.

He's so good at this. He's so fucking good at this.

Your grip on his hair tightens so much that you're sure you have to be hurting him, but he doesn't show the slightest hint of wanting to tell you off for it. No, quite the opposite: he pushes further into you and groans his approval.

Which is about the last thing you can take.

Your legs cramp, your hands drag at his hair, your back arches, your head hits the armrest of the couch and Jake guides you through your high, eyes set on you, focused and fixed on you, watching every single reaction you have to him, drinking in the sight of you, drinking in your moans. You're pushing back against him, panting and clawing at him, lips parted and eyes shut tightly as you take in a shaky breath and sink slowly back against the couch.

The air is heavy. Heavy with your emotions, heavy with your orgasm, heavy with your moans.

Jake pulls back slowly, softly, draws his hands down to your stomach to rub circles onto your skin - significantly warmer now than before. You're still breathing heavily, legs unhooking from around his head only reluctantly. Honestly, you wouldn't have minded if he'd just decided to stay down there for the next three to five business days. But you also don't mind as he pushes himself up and presses a kiss to your lips, because he tastes like you and you get to hook your arms around his neck and pull him even further down onto you.

With his half-bare chest pushed against yours, his tongue runs along your lips and you open willingly up to him. More than just willingly. Because with him on top of you, his lips sticky and syrupy on yours, not wanting or not able to part from yours, there's already anticipation running in your veins, wetness pooling in your core again, the urge to wrap your legs around him and grind against him growing and growing with every second that he's kissing you.

You draw your hands down his throat, push his shirt out of the way and brush your palms down his bare torso, all hard abs against your fingertips. He's in such good fucking shape you could truly be running your hands up and down a washboard right now. It feels unfair that he's more than twenty years older than you and somehow fitter.

Your fingers catch on his waistband then.

"Jake", you whine softly against him. "Please, I need you."

He groans, drops his head down to your neck and for a second, you just hear him breathe - all hot and heavy before his lips graze your skin.

"Fuck, you can't say that, darling", he mutters. "You don't know what you do to me."

His belt buckle feels cold against your fingertips, so cold against your sticky, sweaty skin.

"Show me", you whine, beg, plead. He's not teasing you, not taking his time, he's not waiting or edging or anything, and still- Still, you're so fucking desperate. He's finally got you here, finally, and as much as you're sure you'd enjoy his teasing... You just need him to fuck you. Now.

Jake chuckles breathily as he raises his head to look down at you. There's that grin again. That fucking grin.

Then he plants that grin onto your lips and you moan softly, hooking your fingers into his belt and pulling hard. You've just started loosening it successfully when he sits back onto his ankles, leaves you cold and lonely and fully naked on the couch. You mewl.

"Jake-", you let out, but he's already standing up, climbing off of the couch and you're sitting up as if in trance, just to follow him, whatever it is that he has in mind.

He slips off his shoes before he starts to work his belt and then lets that fall to the ground too. You reach for him instinctively, drawing your fingertips along his thighs as he pops the button of his jeans and pulls down his zipper, but when he hooks his thumbs beneath his waistband and tugs down, something snaps inside of you.

"Wait", you whisper. "Let me."

You reach out for him and graze your fingers along his waistband, taking a breath as your eyes flutter up at him. He swallows hard, lets his arms drop to his sides and nods heavily. God, he looks so fucking attractive. His hair all messy, his jaw clenched, his eyes fixed solely on you. You make sure to work quickly, almost frenzied, hurriedly pulling down his jeans and taking his briefs right with them. You won't spend unnecessary time on unimportant things.

Your breath catches, palms stilling against his thighs.

Fuck.

Jake's hand twitches, then clenches into a fist. But he stays right where he is, doesn't move an inch. Everything in him screams at him to run his fingers through your hair and guide you closer to him - but he doesn't. He won't. Not tonight, not right now. Right now, he wants to give you every out he can. Just in case you want to take it.

You don't. Of course not.

Not when you can see just how much he's holding himself back.

So instead you lean down and kitten-lick his tip. His hand flexes, again, and even though he lets out a deep groan that will surely echo in your head for the next two weeks, he stays still.

You just wrap your fingers around the base of his cock and take him into your mouth.

He has to close his eyes and tilt his head up to keep from bucking into you. Damn, it hasn't even been that long since he got blown. And he didn't react like a teenager then. But something about your warm, wet mouth, something about the way your dainty fingers reach around him, something about how you eagerly take him so far that he hits the back of your throat, something about that soft little gagging noise you make just before you pull off of him to breathe in deeply-

Fuck, you're making this really hard for him.

"Jake", you mutter, your hand still working him. He opens his eyes and looks down at you, looks down at you sitting there on the couch, completely naked, eyes all wide and cheeks flushed and so fucking stunning. His fingers brush along your forehead, tuck a strand of loose hair behind your ear.

"Jake", you repeat, a little more breathlessly this time. "Don't hold back for me. I won't break."

His jaw clenches again, but you just blink up at him, the weight of your words heavy between you. His eyes roam your face for any sign of uncertainty - then he nods. He'd like to disagree, though. He's more than afraid he'll break you.

You're so young, so sweet, so fragile.

Just not innocent. And you feel like you have to remind him of that - of your more than obvious flirting, of your sultry grins and half-naked hints, of your number sitting so unashamedly in his contacts.

So you lean in again, pull your free hand from his thigh and grab his wrist instead, dragging it away from your cheek and planting it on the back of your head as you wrap your lips around him. He takes a shallow breath and your hand drops back down to his thigh. There's one, two seconds in which your eyes just flutter closed and your nails dig into his skin-

Then, finally, fucking finally! Jake tangles his fingers into your hair and pushes you into him. You loosen your hand from around him and put it against his other thigh, allowing him to pull you closer and closer. You breathe deeply through your nose as Jake groans above you - and it takes everything in you not to grin. Instead, you just let him guide you, blink open your eyes to look at him and try to ignore the arousal dripping down the inside of your thighs. He looks so fucking good, it should truly be forbidden, because now you have to press your legs together and steady your palms against him.

Jake feels about the same. His breathing is heavy, his grip on your hair firm, and his eyes are set on you - on how he disappears inside your mouth, again and again, your spit coating him, your throat tight. He can't help but push you down, one time, two times, and pull you back, three times, four times, then push you down and pull you back again. And again. And again. He can hardly concentrate on how good you're making him feel when you're looking that fucking sinful.

Shit.

Before he can come right then and there in your mouth, he tugs you off fully, his jaw clenching involuntarily at the soft whine you let slip. But you can barely be truly bothered when he leans down and presses his lips to yours instead. You're not bothered about anything, really - about anything but his tongue against yours as you cross your arms behind his neck and draw him in, your hands dragging into his hair, your mouth moving desperately against his, sloppily, silently begging him for more.

Jake steadies his palms against the back rest and pulls away heavily, breathing hard as you open your eyes again to look at him - half-lidded, all languid and slow. He swallows hard.

"Do you-", he starts, his voice low and rough and you nod, letting your arms drop from around him to point at the side table.

Have a condom, he'd wanted to ask. In any other situation, he'd have one himself, but something about bringing condoms for a check in on his best friends daughter would have felt incredibly wrong.

"In my makeup bag", you say, your voice thin and breathy as he stretches and reaches for the lavender coloured pouch, unzipping it and looking for the condoms between all the brushes and lipglosses. He can barely pull one out before your fingers close around it, before you've carefully torn it open. He drops your makeup bag back onto the side table right as you straighten up to press a kiss to his lips - almost innocent, almost, if it weren't for the taste of him on your tongue. Then you press a kiss onto his collarbone. Then one right onto his abs. Then one just above that happy trail that has been driving you fucking insane. And then, then, you run your tongue over his tip again before you roll the condom onto him.

Which means it's his turn.

And he doesn't hesitate.

He's not rough in the way he pushes you onto your back on the couch, no, he's smooth with it, hands running along your skin as he cages you in, as he rests his arms next to your head - but he's firm nonetheless. He takes control easily, moving you how and where he wants to, claiming your mouth, pressing his lips to yours. You let him. More even, you relish in giving in to him, in giving him control, in letting go, in trusting him. You bathe in his kisses, in his touches, in his soft grunts as he guides himself into you.

"Jake", you whine against his lips, your fingers tangling in his hair, eyes falling shut. The stretch is delicious, heavenly. He fills you slowly, dragging his lips down your throat as you tilt your head back and let out a filthy moan. Your legs wrap around him, pull him closer. His teeth graze your neck, drawing a moan from you as he settles. He gives you a moment to adjust.

A moment too long.

Way too long.

Even with his lips on your skin, with your nails dragging down his neck, digging into his shoulders, even with him inside of you, you need more. You need him to move. Right fucking now.

"Jake", you mewl, your eyes fluttering open. He raises his head to look at you and- Fuck, good lord. You've messed up his hair and his pupils are wide and his cheeks are red and he looks fucking heavenly. So heavenly that your breath catches. You forget what you wanted to say for a moment. Then his thumb brushes your cheek and you remember.

"Move", you breathe, digging your fingers into his skin and wrapping your legs around him tightly. You need him to move. But his lips tug up in that grin again and, as quickly as you can, you add- "Please, Jake."

His grin widens as he looks down at you, all pretty and desperate, clenching around him, lips parting in a silent moan. It would be so easy to tease you, so easy to make you beg and plead for him... And you'd look so gorgeous doing it. You're already so eager to please him.

But not tonight. Not right now. Right now, he just needs to make you feel good. So he leans down, presses a kiss to your lips and moves. Finally.

You open up to him eagerly, letting him run his tongue along yours, moaning into him as he thrusts into you. Deep and languid, hitting all the right spots like no one has before. Fuck, fuck, fuck-

You're really doing this. He's really doing this. You claw at his back, scratch down his skin, sure to leave bruises as he pulls his head up to look at you, to watch the way you arch up into him. Your skin glistens with sweat, your lips part to let out a breathy mewl and the coil in your stomach tightens, tightens, tightens.

Jake shifts his weight onto one arm, frees a hand to brush his fingers through your hair, tugging, tilting your head back, exposing your throat to him. You moan at the ceiling as he drops a filthy kiss onto your collarbone before he lets go of your hair again, trailing his hand down your side instead - and his hand is so fucking big, so big as he draws it down your body, brushing his fingertips over your boob, sweeping over your hip, grasping your thigh. You pull him down onto you, crash your lips back onto his hard. You need to feel him, you need to kiss him, you need to hold him right now. You need him. You need this.

He smoothes his fingers down your skin until they catch on your clit.

"Jake", you moan into his mouth, pathetic even to your own ears. He only grins into the kiss and circles your clit as he thrusts into you, again and again and again, your legs clenching harder and harder and harder around him before he pulls away, pulls even further away even though you chase after his lips, his eyes roaming your face as you squeeze yours shut tightly.

"Look at me, darling", he drawls, his voice low and raspy, his fingers rough against your clit. "Look at me when I'm fucking you."

You let out some kind of deranged moan at his crude wording, opening your eyes and blinking up at him because there's no fucking way you can deny him. Not when he calls you darling like that. Not when he thrusts inside you just right. Not when the view of him, messy hair and grinning and all, has you clenching around him this hard.

You're close. So close.

"Atta girl", he mutters, and that does it for you.

Your legs cramp and your lips part again to let out a gorgeous little moan that Jake swallows up immediately, slotting his mouth over yours and drinking up the way you clench around him. It takes everything in him not to come too. You're so fucking pretty and you're clenching so fucking perfectly around him, but he needs to make you feel good first, he needs to make you come first, he needs...

"Jake", you mewl, face scrunched up, back arched, as he guides you through your second high of the night. "Fuck, fuck."

He's grinning when you come down. You grab his hand and pull it away from your clit. It's too much right now, too much. It takes a second for you to even realise that he's stopped moving entirely, too focused on watching you, on drinking up the sight of you, tousled hair and red cheeks and parted lips and all. You look like an angel, so fucking heavenly that he can't believe his eyes, not really.

"Jake", you mutter, slurring his name so prettily and pulling him in for another kiss, your arms loose around his neck, your fingers lazily brushing through his hair. "Come for me?"

It's barely more than a breath, barely more than a whisper onto his lips, but he hears it, oh, he hears it. He lets out a groan as he draws away again, his eyes roaming your face. You're unbelievable. Fucking unbelievable.

You're asking him to come for you. Begging him to come for you.

And there's no grin in sight, no smug smile, no hint of trying to take control of him - it's not a command, not even close, you're actually, genuinely pleading, your eyes half-lidded and barely focusing, just needing him to feel good now, too.

You're really fucking unbelievable.

He can't remember ever having a woman ask him to come.

He kisses you so hard you become dizzy, pressing his lips onto yours and tangling a hand into your hair. He pushes impossibly closer, thrusts back into you and pulls another string of moans from you, bordering on incomprehensible, hardly more than breaths, mewls that he swallows before they can flee into the empty air of the living room.

His own breathing comes in pants, his muscles clenching and tensing and he's there quicker than he thought he'd be. He's close, really close, and that's when you decide to dig your teeth into his lip and tug and fuck, he's there, alright. He's done then. He spills inside you with a groan, pulling back right as you flash him a dazed grin, eyes fluttering open to take him in.

Your throat feels way too dry all of a sudden.

You don't think you'll get this image out of your head ever again, this image of him coming undone on top of you. It's burning itself into your memory while you watch, never to be forgotten.

Because hell no, you won't forget this.

"Fuck", Jake groans, his voice all rough and hoarse and he leans down to press a kiss to your lips again, slow this time, almost soft. He brushes a thumb down your cheek, lightly cups your jaw and pulls you even closer, your skin warm beneath his fingers.

You tighten your arms around his neck a bit, keeping him firmly there, firmly on top of you, firmly inside of you. But he makes no move to leave, anyway. Just runs his tongue tenderly along yours, unhurried and gentle, and holds you close. You don't know for how long. He could've kept you there for eternity and you wouldn't have minded. How could you mind, basking in the afterglow like this, with his skin sticking to yours, his fingers grazing your cheek, his lips brushing against yours? No, really, you could've stayed there for the rest of forever.

But he pulls back after a while, of course, and pulls out, too. You let out some kind of disappointed mewl, but that's about everything you can do before he gently grasps your wrists and pulls your arms from around him, smiling in a way you can't even begin to complain.

"Lets get you cleaned up, darling", he says softly, carefully helping you sit up, his hands everywhere but nowhere nearly long enough.

You sigh dramatically, blinking your eyes open to look at him, even as you let him pull you up. Your legs feel like pudding. You feel like pudding.

"If we have to", you give in, smiling as Jake grins and shakes his head at you.

"We have to", he chuckles, hauls you up into his arms and waits for you to hold onto him before he carries you into the bathroom - seemingly fucking without any problem whatsoever, as if you weigh nothing at all to him.

You bite down on your lip and rest your forehead against his chest, squeezing your eyes shut to not have to look at him while you contemplate his strength. He should not be this fucking strong. He should not be allowed to be this fucking strong.

"Careful", Jake says, his voice low, as he sets you gently down on the toilet seat. You flinch away from the ice-cold seat against your thighs, fingernails digging into his shoulders for one, two, three seconds before you relax and settle down.

Jake lets go of you just as softly, steadying you until he's sure you won't just fall right off the toilet. He turns and you look up, his back right there to stare at, a smile tugging at your lips again - goddamn, he looks way too good, holy shit. You barely hear the garbage can open and close as he throws away the used condom, then rummages through the drawers until he finds a washcloth that he can soak in luke warm water.

He turns with a smile, grabs your chin tenderly and presses a kiss to your lips, just one, all sweet and languid, so unlike the rest of his kisses. You hardly notice that he's cleaning you off as he kneels down in front of you, simply because you're so entranced by him. God, but he really looks like he's fucking glowing, you hate him for having this effect on you.

He wraps his arms around you again - did he put the washcloth away? fuck, did you miss that? - and you cuddle close, almost (but just almost) letting out a pleased sigh. Fuck, he's so broad and so strong and so comfortable...

He sets you down on the couch and smiles.

"Wait here for me, darling", he mutters, bending down to pick up your shirt (his shirt, really) and slide it carefully over your head once again. You hug yourself close and settle deep into the couch as Jake disappears. His steps echo through the house.

Then there's silence.

Absolute silence.

You rest your head against the headrest and close your eyes, your fingertips absentmindedly drawing circles against your heated skin.

And in this quiet emptiness... the reality of the situation finally sinks in.

For the first time.

Because you just slept with Jake Seresin.

Jake Seresin. Your neighbour Jake Seresin. Your dad's best friend Jake Seresin. Twenty-two years older than you Jake Seresin.

Holy fucking shit. Holy fucking shit.

This actually happened. This actually fucking happened. You slept with Jake Seresin. And somehow... somehow- Somehow you can't feel guilty. You can't feel bad or ashamed. Not like you should. And you definitely should. Because this is Jake Seresin, not some random frat guy. This is forty-seven year old, your dad's best friend Jake Seresin.

But you can't feel bad.

You really do try, for the entirety of a minute or two, while somewhere in the back of the house, a door is opened and closed again. But you still can't feel bad. So you don't.

Jake comes back with a water bottle and his briefs back on, which you can't help but feel disappointed at. He sits down on the couch next to you and hands you the bottle.

"Drink", he nods, so you uncap it carefully and take a sip. It's charming, really, how the first time you'd met him with your car broken down, he'd also handed you a water bottle. A grin tugs at your lips involuntarily. It's just coincidence, you know that, but there's something incredibly sweet about the way he's seemingly always made sure to keep you hydrated. There's something sweet about him, simple as that, with how softly he's cleaned you off and settled you down on the couch after.

You put the bottle down on the table and turn to him.

He looks almost normal again, almost like before. He's still nearly naked though (which you certainly aren't complaining about), and his hair still looks like he's just walked straight out of a hurricane. He raises his eyebrows at you as you take him in.

"We should probably talk about this", you say, your voice cracking halfway through. You're not sure you want to talk about it. And with the way Jake's face falls... yeah, he doesn't seem to, either. But he still straightens up and brings some more distance between the both of you.

Maybe that's smart, actually. Maybe. But then again, you've already done everything you could to try and feel bad, so instead of doing the reasonable (you're already way past the reasonable anyway) and pushing further away from Jake too, you stretch out a leg and drape it over his lap again.

A muscle in his jaw ticks and he grasps your ankle almost immediately, as if there's no other choice but to touch you even while he's trying to keep his distance.

"But", you grin, scooching a little closer as an idea forms in your mind, "You know, I still have to shower. Chlorine is so bad for the skin unless you wash it off. And I did spend quite a while in the pool today."

...

It's Monday afternoon and even hotter than the weeks before. You're sitting outside, sunbathing in the fifteenth layer of sunscreen of the day, with sunglasses on that hardly seem to do anything and wearing nothing but a bikini because god, you're fucking melting. It hasn't been this hot the entire year.

The only really good thing about the scorching heat is that Jake, for lack of swimming pools in his garden, is doing sets in yours. You're incredibly glad for your sunglasses, because even though your mother is sitting right next to you, burying her nose in another of the novels she'd checked out from the library two weeks earlier, you can ogle Jake without worrying that she'll catch you.

And goddamn, you're ogling, alright.

It's not like you haven't stared at him enough. Over the past five days, you've barely been doing anything else. Well, except for those times you'd had your eyes closed and his lips on yours, of course. But still, you don't really feel like you could ever possibly get enough of staring at him.

And right now, right now, with the way he climbs out of the pool, arms tensing and flexing, water dropping down his skin, his hands running through his soaking wet hair...

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You bite down on your lip and press your thighs together. God, if you aren't careful, you'll have to disappear into the house and shower early, because you're sure you could not pass the dark spot on your bikini bottoms off as sweat.

Jake turns away to grab his towel and starts to dry off and you're already mulling over how you'll phrase the message you'll send him (something along the lines of 'tell my parents you need to use the bathroom' with a shower selfie attached? You've already sent him way worse things while he'd been at work) when your mother suddenly gasps.

Three heads turn to her simultaneously.

"Jake!", she chokes, her book sinking down into her lap. Jake raises his eyebrows at her, just as clueless as you are. She parts her lips and then clamps her mouth shut again, apparently lost for words. "Your back."

It hits you like a tidal wave.

Oh, shit. Oh, holy fucking shit.

You should've noticed earlier. Much earlier. You should've- God, he'd known, too, hadn't he? But you'd been the one to stare at his back long enough that you should've noticed. Yesterday. You should've noticed the long, red lines running down his skin. Your long, red lines running down his skin. Fuck, fuck-

"Oh, that-"

Jake stumbles over his own words for the first time ever since you've met him. His eyes find yours, for just a moment or two, and you can see the panic in them. It's the second fucking day your parents are back. The second fucking day. And you're already messing up, you're already-

"I knew it", your mother grins, clapping her hands together and letting out a laugh that startles you so hard you flinch. "I knew you were a womanizer after all! I mean, looking like that, there's no other way-"

"Honey!", your father gasps, and she giggles and throws her hands up. But he's grinning too and you know him well enough to say he isn't really mad that she's complimenting Jake.

"Sorry, sorry, just saying." She chuckles to herself and grabs her book again, her voice dropping to a mumble. "I can't believe it though, we go away for five days and suddenly he's hooking up with someone! I think we need to stop inviting him over so often if we want him to find somebody."

Your father laughs and gets up to offer Jake a beer.

"You didn't happen to see who he brought home, did you?", your mother asks, her voice almost too casual to really be casual as she turns her head to look at you with raised eyebrows.

You choke on your breath.

"Um-", you start, but your father already rolls his eyes and saves you without meaning to.

"You're not nosy at all", he chides, resting his beer bottle against her foot. She tugs it away and shakes her head at him.

"Just curious", she grins. "Just curious."

Yeah. Just curious. You pray to god that just curious won't one day expose the little secret you've got going on with Jake. Next time, you'll really have to be more careful with your nails.