#then decide to play it as if cool and intentional

[durrtydawg]

Still Here, Huh?

(Sam Drake x F!Reader smut)

She asked him to be mean. Who’s Sam to deny her what she wants?

Warnings: it's filth. Read with discretion. Find detailed tags on ao3, but at a glimpse, this fic includes intense power play, restraint, cigarette shenanigans, consensual non-consent d/s dynamics, lack of aftercare, humiliation and edging. It’s messy, yucky, and indulgent - and very much not soft.

Can be read as a part two to It’s the Adrenaline if you so desire x

6.4k words. Please read with care. Not safe. Not soft. Not sorry (she says after toning it down to avoid embarrassment) enjoy, and lmk what you think!💋

masterlist

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭

She doesn’t know how long it’s been.

Ten minutes? Twenty? Long enough, now, that her knees are starting to ache. Long enough for her to feel the sweat cooling at the back of her neck, then starting again - not from heat, but from sheer anticipation.

He left her there like this: bound, bare, kneeling in the middle of the room while he disappeared into the bathroom, after kissing her until her lips were sore and swollen, lungs breathless, his mouth insistent, claiming, like he wanted to bruise. After whispering something filthy in her ear and sliding his hands over her body with the kind of focus that made her shudder.

After tugging her arms behind her back, securing the bindings, slow enough to make her feel how tightly he was tying them - touching. Taunting. Drawing her close with his tongue, pushing her to her knees and telling her to wait. The surrender, the trust, the certainty that she’d stay right where he left her.

She’d heard the shower running. Heard him moving around. Heard the whistling and the casual opening and closing of drawers. Not rushed. Not concerned.

He knows exactly what he’s doing.

When he finally opens the door again, she flinches.

Sam stands in the doorway for a moment, toweling off his hair, steam rolling off of his skin, warm from the shower. He’s not in a rush. He knows exactly how long she’s been waiting. Exactly how much she wants him. He’s been winding her up all evening. The kind of light touches, loaded glances, and whispered threats that twist inside her and sprout thorns, digging in and holding their place.

He lets his eyes drag over her slowly. Almost… apathetic in its quiet appraisal.

“Mm,” he hums, turning away. “Still here, huh?”

Her lips part on instinct. A shaky exhale. She wants to say something - he knows she does - but they both agreed: no speaking unless told.

Her eyes are focused. Pupils blown. She’s expectant. She’s grateful.

Of course she is. She asked for this.

Days ago. Before he’d stripped her, before the bindings, before the silence - after she’d had him on his back, hands tied above his head, panting into her mouth like she was the only thing keeping him alive. He’d let her. Willingly. Eagerly, even because he knew the balance would shift. It always does. The same heavy-lidded submission, but now he’s collecting dues.

Her wrists are bound behind her, elbows drawn just enough to arch her chest forward, spine pulled long and proud like she wants to be looked at.

And Sam does look.

He crouches in front of her, one elbow resting on his knee, expression unreadable but soaked in intent. His head tilts a little, raking over her face like he’s deciding whether she’s earned his time tonight. She knows she has. But that doesn’t mean he’s going to be kind about it.

There’s something so measured in the way he does it, like a man admiring a piece of fruit before he bites, weighing its ripeness, how sweet it’ll taste, how easily its flesh will yield under the pressure of his teeth.

She’s rocking ever so slightly on her bruised knees like it might do something, ease something. He laughs softly at her. Her thighs are trembling as the heat in her cheeks flares. She’s aching. Pent up. Absolutely throbbing with need after he worked her to the brink before pulling the cord. Her body practically hums, desperate for contact, for pressure - for anything he’ll give.

He brushes his fingertips along her jawline, examining her as if he’s petting a wild animal. She leans into it with a sigh before she can help herself and he bares his teeth in a grin.

Then he stands, and the loss of closeness is a punch to the chest. He moves like he’s alone in the room. Her eyes pine after him.

A single droplet of water pinballs its way down the ridge of his chest, catching on the shallow curve of muscle just beneath his collarbone. It rolls over a nipple, slipping over the soft plane of his stomach. It hesitates at the jut of his hip, then disappears under the edge of the towel. It clings from the damp, shaping itself to his body just enough to taunt and make her salivate. She swallows, pulse hammering.

He turns, slow as anything, and strolls over to where he discarded his jacket earlier, thrown carelessly across the back of a chair. She watches every step; the flex of his shoulder, the muscles in his back as he crouches slightly, the clink of metal as he reaches into the inside pocket.

When he pulls out the cardboard box of cigarettes and his lighter, her breath stutters.

No.

The sound that slips from her throat is barely audible. She shifts in place, thighs pressing together instinctively, arms tugging at their restraint behind her back. He’s going to make her wait even longer. Light up, lounge back somewhere out of reach. The bastard.

He sees her writhe. But Sam doesn’t acknowledge her. He just straightens, turns the box over in his palm like he’s debating a tone, a mood, a pace. How far he’s willing to go tonight. Be mean to me, she’d whispered, half teasing, half begging. But how mean is ‘mean’?

The truth is, it’s getting harder. The deeper he falls for her, the more she means to him, the harder it is to be cruel.

But want and need are rarely clean things. And she asked for this.

Safeword in place. Rules agreed.

He lets the doubt slide off him like water. This is love, too. In its own twisted dialect.

He shakes a cigarette loose, pinching it between thumb and forefinger, rolling it contemplatively as he tosses the box aside. Because he has all the time in the world.

He turns back to her, other thumb clicking open the lighter, rolling lazily over its wheel.

The last time they’d been like this, playing this intimate, greedy game, she'd tied him down. Whispered things that made him strain against the ropes, half-laughing, half-begging. He gave it to her, then. Willingly. Gave her everything. Even when she’d slapped him across the face hard enough to crack open a half-healed cut along his cheekbone. Left him reddened, bleeding.

He’d loved it. He’d groaned. Been yanked closer to the precipice.

But he doesn't have to leave marks to remind her who’s in control. He doesn’t need to stoop to her level. He doesn’t need to grip her too hard or bark orders. Because Sam’s got all the patience of a saint, and all the deviance of a sinner. The longer the wait, the sweeter the fall.

He crouches in front of her, one knee thudding softly onto the floorboards.

Her throat flexes as a plea forms on the tip of her tongue, but she doesn’t speak. He hasn’t given her permission. Slabs of meat don’t beg. They don’t ask for the butcher’s knife. They wait. Strung up and red and ready. And she is. She wants the blade. Wants to feel it glide through her, to be carved apart slowly, with expert precision, reduced to something he can taste, bite, own. She wants to see the hunger in his eyes just before he feeds, and wants to feel the satisfaction of her surrender sliding down his throat.

Recompense. For all the times he’s let her push, let her win and have her own way.

Sam’s fingers lift to her chin. Then, without a word, he opens his mouth.

It’s instructional - the warning raise of his eyebrows makes it so - and she mirrors him automatically, lips parting as her breath stutters out. He doesn’t praise her for it. The approval is in the slow drag of his thumb along her lower lip, pressing just enough to make it catch.

He slips the unlit cigarette between her lips.

“Hold it.” he bites as it rests on her bottom teeth.

He doesn’t reach for the lighter.

Instead, Sam’s gaze drifts lower. To her thighs. Still pressed close together. Still trying, absurdly, to contain everything she feels. A small huff leaves him, and he delivers a smack to her outer leg.

“Wider,” he says.

She startles - not from the impact, but from the immediacy of the request. Her knees scrape across the floor as she shifts. Complies. Spreads. A little too eagerly for him not to laugh, amused in the way someone might be by an overeager puppy that sits before the command’s finished leaving your lips.

“Christ,” he mutters, almost fond. “desperate, much.”

She is.

There’s no pretending otherwise now. The position exposes everything. She can feel the slick heat between her thighs - not a delicate, pretty sheen, but a total, obscene mess, proof of how long he’s kept her like this. Every shallow breath sends a shiver through her, and the air against her skin feels unbearably cold in comparison to the way her body burns.

Sam doesn’t say anything right away. Just looks.

And it does feel like being looked at. Not glanced over, but consumed. Catalogued. Ready to take out the drawer and use next time he’s working solo.

The cigarette still rests between her lips, growing heavier with every second she’s forced to hold it there. She’s aware of her body in brutal detail - the prickle of sweat, the tremble in her thighs, the way her nipples harden further in the cool air of the room. She rocks forward a little, unintentionally, her hips seeking pressure against the void.

Sam sees that, too.

“Easy,” he murmurs.

It’s not enough of a warning to stop her.

One hand coasts up the inside of her thigh - knuckles first, infuriatingly light. Her eyes follow. A teasing drag of fingers that leave goosebumps in their wake. He doesn’t go for the place she wants him most. No, he skirts just shy of it, brushing the edge of damp skin with the backs of his fingers before veering off again, watching her twitch with restraint.

“You’re soaked,” he observes, voice low and conversational, but roughened at the edges. It’s not lost on her, the way he clears his throat after. Like her reaction is starting to get to him too.

She tries to tilt toward him again. Just a little. A silent plea. A lean into the ghost of his touch.

He presses his hand firmly against her inner thigh - not to please her, but to hold her in place.

“I said easy.”

The pressure of his palm is forceful. Domineering. Not enough to hurt. Certainly not enough to satisfy. Just enough to remind her that he decides when she gets anything more. He leans in, his voice a hot thread beside her ear.

“You want my fingers that badly, you’ll stay still for ‘em.”

She whines. A soft, broken sound that she can’t hold back, eyes fluttering shut as her thighs strain wider in a silent plea. The cigarette wobbles. She adjusts her bite.

He leans in close, and the tip of his nose brushes her cheek.

“I don’t wanna see you so much as twitch again without permission,” he says, voice a dark whisper, “You hear me?”

A beat.

She nods. Shakily. Eyes huge. Mouth full of filter.

Sam smiles, satisfied then kisses her nose. It’s a cruel contrast to the heat coiled low in her belly. A mockery of tenderness.

He watches her like he’s studying an experiment. Thumb teasing the slick folds, spreading her open - unbearably slow, gliding everywhere but her clit. Then finally, finally, he pushes a finger in.

Her whole body jolts. The cigarette wobbles between her lips, and her breath escapes around it in a wet, shaky gasp. She’s sopping, his finger sinking into her with no resistance, the heat of her clutching around him immediately.

“Mmph-”

A sound, close to a moan, vibrates against the filter. Sam stills, one brow raised in warning.

“Don’t drop that,” he warns with a frown.

She freezes. The threat in his tone is soft, but certainly there. She tightens around him instinctively, as if her body’s begging him not to pull away.

He feels it - that helpless squeeze around his finger - and his grin turns cruel.

“You’re so twisted.” he huffs a laugh, sliding a second finger in beside the first without warning.

She shudders, thighs tensing, trying not to move too much. Her wrists tug faintly at the bindings behind her back. She’s being good. She’s trying to be good.

But then he scissors his fingers, slow and salacious, and adds a third.

She almost drops it.

Her jaw slackens around the cigarette and her eyes go wide, pupils blown so deep there’s barely any colour left. She trembles, lips twitching as she desperately tries to re-grip the cigarette between her teeth.

Sam’s mouth is at her ear before she even registers the movement.

“You drop that,” he speaks, close to a whisper,, “and I’ll fuck your mouth ‘n leave you here all night. Got it?”

She clamps down - on the cigarette, on his fingers - her whole body locking with a soft, keening whine.

He sits back on his heels, satisfied, fingers buried inside her. She’s clenching around him like a vice, slick dripping down onto his knuckles.

“There we go,” he murmurs, like he’s coaxing a spider under a glass. “Tight little thing, aren’t you?” he says, tone mockingly sweet.

He sinks his fingers deeper, curling them just enough to drag across that sweet, swollen place inside her. Stretching her open, slow and snug and filthy. Her eyes flutter shut and her mouth tightens instinctively around the filter again, and for a moment she forgets to breathe.

He gets closer, free hand tilting her jaw sideways. He dips, kissing just behind her ear, before grinning to himself.

“Fuck my hand,” Sam purrs.

Her eyes snap to his, startled, head turning against his hold.

Shame rolls through her, hot and heavy. But she wants it. Wants to be used like this, watched like this, broken open and looked at. Laid bare and trembling.

“You heard me, doll.”

She wants to drip down his chin, to leave slick streaks on his fingers, to be useful. A thank you, for all the times he’s given her softness, patience, control. Now, she offers herself up as his indulgence. His plaything. His reward.

So, despite the shame, she gathers herself, rocks forward slowly - hesitant at first, then with more rhythm. Each thrust takes him deeper, the sound it makes disgusting and beautiful all at once.

Her eyes start to flutter shut.

“Hey,” Sam snaps, voice suddenly sharp again as he comes back in front of her. “Eyes on me.”

She forces them open. Finds his face; stern, unwavering, pupils blown.

“You keep your eyes on me,” he says, “or I’ll rip my hand out.”

Her breath stutters through her nose. She nods, or tries to, as much as she can.

Then he curls his fingers inside her, just right, and lets her move again.

Sam’s watching her closely. Not just amused, but entranced.

It’s lecherous, really - the slick sound of her fucking herself, the way her thighs tremble under the strain, how absolutely soaked she is. He slides in and out of her like it’s effortless. Like he could do this for hours.

And he might.

Because this - her on her knees, mouth gagged with his cigarette, eyes desperate and locked on his, begging without a word - this is one of his worst vices. Right up there with nicotine. Except this one’s beautiful. Breathless. His.

He shakes his head, just a little, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

“Jesus, look at you,” he mutters, voice roughened by something tender.

Her chest lifts as she gasps, her body’s too far gone to respond properly, just raw need now. And he can see it. Feel it. The flutter of her tightening around his fingers, the shaky way she rocks, breath catching on every stroke of pressure.

He leans in closer, his free hand brushes hair from her sweaty face, tucks it behind her ear.

“You’re doin’ so good,” he murmurs, thumbing her cheek. “I’d let you come like this if I didn’t like watching you suffer so damn much.”

She whines, a strangled little sound, and her eyes flicker. He sees the build, the trembling edge of it. She’s seconds away. Her whole body is drawing in tight. She can’t hear him, too far gone on chasing her own pleasure.

And that’s when he pulls his hand from under her.

Her whole body jerks forward with the loss, a wet noise echoing in the silence as slick drips from between her thighs. Her knees scrape against the wood, trying to follow the pleasure that’s just been yanked from her. She almost falls onto her front, but he catches her by the shoulder, keeping her in place as she heaves, teeth just about clinging on to the cigarette.

She looks up at him. The word devastated springs to mind. Her brows are drawn in shock.

Sam laughs. Again. Like she’s just told him a joke. The punchline? He holds up his soaked hand to the dim lamplight.

“Christ,” he says, shaking his head in mock-disbelief. “You were really gonna make yourself come all over my hand like a needy little whore, huh?”

Her cheeks flush harshly, not just from frustration but from embarrassment, too. Her expression, torn between ruined need and humiliated pride, does something to him. He bites back another laugh, just barely.

The mess of her. The way her cheeks glow with embarrassment, the shine of arousal still leaking down her thighs, the quiet desperation in her expression. She wants to speak - instinct - but she remembers just in time.

No talking.

Still, her eyes flash. A look. Brief. Miffed. Pissed, even. She glares at him like she wants to bite something. Preferably him.

Sam’s eyebrows lift in mock curiosity. “Somethin’ to say, sweetheart?”

She shifts, huffing through her nose as she shakes him off her shoulder and readjusts her posture; she doesn’t break.

Sam grins.

“There’s my girl,” he says softly. And there it is again; that note of affection tucked beneath the filth.

She grunts, rolling her eyes as if that distracts from her predicament. Another flicker of miffed defiance under all that submission. Chin tilted, cigarette still in place. Her lips twitch like she’s got something to say - like if he let her speak, it wouldn’t be “please.”

Sam’s brows rise slowly. His smirk tilts wider.

“Oh,” he says, dropping his hand to his thigh. “You got an attitude now? That right?”

He leans forward and brings his face inches from hers. His hand lifts again, thumb pressing softly to her lips, brushing just under the cigarette.

“Gotta be careful with that look,” he murmurs. “You keep actin’ like that, I might start thinking you don’t wanna get off at all.”

Her breath hitches, cigarette trembling where it rests against his thumb.

Then, without warning, he presses his fingers into her mouth. Gently, slowly, pushing them between her lips beside the filter, feeding her the taste of herself. Not crude. Not forceful.

Worshipful.

“Taste that?” he asks, voice low and husky. “That’s mine. All of it.”

Her eyes flutter. Her jaw relaxes.

His other hand cups her jaw as he watches her take it. The mess, the humiliation, the weight of his objectification and veneration in all its confusing, conflicting glory. She’s shivering, not from fear, not from the AC - from being so close to coming, from holding back, from needing him to give her permission again.

Sam watches her eyes half-lidded, lashes damp, her tongue curling along the creases of his knuckles as if it’ll make him put them back inside her.

It won't. Obviously.

He slides them free with a slow, wet drag, and her mouth stays open a second too long. Dazed. Wanting. The cigarette slips from her lips, slick and softened by spit, and drops to the floor.

Her breath catches.

Oh fuck.

She doesn’t move, but he sees the way her eyes widen just a touch, the way her spine stiffens as she gasps softly. She knows what that means.

Sam clicks his tongue.

“Jesus,” he mutters, plucking it from where it’s fallen with two fingers, holding it up to the light like an oddity. “You’re dripping down your legs and slobberin’ all over my smoke.”

He turns the ruined end toward her with a lazy flick of his wrist.

“Leakin’ from every hole, aren’t you?”

She squirms, eyes flicking away in shame for just a second. That earns her a smirk.

He slots the soggy cigarette between his own lips without hesitation, grabbing the lighter off the floor without breaking eye contact.

Clink. Tkk. Tk.

His other hand stays on her jaw, thumb brushing along her flushed cheek as the tiny flame hisses to life.

He inhales, and she watches the cherry glow, then dim.

He pulls it from his mouth, curls his fingers under her jaw, and leans in close.

“Open,” he says - and she does, instantly, already riddled with apprehension about how she’s going to be reprimanded.

Smoke curls through the scant space between them before slipping into her mouth, thick and bitter, edged with tobacco and the ghost of mint left over from his toothpaste.

Her lips part around it instinctively. Her lashes flutter. An invasion she’s invited in.

His eyes are on her, heavy-lidded, intent, watching the way she breathes him in. There's something wrong about it. Perverse, even. Her nose crinkles. Her breath catches - but she takes it.

She holds it.

His hand drifts down, fingers wrapping lightly around her throat. Just enough pressure to remind her of where she is.

Where she’s staying.

He lets his hand drift to her throat as he takes another drag.

Just enough pressure to remind her of where she stands. Or… kneels.

His palm is hot against her skin, thumb stroking the side of her neck where her pulse is fluttering wild.

She exhales the smoke slowly, her eyes already glossy again, breath stuttering at the squeeze of his hand.

And Sam, ever observant, sees everything.

The faint tremble in her thighs. The twitch in her fingers. The dazed way she keeps looking at his mouth.

He leans in again, his nose brushing hers, voice dropping to a gravelly hum.

“You think I’m gonna let you come now?” he murmurs, thumb flexing beneath the hook of her jaw.

His hand leaves her throat, trails down her chest, fingers dragging through the sheen of sweat between her breasts, down the curves of her stomach.

Then he stops. Just above the place she needs him most. His eyes flick back to hers. Sly. Scheming.

“You want to come?” He asks, mouth toying with a smirk, eyebrow cocked.

She nods, frantic now.

He smirks fully.

The cigarette, already softened at the tip from her spit, hangs lazy at the corner of his mouth. Smoke curls around his lips as he exhales, the breath ghosting over her flushed skin.

Then, with no warning-

Slap

His palm lands hard between her legs.

She jolts, a sharp gasp tearing from her throat as the sting blooms hot across her soaked folds. Her body pitches forward on instinct, wrists tugging uselessly at the bindings behind her back.

Another drag of smoke. Another lazy exhale. Another hard slap.

"What is this, sweetheart?" He asks casually, speaking round the cigarette. “Huh? Why am I doin’ this t’you?”

She whimpers. Her lips part, but she hesitates.

He raises a brow. “You can talk. Go on.”

"...Punishment.” she breathes, the word barely audible. It quivers on her tongue, vulnerable and so painfully honest.

He chuckles low in his throat. “That’s right.”

Slap

Her thighs twitch. Eyes glassy. The pain is sharp, but it blends with the ache that’s already built to a fever pitch beneath her skin.

“Tell me why.”

“I dropped it,” she gasps, just as his fingers deliver another smack to the same tender spot. She sobs around the breath.

Slap

“Dropped what?”

“Your cigarette…” she rasps.

"You did," he agrees, stroking her inner thigh now - so gentle after the sting. "Mouth got lazy, huh? Couldn't keep it in like I told you?"

Her chin dips. Ashamed. A tear spills over her cheek, and he watches it fall with something almost like pride.

He hums. “Poor thing. Got all stupid on my fingers, didn’t you. Couldn’t keep up.”

She nods, swallowing back another whine.

He strokes her again, soothing over the spots he just struck. Soft circles. Loving, even. Her body shudders at the contrast. Pain, pleasure. Punishment, praise. Her brain can't tell the difference anymore.

She whimpers. Her thighs spread wider. There’s nothing left in her now but need and obedience.

He takes another drag and watches her like she’s an art installation.

Then, with agonizing tenderness, he brushes his fingers along her jaw. Pushes hair back from her damp forehead.

“You wanna make it up to me?” he asks, voice suddenly low.

She nods, tears brimming now.

His fingers stroke through her hair, gentle again. Calming.

“Yeah?” he says, almost sweet. “Gonna do what you’re told this time?”

His fingers twist.

Suddenly he’s fisting her hair, dragging her head back just enough to make her gasp. His body rises in front of her.

Sam’s thumb traces the corner of her lips again, lingering on the sheen of her spit.

“Such a pretty mouth,” he murmurs, his hand settling under her chin, palm warm, holding her face still as he studies her.

“You know what I’m thinkin’ now?”

She shakes her head.

Sam smiles like he already knows she’ll say yes - whatever it is.

His thumb presses against her lower lip again, just enough to open her jaw, frowning like this is a thought that’s only just occurred to him. The towel slips from his hips. He lets it fall, doesn’t even glance down. He’s hard. Heavy. Flushed dark with need. But he takes his time.

“You’re gonna make it all better, aren’t you?” he drawls, stepping close.

She nods again, trembling with anticipation. Her knees scrape forward just enough to get in range.

He strokes himself lazily once, twice, then taps the head of his cock against her lips.

“Open.”

She does. Wide. Tongue flat, ready. But he doesn’t push in right away.

Instead, he coasts the tip along her lower lip, smearing precum against her skin. Foreshadowing. Making her wait.

“Goddamn,” he mutters, thumbing her jaw open wider. “Look at you. Hungry girl.”

He feeds it to her. Slow. Heavy. The first push is shallow, just enough to taste. The tang of salt and skin, the faint ghost of his soap still clinging to him beneath the slick, bitter dribble oozing out of him. Clean and filthy all at once. Then deeper. Her lips seal around him instinctively, her tongue curling in welcome, and the sound she makes is sinfully eager.

He groans, his hand threading into her hair. “That’s it. That’s my girl.”

He doesn’t fuck her mouth. Not yet. He just holds her there, lets her get used to the weight of him. The warmth. Lets her sink into it, hum with pleasure.

“Your mouth was made for this, huh?”

She moans in response, throat fluttering. Her mouth is warm, slick, willing. He rocks forward just slightly, testing her, teasing her, and feels her throat start to tense.

“Deep breath, sweetheart.”

He pushes in deeper this time, and she takes him.

Her nose brushes his skin. Her throat opens up around him, and Sam has to bite back a sound because fuck, she’s good. Her mouth is all velvet heat, honeyed suction and surrender.

He stills. Lets her choke on him for a beat. Just long enough to feel her eyes water.

Then he draws back and watches the trail of spit stretch from her lip to his cock. She looks up at him expectantly, pushing excess spit out of her mouth as she shudders and makes room for air.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, grinning. “You like that?”

She nods, gasping, mouth open, breathless and ready as he inhales around his cigarette.

Sam exhales smoke above her, watching it swirl into the air like the last remnants of her dignity, then he grabs a fistful of her hair, yanks her forward, and pushes his cock past her lips again.

He holds her there, lodged deep, choking her on it again, until her throat convulses around him and spit floods from the corners of her mouth. It dribbles down her chin, slicking his skin, soaking her chest, turning her into a mess of tears and drool and muffled gasps.

She’s sobbing now, not from pain, but from the sheer force of him. From the way he uses her like she’s nothing but a throat to fuck. Reminding her that there are consequences to her actions.

And yet she doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t fight.

Because this is what she asked for.

His hips roll harder.

Fingers gripping her hair. Deep, punishing strokes that make her choke, splutter, and moan all at once. Her jaw slackens to accommodate the thrusts, spit dripping from the corners of her mouth to her chest and stomach, eyes glassy but focused on him, just how he likes it.

He watches every second.

“Fuck, look at you,” he groans, pace unrelenting. “All used up and still so good f’me.”

She hums, affirming, obedient, messy, and the vibration pulls a growl from his chest.

But even as he uses her like a toy, his thumb drags along her cheek smoke flowing out of the tip of the cigarette as he moves, his other hand brushing hair out of her eyes like she deserves to be taken care of. There’s reverence in the ruin.

She’s gagging around his cock, eyes blurred and rolling, spit leaking down her chin like she’s incapable of crying and choking and moaning all at once- making a scene, suffering for him - and she’s still looking up at him like he hung the fucking moon and stars in the sky.

And Sam- God, Sam feels like he might split apart.

Not just from the heat curling at the base of his spine or the wet, perfect grip of her throat, but from the sight of her.

His girl.

Tied. Needy. Worshipping him.

He knows he can be gentle - he has been. Knows how to whisper soft things against her skin, how to touch her like she’s made of glass, how to kiss her slow until she’s dripping with gratitude and begging for more.

But this?

The way she takes it when she lets him act like this-

The way her body fights itself, shuddering, twitching to obey even when her lungs are empty-

His grip tightens in her hair, not just for control but to anchor himself, because he’s coming undone. His hips stutter, his breath catches, a rough, guttural sound tearing from his throat as heat floods inside him.

She whimpers as his cock hits the back of her throat again, and that’s it.

The coil snaps.

He jerks back at the last second, groaning from somewhere deep and guttural, and spills across her face with a shudder that rocks his whole body, stomach rolling as he takes deep, stuttering breaths.

It hits her cheek first, thick and hot, then another streak paints her lips, her chin, the bridge of her nose. Pearlescent paint all over the canvas he’s stretched and pinned into place. It drips from her jaw, streaks her collarbone, pools just above her chest before rolling languidly down her sternum.

Sam groans again, softer this time, as the last spurts land, lips parted, brows drawn together as he watched the warmth and mess and him claim every inch of her.

She doesn’t flinch.

Doesn’t blink.

Just lets him mark her.

Allows him to have what he’s owed.

And Christ, she looks so gorgeous like this- eyes glassy, cheeks flushed, mouth open and sticky with spit and come as she pants and gasps for breath. Looking down at the mess he’s made of her. Waiting. Still. Obedient.

Still grateful.

Sam exhales, chest still rising hard, and reaches out to smear the mess across her cheek with his thumb. Her skin glistens in the low light, slick with the evidence of what she gave him. What he took.

She shudders under the touch.

And Sam just stares for a long, quiet beat - heart still pounding. He’s knows she’s thinking, somewhere deep within in her muddled brain, about how she’s going to one-up him next time. So he’ll enjoy his power over her while it lasts.

“Shit,” he says, voice still rough from release, almost affectionate, tilting her chin up to him. “Wearin’ me real pretty, aren’t you?”

He takes a final drag from his cigarette, lets the smoke swirl hot in his mouth for a beat, then exhales it in a narrow puff right down into her face.

She flinches, lashes fluttering against the haze, a soft cough escaping her… but she doesn’t move away or look up in protest.

Just blinks through it, mouth still open, cum streaked across her lips like gloss.

Sam smiles around the filter.

God, he loves this.

Loves that she lets him be like this - do this - when she’s all fucked-out and pliant, too deep in the space he’s carved out for her to fight back. She could cough, cry, whimper through the smoke, and she still wouldn’t say no. Wouldn’t dare.

His thumb smears a stripe of cum across her cheek, down to her lips, pressing it in, eyes flicking to hers.

He doesn’t even need to tell her to open this time. She does. Immediately. And he rubs more across her tongue.

He tilts his head as she trembles, mouth full of him, throat still raw.

Stubbing the cigarette out on the floor and tossing it aside, his hand drops lazily between her thighs, palm cupping the soaked heat there.

She jerks, hips twitching forward. Her eyes beg.

He hums.

“You still wanna come?” he murmurs.

She nods, frantic, wet noise escaping from her throat as her sore knees shift, so close to breaking.

“Yeah?” His tone turns almost warm. “Want me to make it better?”

“Please,” she whispers, the word thick and slurred, stupid little babbles that cost her something to say out loud. “Please, I… mnnh-”

His fingers slide against her, soft, teasing, just enough to make her hiss and roll into him.

“God, you’re practically drooling outta your cunt, doll. Begging with my cum all over your face.” He leans in, mouth near her ear, voice curling like smoke. “Could rub you one out in ten seconds flat. You’re right there, aren’t you?”

Her nod is desperate, his crass way of putting it only making her thighs strain wider.

His fingers press in, just breaching, thumb lightly nudging against her clit-

Then he stops.

He exhales slowly through his nose, wiping his hand off on her thigh as he rises to his feet.

“Thing is,” he says, stretching, casual, “I’m feelin’ a little tired now. That really took it outta me.”

She freezes.

No.

No, no.

Her head jerks up. “No - wait - Sam - please don’t-”

But he’s already stepping back, already walking away, not even looking at her.

“Wait, I’ll be good, I’ll stay still, I won’t - please don’t leave me like this, I can’t-“

She’d scream if her throat wasn’t so raw. The edge is just there, throbbing helplessly between her legs. She’s hot and sweating and empty and still so full of need it feels like a punishment just to exist.

She hears him stop.

Then-

The slow sound of his footsteps returning.

Hope kicks in her chest.

She lifts her chin, eyes wide, ready to thank him, ready to offer anything-

And then his hand grips her jaw. Hard. She grunts against his grip.

His fingers squeeze her cheeks together, warping her mouth into something almost comical. She flushes harder.

His expression is calm. Cold. He looks into her eyes like he’s already made his decision.

“You had one job,” he says, voice low, brows drawn together in a frown that makes her cunt clench around nothing. “Hold the damn cigarette.”

Her eyes fill again. Her whole body begs.

He leans in, so close she can taste him on her tongue.

“You expect me to reward failure?” he murmurs. She blinks, eyes glossing over, head shaking reluctantly.

He clicks his tongue. Gives her face one last condescending squeeze, lips puckering around any plea she has at the tip of her tongue.

“Night, sweetheart.”

He kisses her damp forehead, reaching behind her to give the upper set of ties a harsh tug. And then he lets go. Turns. Walks away.

The door opens.

The door shuts.

She stares after him, aching. Trembling. Her thighs still sticky, her face stained with him, her body suspended in the cruelest kind of want.

She stares at it like it might reopen. Like he might come back in and say just kidding, scoop her up, untie her, kiss her clean.

But it doesn’t move.

And neither can she.

Her arms are still bound behind her back, now tighter than before. He must’ve drawn them in closer, just enough to pull her chest forward and arch her spine uncomfortably. Her knees are killing her. No padding, no mercy. And worse still, her thighs.

They’re spread wide, knees anchored out of fear of hurting them further, resulting in a dumb little hobble that holds her open. Vulnerable. On display. She can’t even rub them together for the illusion of relief. He’s made sure of that.

She lets her head fall forward, hair sticking to her cheeks. Her breathing is ragged.

And then the tears come.

They slip down her face slowly at first, joining the mix of spit and Sam’s release that already glistens on her skin. She can taste it in the corners of her mouth - salty, bitter. It’s drying against her skin, a feeling that only furthers her humiliation.

Her jaw trembles.

He said goodnight.

Like it meant something kind. Like he hadn’t just used her like nothing but a hole and walked away without so much as loosening the ropes.

The humiliation burns hot, spiraling in her belly like acid.

She feels cheap. Disposable.

Used.

She’s fucking dripping onto the floor.

And the worst part is not only that she asked to be treated like this. But it’s that she wants to be again. That she’d let him do worse.

Even now.

Her cunt aches. Her body is still slick and flushed and needy, uselessly grinding on emptiness, desperate for friction. For him.

She swallows thickly as she thinks about how he could do it all again - just as cruel, cold, cutting - and she’d crawl right back to him for more.

___

Right, well, I’m off for a cold shower x

[doeyeddaydream]

☆…━━━━━·:*☆…━━━━━·:*☆…━━━━━·:*☆

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕷𝖔𝖘𝖙 𝕭𝖔𝖞𝖘

⋆˙⟡♡ PAIRING ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ Poly!Lost boys x fem reader ۶𖹭ৎ

⋆ ˚｡⋆ SYNOPSIS ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ You have another sweet yet tense encounter with the boys, and a mysterious one with the man who runs the video store. The man who seems to hold a lot of power over them. Alongside this, the relationship seems to escalate. A new page to a book that you've opened.

⋆˙⟡♡ AUTHORS NOTE ˚୨୧⋆ Not me sprinkling some of my favourite old horror movies within this, but when given the chance to in a setting like Max's video store, I'll take it.

✧ ⁺  𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 ⋆｡˚ ⋆ Max jumpscare, reader is implied to have longish hair?, the nickname babe used (I can't stand that nickname but it's very within theme for them, therefore we endure), protective and possessive behaviour, kissing.

☆…━━━━━·:*☆…━━━━━·:*☆…━━━━━·:*☆

You had found yourself wandering in and out of stores this particular evening, the bustling crowds driving forward in a rush of chatter and thrill had you sweating in the summer heat, and the wisp of cool air blowing out the AC in the storefronts offered a much welcomed respite.

To your delight, you find a video store that's filled to the brim with dazzling TVs covering the walls and playing an array of movies that you faintly recognise.

It was exciting and buzzing in a way you could feel comfortable in, and the thought of picking up something to watch home later lured you in closer. Much better than another typical tourist store filled with overpriced buckets and spades and sunhats.

The moment you enter, the heavy lingering scent of cigarette smoke and AC air hits you. It hands thickly within the shop, a wispy haziness fogging your view.

Like graveyard fog or sea mist, it seeped into every crevice of this town, beneath floorboards and doorframes to engulf everything that the sea air touched. Like a grasping shadowy hand enveloping the town in an iron first. You felt like you couldn't hide from it, but you didn't want to struggle either. Mystery lingered in this murder capital, and you willingly let yourself be taken by it. At some point deciding that there was safety to behold here.

Whilst deep in thought, you look over the video tapes in the display case when a leather gloved hand settles on your shoulder, swiping locks of hair away from your neck. Deft fingertips idly brushing your hair, tenderly light yet firmly intentional.

A low whisper of your name pulls you from your thoughts, and you instinctively turn around.

You startle, gasping a little surprised noise, before realising it's none other than David. A strange warm feeling cloaks over you, enveloping you at the sight of him and his eyes peering straight into yours. Two chips of ice staring at you behind light eyelashes and dark under eyes. Unblinking and intense.

"What's going on?". He murmurs, muttering your name again with a lilting fondness. A soft smirk warming his expression at the sight of you.

"Oh". You reply, almost in a stupor. "Hey David". Breathing out his name, he looks you over before softening his smile. His hand is cupping your shoulder to pull you into his side, patting it reassuringly. Keeping you tucked against him. A possessive claim made loud and clear.

"There she is!". A head of wild blonde hair appears, the scent of smoke and weed and sea salt surrounding you. Paul's glittering blue eyes look at you like an excitable golden retriever, and he bounds over like one too. Toying with the stalk of a green lollipop that he presumably pinched from the countertop, but knowing him, he most likely definitely did.

His hand reaches for your waist to pull you into a hug, and you let him. The expanse of his palm cups your lower back before it drags around the curve of your waist, past a pocket. It's a brief hug, but it's warm nonetheless.

The others pile in like a group of piranhas, flanking each other's backs and sides. Dwayne leans back on the counter, quietly looking you over with his dark pinning stare whilst Marko rummages around in the lollipop jar and sends you an acknowledging wink and a finger waggle wave.

"Let's ditch babe, wanna ride?". Paul whispers, craning his neck down to murmur against your ear above the noise of the store.

Someone's else speaks up first before you have a chance to, and you almost jump.

"Boys". A stern voice calls from the register, and your head turns to the owner of it.

David turns his head slower, prolonging his gaze on you before making eye contact with the tall man adorned with glasses and a tie behind the counter. An odd tension settles between them, and his hand settles on your lower back.

"I told you not to come in here anymore".

You can hear Marko and Paul have quietened down now, no longer playfully pushing and prodding each other. They bow their heads quietly, yet in a defying manner like sulking children to a stern parent. Dragging their feet as they walk, making the time in your presence linger.

David makes eye contact with the man, as if saying something with his stare, before turning in acknowledgement. His knuckle brushes against your chin, gaze flickering to your lips before leading away. His boys are hot on his heels, as if connected to him with a string.

"See you later". Paul bids you farewell first, leaning down to whisper fondly against your cheek before departing with a boyish smile and a playful finger waggle.

Marko follows closely, his shoulder glued to his terror twin, but not before looking at you up and down with a lightheaded flirty glance. Brushing by, his lightly grasps your hand in his in passing, releasing your hand whilst dragging his fingertips down your palm before lightly hooking his fingertips with yous. Almost as if trying to drag you along outside with him.

"see you out later, 'kay?".

You give him a playful apologetic smile and squeeze his fingers a little before he lets you go. He looks at you with awe and forlornness before following Marko out. Dwayne hot on his heels, whose dark eyes are still pinned to you. Looking over you protectively before shooting the man behind the counter a stern glare. Almost in a silent warning.

They leave through the doors, and the tension settles. They must've really pissed off the store owner in the past or something.

"Apologies young lady. I hope they haven't bothered you too badly. Don't want those wild kids scaring off any new customers". The man chuckles politely. His smile doesn't reach his eyes.

"It's alright, they're my... friends. Well, Sort of. Thank you though". You assure him, offering a polite smile. You're still not sure what to name whatever is going on between you and the group of punks that seem to tail you, whatever sense of caution you had initially felt around them had somehow melted into something sweeter. Familiar. You weren't squirming prey, but you weren't just a casual friend either. Not with how they look at you.

His eyes flicker to the VHS you place on the countertop and his smile flickers fondly at the title.

"Horror Express. Excellent choice".

You pay for the video, handing him the cash, and he puts it into a paper bag for you.

He hands you a lollipop from the jar along with your purchase, and you take it shyly.

"Well I do hope you come by again, we've got plenty more movies like that around here".

"Will do. And thankyou...?"

"Max. Just Max will do". He chirps, flattening his palms on the countertop. Leering over you with his height.

"Thankyou Max. Have a good night".

"You too miss".

Stepping back into the chaos outside, you're hit with a sudden gust of cold nippy sea air. You're not at all surprised to see them all waiting near the storefront, their jackets warmed by neon light.

Popping the lollipop into your mouth, you send them a smile and a wave. Their faces differ with confused expressions as you turn the other way to walk, trying not to laugh as you hear their rapid footsteps approach behind you.

"no way you're already heading home". Paul groans playfully, leaning down to speak over the crash of waves and the noise of the concert playing nearby. "The night's still young. Come with us, yeah? We'll look after you".

You raise your brow at him, quirking a lighthearted demeanor.

"that doesn't sound ominous".

"nothing ominous here babe. All good intentions, I swear".

"As much as I'd love to, I can't. I have an early shift in the morning. Plus I really am tired". You sigh, tucking the packaged VHS into your bag and swinging it over your shoulder.

Dwayne approaches, and he's so close you can smell the leather from his jacket and the sea salt in his hair. His fingertips ghost past your lower back, and he peers down at you with those dark unblinking eyes of his.

"We'll get you home. Don't go alone". He murmurs lowly in a soft smoky voice, and the others grumble and sigh in disappointment. But they don't argue, and swiftly jump onto their bikes.

"She's riding with me". David announces, regardless if it needed to be stated or not. You always end up on his bike one way or another, and the other boys don't put up much of a fight.

Dwayne's hand warms the small of your back before it slips away, yet the heat remains. His nose nudges lightly against the back of your hair, encouraging you gently to join David.

He keeps his eyes on you as you approach him, hearing the others drag their bikes over the grit sand and gravel.

You feel nervous about riding on a bike, but with David luring you over with his gentle steadfast gaze and relaxed demeanor, you find yourself walking to him without quite realising it. You often find yourself drawn to him like that, as if you keep getting caught in his orbit. Lulling you closer with his fond expression and alluring confidence. You feel it. The promise of safety in his eyes, and you accept his hand, letting him help you climb onto the space behind him.

The bulk of cool metal against your hot skin and the low purr of it breathing to life beneath you makes it feel like a daunting death machine between your legs, but with David in the driver's seat, you feel at ease.

You feel warmer nestled against David's back, your cheek pressed against the leather of his jacket that smells distinctively of him. It helps distract you from the spike of anxiety that hits you the moment the engine roars loudly to life, and you hold tighter onto him when the weight of the bike glides bumpily down the sidewalk curb onto the road.

David feels you hug him tighter, and smirks softly in amusement.

Crowds part as they glide through the weaving pedestrians, and you look out onto the dark horizon of the ocean, seemingly blending into the night sky. The pale seafoam crashes against the shoreline in the distance whilst seasalt wind brushes through your hair.

The ride is slow and pleasant, and something about the mood tonight feels like they're drawing this out appreciatively. Bathed in moonlight and surrounded by your peculiar guardian angels devils.

They make the night feel like a realm of familiarity and safety, something you'd never thought possible when moving to Santa Carla alone. Nowadays you would go anywhere on the boardwalk without an ounce of fear, knowing that they were close by. You could feel their eyes on you if for some reason they couldn't join your side.

Your dark apartment stands amidst the others on the street, and it comes closer to view as you all drive to it.

You all pull to a stop in front of it, and the growl of bikes silence. Headlights bathing your front door.

Squeezing David's shoulder slightly, he offers you a hand to steady yourself with as you clamber off. He doesn't let you go right away, his gloved hand holding your waist, only letting you go when you give him a hug. His fingers flex against the dip in your lower back, a soft growly exhale brushing against your neck before he lets you go.

"Tomorrow night?". Marko asks hopefully. Jumping off his bike to scoop you into a hug too.

"Maybe".

He groans against your shoulder, and you laugh. He lingers longer with you in his arms, only pulling away when Paul nudges at his shoulder.

You card your fingers apologetically through his hair before getting pulled into Paul's arms, who picks you up off the ground till your legs dangle.

He huffs and snuffs noises playfully against your cheek to make you giggle, and you kiss clumsily at his jaw to make him stop. He does, cracking a dopey grin before lowering you back down on your feet. You flush, the kiss was impulsive, but he doesn't seem to mind one bit.

A tension settles in the air and their eyes pin on you. Like you've just tiptoed over the invisible barrier that had been lingering the whole time, quietly existing yet loudly being acknowledged by everyone. A simmering possessiveness glimmers in their eyes.

Dwayne dismantles his bike and approaches you first. The others watching on. David is lighting a cigarette, his dark eyes on you.

"Get some rest. We'll see you tomorrow". Dwayne mutters softly to you, leaning down to hug you before pausing. His gaze asking you for permission, and when you shyly nod and follow suit, almost a little clumsily, you let him kiss you. You grab a handful of dark hair, and he hums a low groan against your mouth.

It's brief and soft, and yet you feel like jelly afterwards. Especially how he looks you over afterwards. His dark pinning eyes glazed over with heated intensity. Like he wants more.

Paul and Marko saddle on their bikes, mouths agape, before scrambling off. David watches in amusement.

Marko's hand finds itself in your pocket as he presses a breathless kiss against your parted mouth. It's warm and sappy sweet like taffy, and he peppers a few more against the corners of your lips after pulling away. His eyes twinkling with giddiness and awe, and he pats Paul on the back as he returns to his bike. Now dopey eyed and mellow.

Paul is just as enthusiastic, ducking down for you to peck him on the lips. Nuzzling against your cupped hand that steadies against his jaw, light stubble tickling your palm.

They clamber back onto their bikes, smiles etched onto their faces. The three of them make a head start whilst David stands and leans by his bike, watching you. Curiously. As if waiting for his turn, and if you'd share the affection with him. The knowing relaxed smirk on his face gives it away however, the possessiveness he feels for you is already well established.

"I can't leave you out now". You chuckle awkwardly and shyly, your face warm against the cool night breeze.

"Well, aren't you sweet". He jests back gently, yet the intensity in his eyes is still there.

His gloved fingers brush against your cheek before taking a hold of your chin, and he kisses you after letting you anxiously huff air against his face from being so close. His hand moves to curl around the nape of your neck, and he deepens the kiss a little before pulling away. A soft smirk on his face as he looks at you admiringly. He tastes like smoke. Dangerous yet intoxicating.

"Goodnight".

"g'night David".

Once the roar of motorcycles deafens into the darkness of the night, you're left alone with your thoughts, and warmth lingering on your lips. Like they never left.

You step into your warm apartment and flick the kitchen lights on, the empty space looming in on you quietly as you press your back to the door, mulling over what just happened. That you've just made that step into their world now, no longer a bystander or a passenger.

This will definitely change things.

Wait, did Marko and Paul slip the candy they pinched from the video store into your pockets? Why are their lollipops-

[divinekangaroo]

Reading the Peaky Blinders wiki in an attempt to find out the name of the man Tommy knew in Miquelon and used to know from the war, and...

"Tommy shows off his skills, drawing his gun and shooting the wall – and a stray pigeon – to show how serious he is. Tommy doesn’t kill anyone though, pointing out to them that he’s a lot more calmer and rational than he was before. Polly’s death has – at least for Tommy – helped to steady the ship." (emphasis mine)

crying with laughter, what

[clumsypuppy]

wanna see a magic trick? 🪄🎩

[neverendingford]

.

[mourn-and-watch]

i know many people are afraid of being rude and roleplaying as someone besides people pleaser (which is not not-understandable tho. especially for the first time players) but i think bg3 is the game that tries to motivate you not to be agreeable and obedient all the time. usually in rpg games with approval systems there are one or two characters who will approve of you being an asshole mostly for the sake of it but that's it. also actively challenging character's beliefs in most cases will just gain you a whole lot of disapproval and no actual change. meanwhile in bg3 there are many characters who will approve of you losing it in some situations and disapprove if you act too gullible and let everyone use you.

also following someone else's orders and desires every time won't get you far. if you'll blindly support your companions' initial goals (and they're very insistent and defensive about it and questioning their ideas may also naturally result in disapproval) it won't automatically get you their best ending and in the most cases it is literally the opposite. shadowheart wants to become dark justiciar real bad but if you support her on that path she'll be claimed by the evil goddess she unconsciously resisted her whole life. astarion wants to get ascended but helping him do it won't drive away his fears and just will lock him in the same cycle his master was trapped in. lae'zel worships vlaakith and is really hesitant to give up her faith and everything she was taught no matter what she's witnessed and not challenging her beliefs will make her just another sacrifice for a tyrant. if you play durge and decide to accept their father (which is also actively encouraged by durge's sidekick and, well, the other present option is an inevitable death) they'll forever lose their freedom and will become their father's dreadful instrument with no will of its own. if you decide to give gortash the netherstones as a goody two shoes you are when he asks he'll fuck you over on principle. this game lacks a truly unique completely evil run for sure. but it does reward your character for questioning other people and standing up for themself and does punish them for being too lenient when they shouldn't be

[tearlessrain]

please help me- i used to be pretty smart but i’m having so much trouble grasping the concept of diegetic vs non-diegetic bdsm!

gfkjldghfd okay first of all I'm sorry for the confusion, if you're not finding anything on the phrase it's because I made it up and absolutely nobody but me ever uses it, but I haven't found a better way to express what I'm trying to say so I keep using it. but now you've given me an excuse to ramble on about some shit that is only relevant to me and my deeply inefficient way of talking and by god I'm going to take it.

SO. the way diegetic and non-diegetic are normally used is to talk about music and sound design in movies/tv shows. in case you aren't familiar with that concept, here's a rundown:

diegetic sound is sound that happens within the world of the movie/show and can be acknowledged by the characters, like a song playing on the stereo during a driving scene, or sung on stage in Phantom of the Opera. it's also most other sounds that happen in a movie, like the sounds of traffic in a city scene, or a thunderclap, or a marching band passing by. or one of the three stock horse sounds they use in every movie with a horse in it even though horses don't really vocalize much in real life, but that's beside the point, the horse is supposed to be actually making that noise within the movie's world and the characters can hear it whinnying.

non-diegetic sound is any sound that doesn't exist in the world of the movie/show and can't be perceived by the characters. this includes things like laugh tracks and most soundtrack music. when Duel of Fates plays in Star Wars during the lightsaber fight for dramatic effect, that's non-diegetic. it exists to the audience, but the characters don't know their fight is being backed by sick ass music and, sadly, can't hear it.

the lines can get blurry between the two, you've probably seen the film trope where the clearly non-diegetic music in the title sequence fades out to the same music, now diegetic and playing from the character's car stereo. and then there are things like Phantom of the Opera as mentioned above, where the soundtrack is also part of the plot, but Phantom of the Opera does also have segments of non-diegetic music: the Phantom probably does not have an entire orchestra and some guy with an electric guitar hiding down in his sewer just waiting for someone to break into song, but both of those show up in the songs they sing down there.

now, on to how I apply this to bdsm in fiction.

if I'm referring to diegetic bdsm what I mean is that the bdsm is acknowledged for what it is in-world. the characters themselves are roleplaying whatever scenarios their scenes involve and are operating with knowledge of real life rules/safety practices. if there's cnc depicted, it will be apparent at some point, usually right away, that both characters actually are fully consenting and it's all just a planned scene, and you'll often see on-screen negotiation and aftercare, and elements of the story may involve the kink community wherever the characters are. Love and Leashes is a great example of this, 50 Shades and Bonding are terrible examples of this, but they all feature characters that know they're doing bdsm and are intentional about it.

if I'm talking about non-diegetic bdsm, I'm referring to a story that portrays certain kinks without the direct acknowledgement that the characters are doing bdsm. this would be something like Captive Prince, or Phantom of the Opera again, or the vast majority of bodice ripper type stories where an innocent woman is kidnapped by a pirate king or something and totally doesn't want to be ravished but then it turns out he's so cool and sexy and good at ravishing that she decides she's into it and becomes his pirate consort or whatever it is that happens at the end of those books. the characters don't know they're playing out a cnc or D/s fantasy, and in-universe it's often straight up noncon or dubcon rather than cnc at all. the thing about entirely non-diegetic bdsm is that it's almost always Problematic™ in some way if you're not willing to meet the story where it's at, but as long as you're not judging it by the standards of diegetic bdsm, it's just providing the reader the same thing that a partner in a scene would: the illusion of whatever risk or taboo floats your boat, sometimes to extremes that can't be replicated in real life due to safety, practicality, physics, the law, vampires not being real, etc. it's consensual by default because it's already pretend; the characters are vehicles for the story and not actually people who can be hurt, and the reader chose to pick up the book and is aware that nothing in it is real, so it's all good.

this difference is where people tend to get hung up in the discourse, from what I've observed. which is why I started using this phrasing, because I think it's very crucial to be able to differentiate which one you're talking about if you try to have a conversation with someone about the portrayal of bdsm in media. it would also, frankly, be useful for tagging, because sometimes when you're in the mood for non-diegetic bodice ripper shit you'd call the police over in real life, it can get really annoying to read paragraphs of negotiation and check-ins that break the illusion of the scene and so on, and the opposite can be jarring too.

it's very possible to blur these together the same way Phantom of the Opera blurs its diegetic and non-diegetic music as well. this leaves you even more open to being misunderstood by people reading in bad faith, but it can also be really fun to play with. @not-poignant writes fantastic fanfic, novels, and original serials on ao3 that pull this off really well, if you're okay with some dark shit in your fiction I would highly recommend their work. some of it does get really fucking dark in places though, just like. be advised. read the tags and all that.

but yeah, spontaneous writer plug aside, that's what I mean.

[rindreamery]

it's just instinct, all i want is you.

how long it takes for the blue lock men to realize you’re the one. featuring: itoshi rin, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro, michael kaiser, oliver aiku ─ content: fluff, suggestive

note. desperate and yearning hcs next??? who knows

it takes itoshi rin 6 months.

rin likes to think that he’s slow and deliberate with his relationships— that he’s not the type to have such decisive thoughts about someone so early on. he’s spent years building up a wall to protect his feelings, and he’s not about to let a (potentially fleeting) person ruin what he's worked so hard to maintain. he's only been with you for 6 months, and he has his doubts about whether you would want to stick around. but all it takes is, “i’m so proud of you, rin,” and his world is completely tilted off its axis.

he tries to tell himself that it's nothing; he's been complimented by other people before.

you probably didn't even think much of it when you told him. it’s just a simple phrase, one of many that people say without thinking. but it's different, it's special, when it's coming from you. your words repeat in his head, like some mantra. it's like his senses are overwhelmed by you. he finds himself focusing solely on your voice, the way you look at him with such gentle eyes, the sincerity behind your words— you. it’s scary how much it affects him. it rattles something deep inside of him, and it shakes him to his core.

he doesn't want to hear it from anyone else, he quickly realizes. those praises don't mean much when it's not coming from you. they don't make him feel unstoppable, like he’s on some high that he’ll never be able to get down from. and he's hit with a jarring realization—

“say it again,” he's standing in front of you, ignoring the incessant flashing of cameras that surrounds him and the deafening cheers of the crowd. he's only looking at you.

“i’m so proud of you,” your voice is quiet, but all he can hear is you, “rin.”

—he's fallen for you, much deeper than he thought he would. he’d be damned if he let you slip away.

it takes itoshi sae 1 year and 3 months.

sae had no intention of falling in love with you. needless to say, his affection for you wasn’t some calculated move. the thought of liking you hadn’t even crossed his mind, and he’s not even sure if he’d ever considered you as a friend. you’ve just been around for long enough that he’s stopped questioning it, that he’s grown to tolerate your presence. at least, that’s what he tells himself. he lets you come over when you want, eat all the snacks in his pantry, use his netflix account— to everyone else, you’re basically a couple. before he knows it, you’ve settled into his life the way a familiar song gets stuck in his head without him noticing.

it’s hard to deny the noticeable shift in sae’s behavior whenever he’s around you.

the way the frown on sae’s face vanishes to a more passive state whenever he’s talking to you, and he's much less irritated at the aspect of having to answer your random (but stupid, in his opinion) questions. he’s not aware, but a part of him subconsciously looks forward to it. “would you still love me if i was a worm?” comes another one of your stupid questions, and he answers without thinking.

“yeah.” the expression on his face remains the same, he’s as indifferent as he always is. but his answer takes both of you by surprise. under his cool facade, his mind is scrambling to make sense of his answer, as if he hadn’t expected himself to say such a thing.

you’re flustered, and it’s evident in the way you stumble over your words. a part of you begins to wonder if that was simply a figment of your imagination, like some hallucination from sleep deprivation. “what— huh?”

so he plays it off, he acts as if he meant to say it. “you heard what i said.” he realizes his heart had decided on you longer than he’d ever been aware of.

it takes nagi seishiro 3 months.

nagi’s used to being alone— he’s used to neglecting himself and every aspect of his life because no one is there to tell him not to do so. he’s not used to having someone be a constant in his life, to have someone who isn’t thrown off by his apathetic and lazy attitude. sometimes he wonders if he acts this way to keep people out, and he wonders why you choose to stay despite. but slowly, you color your way into his bleak routine.

at first, it’s subtle. you linger around him, but your presence isn’t demanding for his attention. you’re there, but you let him be.

and then your presence becomes something a little more prominent. he starts to notice the little post-it notes you leave in his locker, and how you remember to sneak in his favorite snacks. or how his pillows start to smell like your shampoo, and the way he becomes used to having you there in his living room as he plays video games. or even the fact that he finds himself waiting by the gate when classes end, and how he doesn’t mind being pushed around by the crowd as he searches for you in the endless sea of students so he could walk with you. so he could be with you.

he starts to feel like he’s truly living, like there’s something to look forward to every day.

when you say, “see you tomorrow,” he deflates at your words. it’s a weird feeling— he feels weird at the thought that he doesn’t like being alone anymore. that he misses you in the way he misses his phone. he feels bored without you there, and a part of him feels so empty when he doesn’t have you beside him.

when he drops you off at home that day, he realizes it feels strange to be alone again— “can you stay with me?”— he needs to be with you.

it takes michael kaiser 7 months.

kaiser lets his ego get in the way of his relationships. he thinks he can have anyone he wants, and that's why he wholeheartedly believes that he's above the idea of yearning for someone. the idea of wanting someone so much that his thoughts would be consumed by them, and only them? it’s unimaginable. he’s used to being admired, worshipped even, by others. he doesn’t need anyone— he doesn’t need you.

so the prick of irritation he feels, when he sees you laughing at another man’s jokes, catches him off-guard.

it shatters his pride, and he tries to ignore the heat that bubbles under his skin. but he can’t ignore the feeling of possessiveness that washes over him at the sight. you’ve always been his— the heated touches, the way you wear his cologne on your skin, the way you linger around him like it’s natural. you're mine, he always thinks to himself, but he never says it out loud. he’s above yearning— but the idea of you being with someone else makes him feel sick. and he’s not about to let another man take you away.

“come with me.” his voice is sharp and demanding, his mere presence filling the space with an unspoken challenge. but before you can speak, kaiser’s gripping your wrist, pulling you into him without another word of explanation. you don’t fight him, you don’t fight the excitement that it brings you. there’s something in his gaze, something so possessive and raw, that makes you follow him wordlessly. you’re mine, the thought echoes in his mind and for the first time in months, he can’t deny the feeling that has been brewing under the surface.

he yearns for you, and he’ll never let anyone strip this feeling away from him.

it takes oliver aiku 4 years and 2 months.

oliver would never deny the fact that he enjoys having you around. but you’re simply his friend— nothing less, and definitely nothing more than that. you’ve been in his life for years now, lingering in his orbit in a way that keeps you both close, but so far. you’re a constant in his life because he doesn’t need to act around you. he never needs to impress you, never needs to win you over with sugary words. you’ve never given him the typical attention he’s used to, the type of attention that he naturally demands. and that bothers him in a way he won’t admit. yet, it’s this disinterest that pulls at him like gravity. it keeps him coming back, keeps him by your side.

but he doesn’t want anything more from you— he doesn’t need it. it’s these words that keeps him from tainting you.

he doesn't like the dangerous and greedy feeling of wanting to have more of you, wanting to see you in ways that no one else has, and that dangerous feeling that makes him want to devote himself to you wholly. and that’s what gets to him. he’s used to being the one in control, the one who dictates the terms.

it's a futile attempt, he realizes. it's always been you who's had the upper hand.

he can no longer deny that he wants you, more than he’s ever wanted anyone. no one else has his heart racing ‘til he can hear his heartbeat in his ears, no one else has him hooked in the way you’ve been stringing him along. and suddenly, all those meaningless flings feel like distractions, like he’s been wasting time when what he really wants is right in front of him.

it’s not about lust, not about the chase—he just wants you. and this time, he’s not about to let fear or pride hold him back.

© rindreamery, 2024

[juulessturn]

home late .

chris sturniolo x reader .

angsty (?) start , sweet ending , smutty everything else .

chris opened the front door and climbed the stairs. it had been a relatively fun, but long night with his friends. his girlfriend was on the couch, looking up at him as he walked in.

it was late– late enough that nick and matt were already asleep. for the past few months, his girlfriend had been more or less living with them. she still had her own place, but neither of them liked sleeping alone, so they always ended up together, no matter whose apartment it was.

he said that he wanted her to stay there but that he wouldn’t be home for most of the day. he promised to be back by midnight, give or take. by now it was well past that, his phone had died hours ago, and without a charger, he hadn’t been able to call or text, and she was pissed.

she didn’t say anything right away, just stared at him, eyebrows raised, arms crossed, the tv still playing something no one was really watching.

“my phone died,” he said quietly. “i couldn’t find a charger, i didn’t mean to disappear.” he walked closer to the couch.

she sighed  “you could’ve figured something out. borrowed one. asked someone. did you not want them to know i was waiting? because i was waiting.” her voice wasn’t loud, she didn’t like to yell, and even if she did, it was late, she was tired, and his brothers were asleep.

he nodded, running a hand through his hair as he sat down on the edge of the couch, leaving just enough space between them. “i didn’t think to ask someone, i’m sorry. that’s it though– there was a lot going on, it’s not like they don’t know we’re together.”

she rolled her eyes. “whatever.”

he got closer to her, his hand on her thigh. “‘m sorry.” he repeated. “really. it won’t happen again, i didn’t mean to upset you.” he moved his body down so he was looking up at her.

her eyes met his. “i know you didn’t.” she pursed her lips.

“i missed you.” he said, looking into her eyes intently.

“nice try.” she turned her face away from him.

“i did!” he said, sitting up, “was thinkin’ about you all daaay.”

she glanced at him from the corner of her eye, trying to hold onto the edge of her annoyance, but it was slipping fast. he saw it in the way her lips twitched, just slightly, like they couldn’t decide whether to stay firm or curve into a smile. she ran her tongue over her top teeth, her mouth remaining closed.

“yeah?” she asked, her voice cool but curious.

“yeah,” he nodded, edging even closer, bringing an arm over her shoulder.

she didn’t lean into him, but she didn’t refuse his arm around her. he took it as an okay to nuzzle his face in her neck, placing gentle kisses all around it. 

he hummed into her neck before he spoke. “love you.”

“i know, chris.” she said simply. he laughed softly and continued trailing kisses up her neck.

after a moment he spoke. “tell me you love me too,” he mumbled into her skin. he moved his kisses up to her ear. “please,” he whispered, almost whimpering.

“i- mm.” she gasped as he nipped at her earlobe. “chris-” she tried to speak but he spoke again before she could.

“i need to hear you say it, baby.” he whined.

“love you too.” she said immediately. he repositioned himself, bringing their lips together, his hands moved to her thighs and waist, the gentleness quickly being abandoned. 

chris moved closer so she was almost in his lap, their tongues intertwining, as her arms hung around his neck.

he pulled her fully onto his lap, his hands grabbing at her hips and ass, and his kisses becoming more urgent

“mmph-” she moaned into his mouth. “you want me, huh?” she breathed out between kisses. he let out a low, quiet, groan, moving his kisses back to her neck, sucking a bit.

“yes,” they were both breathless, but he promptly went back to working on her neck, his hands sliding under her shirt. “please. been wanting you all day..” he said, and her back moved against his hands, leaning into his touch.

she quirked a brow. “you haven’t even been here and you’ve been thinking about me?” 

he nodded. “can’t stop,” he said against her neck. “ever.”

she moved her hands to his face, pulling him to look at her. “aren’t you feeling sweet,” she hooked her right arm over him again and brought their faces back together. 

he smiled against her lips and deepend the kiss once again, rubbing his hands up and down her back. she brought her hand down to his dick and pressed him over his jeans.

he let out a soft gasp and leaned his head back a little, his breath catching in his throat. “oh fuck–” he managed to get out.

she chuckled at his reaction. he looked at her with wide eyes. “don’t laugh at me.” he whined, his breath quickening. as a response she continued pressing him, and he let out a low moan, only causing her to giggle again.

"stop– mm, stop laughing." he repeated, his body tense under her touch. every sound he made seemed to encourage her more, and he could see it in her eyes - she was enjoying this. as she continued her ministrations, pressing down harder. his head fell forward, resting on her shoulder as he groaned softly against her neck.

"i can't help it...," she whispered, her voice low and seductive. he could feel the heat radiating from her body, her breath soft and ticklish on his ear as she spoke. she continued to tease him, moving her hand excruciatingly slowly, and he could feel his self-control slipping.

just then, he suddenly picked her up, her arms instinctively wrapping around his neck for support. “chris!” the smirk on his face made her heart race.

“shh, baby, my brothers are asleep.” he covered her mouth with one hand as he carried her with the other, all the way to his room downstairs.

his door was open when they entered and he closed it with his foot, setting her down on the bed in an instant.

he leaned over her, his body caging her in. his hands roamed over her, tracing every curve with practiced ease.

he leaned down to her ear, his voice low and rough. "i want you. i need you. now." he was desperate. his hands moved back under her shirt, his touch leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

he brought his mouth to hers, the kiss filled with hunger and lust. his lips moved over hers, his tongue seeking entrance once again. she parted her lips for him, melting into the kiss, her hands tangling in his hair.

he broke the kiss only to remove her shirt, his eyes roaming over her bare skin with unabashed admiration. “shit, baby.” he breathed out, as if it were his first time seeing her.

she could feel his gaze on her, hot and heavy. his words went straight to her core, her body reacting instantly. he made her feel desired and wanted, and she loved every second of it. she needed more. he knew it,  and he gave it to her.

he moved his hand downwards, feeling her through her shorts, and when he pressed hard enough, he felt a subtle dampness. his eyes darkened at the discovery. she needed him just as badly as he needed her. he let out a sharp exhale, feeling the warmth under his fingers. "you're ready for me, huh?" he said, his voice thick with lust. he moved his hand a little, applying more pressure, his touch slow and teasing, knowing it would drive her crazy.

“mm. yes, please, chris.” she begged. how the tables had turned. unlike her, however, he immediately obliged, pulling down her shorts and unbuckling his own belt with urgency. he pulled his pants and boxers down in one movement, taking off his shirt a moment after.

he positioned himself over her, his body settling between her legs. she could feel his dick against her, and she shivered at the contact. he looked at her, his gaze burning, and she nodded, giving him permission. he pushed into her, slowly at first, and with a low moan. giving her time to adjust. but she was impatient, her body arching off the bed, desperate for him. 

he gave in to her need, his pace quickening, his movements becoming more urgent. her moans were like music to his ears, fueling his own ecstasy. she wrapped her legs around him, pulling him even closer, her nails digging into his back. they were a sweaty, tangled mess.

this was what they both needed, the raw desire for each other. they moved together, bodies in perfect sync, their pleasure building with every passing second. her hands roamed over him, touching, grasping, claiming.

 his lips found hers, their kiss desperate and sloppy. there was no time for words, only incoherent moans and strangled gasps. they were completely consumed by each other, everything else faded away.

he was getting close, and he wanted to bring her there with him. he moved faster, pushing deeper, angling his hips the way he knew drove her crazy. her body responded, so did her voice. her movements became more erratic, her voice pitching itself higher. he could feel her tightening around him, and he knew she was close too. his vision was starting to go hazy, his mind completely clouded by pleasure. 

her muscles clenched around him, and he reached down between the two of them, his fingers finding her clit, his touch precise. her body trembled under him. she felt completely overwhelmed by the pleasure he was giving her. his breathing was heavy and ragged, now he could tell he was just as close as he was. "oh god, don't stop," she gasped, her words coming out in labored pants.

he had one hand on the headboard, steadying himself, continuously rubbing her clit with the other as he pounded into her. he pulled her closer, their bodies as close as they could possibly be. her moans became louder and louder, she moved her hips in sync with his, meeting his thrusts with equal fervor. she wanted all of him, and he was giving her everything. her hands found their way to his face, her lips meeting his in a desperate kiss. the words that escaped her were incoherent, a mix of his name and pleas for more.

"'m close, 'm so close, chris." she spoke through her moans.

he could hear the edge to her voice, and he let out a guttural moan, his head falling forward, "me too, baby-- ah--" he panted, his movements growing sloppy. he could feel the tension coiled deep within them both, ready to snap at any moment.

her back arched off the bed, and he could see the sheen of sweat glistening on her skin. he was losing control, he could feel her walls clenching around him, and he knew it couldn’t be more than a few seconds before they both came undone.

"ah- fuck– come with me, baby-" he gasped out. the pressure built to a breaking point, ready to crash over them. “please, let go with me," he whispered, his words thick with need.

yes, it was what he said, but god, the way he said it. it was all she needed. it pushed her over the edge. she could feel it. the wave of pleasure cresting, about to crash down over her. she gasped out his name, her body tensing as it overcame her.

he could feel her clenching around him, her body shaking with release, and it was his undoing. the sight of her, lost in ecstasy, tipped him over the edge. he groaned, his hips stuttering as he found his own release. he pulled out and buried his face in the crook of her neck, his arms wrapped tightly around her.

their bodies trembled in the aftermath. they lay there for a moment, their breaths coming in ragged gasps, their hearts pounding in unison. he lifted his head, looking down at her, a slight smirk on his face.

"you're so fuckin’ pretty, you know that?" he said softly, his thumb tracing over her flushed cheek. his touch was gentle, a contrast to the intensity they had just shared. she looked up at him, almost not hearing him.

she said nothing, only giggled. she leaned into him, her laughter fading into a quiet sigh. he leaned to kiss her again, slower this time, and she just curled closer, her fingers resting lightly on his chest. he wrapped his arms around her, holding her like she was something fragile.

eventually, the room went quiet, their breaths slowed. somewhere between the warmth, they both drifted off, tangled up in each other.

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

/ an / if u couldn't tell this was not proofread and was written over the course of a few days . also it's currently one am as i'm posting this . hope u liked it regardless

-

[kxsagi]

hihi can i request reader being the wife of sae, rin, kaiser and whoever else you want and during an interview the interviewer insults his wife right in front of him (and on tv too) and they look so pissed and decides to tell them off harshly and walks off after that and goes straight home to the reader embracing them

😩 tyty

“𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬: 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝”

a/n: this reminds me of when will smith’s wife got insulted and he bitch slapped the guy

(art credits go to pxgnation on X)

ft. itoshi sae, itoshi rin, kaiser michael

itoshi sae

the interviewer’s comment is sly and dismissive, almost playful in its intent to provoke: “so, being married to someone like sae must be a challenge, huh? he’s so self-absorbed, how do you manage to even get a word in with him around?” 

sae’s expression doesn’t immediately shift, but there’s a subtle tightening around his eyes that gives away his frustration. he stays silent for a moment, letting the words sink in. then, with a nonchalant air that’s almost too calm, he leans forward, one eyebrow raised. “is that supposed to be a joke?” he asks, his voice steady but with a dangerous undercurrent of irritation. "it’s cute, really. i’m used to people trying to get attention, but this... this is something else.” 

the interviewer laughs nervously, clearly expecting sae to play along. but sae doesn’t find it funny. there’s a quiet, almost eerie pause before he looks directly at them, his eyes like ice. “you’ve crossed a line. she’s my wife. don’t ever forget that,” he says, his tone still smooth, but carrying a weight that demands respect. 

with a sharp flick of his wrist, he stands up, not giving the interviewer the satisfaction of a response. “we’re done here,” sae says flatly, his voice colder than before. he doesn’t offer a second glance to anyone, simply walks out with you in tow, his hand gripping yours as though he’s determined to shield you from any more nonsense. 

once you’re safely in the car, sae doesn’t say much at first. he seems more exhausted than angry. but when he finally speaks, his voice is softer, almost apologetic. “i’m sorry for that. no one gets to talk about you like that, especially not in front of me.” he pulls you close, his hand cradling the back of your head as he holds you in a tight embrace. “don’t let idiots like that get to you. you're everything to me.”

itoshi rin

the interviewer’s comment is blunt, trying to dig into rin’s usually reserved demeanor: “so, it must be pretty boring being married to someone like rin. i mean, he’s all soccer and no fun, right? i bet you’re the one who has to keep the relationship exciting.”

rin doesn’t show it right away, but his entire body stiffens. the insult is direct, and it's clear he’s not someone who takes such things lightly, even if he’s usually calm. he tilts his head slightly, his eyes narrowing just a fraction. “is that what you think?” he asks, his tone colder than usual, though still controlled. his voice is sharp enough that the interviewer falters. 

“i don’t think you understand who you're speaking to,” rin continues, his expression growing more serious. “my wife deserves respect, and it looks like you’ve forgotten that.” he stands up slowly, the calm in his voice belying the storm brewing beneath. he takes a step forward, looming over the interviewer, his gaze icy. “you’ve insulted her on national TV. i don’t think you’re in any position to talk about us anymore.” 

without another word, rin grabs your hand and pulls you away from the table, his grip firm but gentle. the interview room fades into the background as rin leads you outside. the cool air hits you both as you step into the car, and the silence between you is palpable. 

“don’t worry about him. people like that don’t matter,” rin finally says, his voice surprisingly soft. his eyes flicker toward you as he drives, the usual icy exterior now more like a shield that he’s lowered just for you. “you mean everything to me. i won’t let anyone talk to you like that again. ever.”

kaiser michael

the interviewer’s comment is more cynical, trying to challenge kaiser’s image with a hint of mockery: “so, you’re married to kaiser, huh? he’s got such a huge ego, i bet you’re just another piece of the trophy collection, huh? must get tiring, right?”

kaiser’s smirk falters for a second, his eyes flashing with annoyance. his usual playful charm is gone in an instant, replaced by something more menacing. he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms, his gaze narrowing at the interviewer as if he’s suddenly seeing right through them. “did you just call my wife a trophy?” his voice drops lower, venom slipping into the words. “you don’t know anything about me, and you sure as hell don’t know anything about her.” 

the room goes quiet as kaiser stands up, the movement deliberate and imposing. “you wanna mock me? fine. but you don’t get to insult her. not here, not anywhere. she’s more than you’ll ever understand,” he says, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. he takes a few steps toward the interviewer, his presence commanding the entire room. 

with one final glance, he turns on his heel, grabbing your hand and walking out of the room without looking back. the crew is stunned into silence as kaiser leads you outside with a sense of finality, not caring in the slightest what anyone thinks. 

once you're in the car, kaiser’s anger hasn’t quite subsided, but his focus shifts entirely to you. he doesn’t say anything at first, just stares at the road, but then, in a soft murmur, he finally speaks. “you’re mine. no one disrespects you, not while i’m here. don’t let that idiot get under your skin. i’ll make sure nothing like that happens again.” 

his hand reaches out to hold yours, his grip tight and reassuring. “i’ll always have your back,” he says, softer now. “no one hurts you. not while i’m around.”

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[rhaeverie]

was not, were not, is — ldh

pairing. haechan x reader  genre. friends to implied lovers, drunk confession wc. 1.5k summary. sober you would beat you up if she heard the bullshit spilling from your mouth; in which alcohol is both your best friend and your worst enemy warnings. excessive amount of fluff, reader’s drunk as hell, Donghyuck’s love language is acts of service  an. a little warm up writing before I start writing longer fics again—I REALLY like the drunk confession microtrope,,, this whole thing was either written at 5AM on my work breaks or 5AM bc my sleep schedule is fucked up,,, pls enjoy!

read part two!

You couldn’t give any less of a fuck that the bare soles of your feet were touching the cool pavement. 

In fact, you couldn’t give any less of a fuck about anything.

Mind hazy, still tipsy from the shots your cousin had shoved in your hands, you briefly recall Donghyuck telling you that your mom had requested to bring you home—something about staying back to help clean up the venue and something about crashing out?—who the hell cares. 

You let out a snort for no reason.

Maybe you should’ve brought extra shoes.

But again, you don’t care.

Donghyuck tails you, not too far behind. His hands were stuffed deep in his pockets, a smile playing lightly upon his lips as he watched you stumble under the lights of the venue. He knows he should be at your side in case you lose your balance, but it hadn’t even been five minutes since you declined his arm.

“You sure you don’t want to wear my shoes?” 

You stop in your tracks and look back at him. It’s only now that you notice how sweaty the man was, bangs stuck to his forehead from all the dancing. This could also explain why your feet were killing you, “What shoes would you wear?”

He holds up the pair of heels dangling from his fingers, “Yours.” 

You scoff and continue walking, “You in heels? Funny.”

And although your intentions were to offend Donghyuck, the smile on his face stays put, “Well, if it means you could walk comfortably, then I’d endure that pain and embarrassment.” 

You roll your eyes, using all the strength in your entire body to not physically react to Donghyuck’s choice of words, “Please never say that ever again.” 

“I’m serious,” he responds, “Also, I told you about bringing extra shoes.” 

Donghyuck’s eyes trail further down the walkway, noting down that the parking lot was inching closer and closer. He recalls from this morning that the parking lot was sprinkled with pebbles. He frowns, “Can you please just put my shoes on?” 

“I’m fine, Hyuck,” you groan, “I think that the car isn’t even far from here.” 

“You’re right but…” 

You hear him sigh out deeply before you hear his footsteps pick up in pace, the heels of his dress shoes clicking against the pavement. The alcohol pulls your eyes shut for just a moment, and when you finally gain control of them again, you find your best friend kneeling down in front of you, back turned towards you, “Get on.” 

“Hyuck, I said I was fine,” you attempt to walk around him, but the man somehow predicts which way you’re going and scoots right in front of you. 

“And I said to get on,” he orders gently, “Please.” 

The ‘please’ causes you to giggle and you find yourself staring at the back of his head, dwindling on a few possible answers. His hair looks soft, like something you’d want to reach out and touch. “Don’t wanna… risk you dropping me.”

If you weren’t completely insane for your best friend, you would’ve hopped onto his back no problem. Hell, with the alcohol you felt a little bit bolder than usual, but nothing could mistake that little kick in your heartbeat telling you that if you decided to take his offer, you’d probably melt the second you make contact with him. 

“I’ll throw a tantrum if you don’t,” Donghyuck threatens (was that even considered a threat?), “C’mon.”

“I hate you,” you mutter. But your actions completely contradict your words as you carefully secure yourself onto Donghyuck’s back, arms wrapping right around his neck. He follows in pursuit, hooking his arms right under your knees before he stands up. “You suck.” 

“See, it isn’t so bad,” he laughs, “I’m strong. I won’t drop you.”

Your brain’s telling you to mock him back, but your words falter because you’re hit by Donghyuck’s perfume. Fuck—of course he smells good. You can’t remember a time that he didn’t. 

It takes every ounce of your sobriety to not bury your face in Donghyuck’s hair. 

“I actually had fun,” Donghyuck begins, referring to the wedding, “Honestly, I was scared to meet your other relatives. You always talk about them and they sound scary. But I actually had fun.” 

“That’s good,” you reply quietly, almost dazed, “I’m glad you had fun.” 

Your head flops onto Donghyuck’s shoulder, hair falling in front of your face and tickling his ear. His car finally comes into view and Donghyuck wastes no time to swing the door open. 

“There you go, Princess,” Donghyuck jokes. He lowers you down gently, allowing you to plop into the passenger seat. Once he’s sure you’re seated, he turns around to face you, combing the mess of hair away from your face. “Comfy?” 

“What if I said no?” You giggle, head falling back against the headrest. 

Another sigh leaves Donghyuck’s lips and he pokes your side, “Then I’d do whatever it takes to make you comfy.” 

“Quit talking like that,” you groan.

He hums, “Like what?” 

The leather seat squeaks when you shift to face the other way, letting your eyes draw close. 

Fatigue was definitely catching up. 

I don’t know… you think, Just… like that. 

And although your mind struggles to piece letters together to word how you were feeling, your heart knows exactly what you were thinking about. 

Donghyuck shuts the door and his shadow crosses the light leaking through your eyelids. The driver’s door clicks open and then Donghyuck’s settling in the seat next to yours. 

“Well…” You hear his foot hit the brake before he taps at the button to start the car, “Did you have fun?” 

“Mmmm…” your lips form a pout, suddenly hit by the events of the wedding. You feel like you’re teetering between sobriety and intoxication, unsure whether or not you should be genuine, “Yo.” 

Donghyuck raises a brow and tilts his head at you, “Yo?” 

“Yes and no,” you clarify, almost as if he was supposed to know what you meant, “I had fun but didn’t.” 

Again, Donghyuck’s eyebrow jerks, “Whatever you say.” He’s unsure whether he should wait for you to settle before he pulls out of the parking spot. 

“Aren’t you going to ask me why?” You whine. One of your eyelids draws open, just enough to peek out at him. 

He huffs, playing along, “…why?”

“I had fun because my cousin and her partner were cute and the dancing and the drinks, the games and everything…” You list, “But also, I didn’t have fun because all I could think about was the fact that I may never find the love they have.” 

Your best friend lets your words sink in, trying to make sense of it while stringing together the right words to say—ones that wouldn’t give it away. 

“Well, for what it’s worth, I think you will find that love you want.” 

Then tears start leaking out of the corners of your eyes and Donghyuck doesn’t hesitate to reach over to wipe them away. He can’t help but laugh, watching as you’ve finally reached your crying phase, simply meaning that you’d pass out next, “Why are you crying? I’m telling you the truth, you know.” 

You shrug sluggishly, “I don’t completely doubt you, Hyuckie.” Another tear slips out and you feel the pad of Donghyuck’s thumb swipe across your cheek. 

“Then why are you crying?” he frowns. 

“Well, what if…” you trail, “What if the love I want is with you?” You’re too far gone to even realize what you’ve just said, “I just feel like it’ll all be wrong if it wasn’t with you…” 

The pounding in Donghyuck’s ears almost drown out your voice. You’re speaking so quietly that he needs to lean in to hear you. 

Another tear—wipe.

“It’d be weird if it wasn’t your hand I was holding, if it wasn’t you I was waking up to, if the kisses I was getting weren't from your lips…” 

Your eyes remain close and the more you speak, the more spaced out the words come out your mouth. Sober you would not believe what you were confessing to a sober Donghyuck.

“I want you to love me,” you finally confess, like saying it out loud validated all your feelings, “And everyday I feel like that’s too much to ask.” 

“We should talk about this another time, Y/N.” 

You groan at his response, almost as if you weren’t satisfied with his answer. But before he could get another word out, he watches as your head flops onto your own shoulder. 

“Of course,” Donghyuck chuckles to himself, shaking his head. He reaches over and pulls the lever to recline your chair, letting your head fall back comfortably, “There you go… comfy…” 

Donghyuck sits back in his seat and admires you for a moment, a delicate frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

He wishes you weren’t drunk and saying these words, afraid that when the alcohol wasn’t running through your body, that none of them would even mean anything to you. 

Because if the love you wanted was with him, he’d do anything—everything—to give it to you.

[vibelladonna]

✑ 𝓈𝓃𝑜𝑜𝓏𝑒 𝜗𝜚 𝓉𝓀𝒶𝓉𝒷 𝓂𝑒𝓃 

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: You, reluctantly cracking your eyes open to the soft hush of morning light—and oh, what’s this? The bed feels suspiciously warm, suspiciously full, and suspiciously… crowded. That’s right. You’ve somehow ended up entangled in a heap of limbs and sheets.

Waking up beside The TKATB Men + Special Guests ! ! An experience. A blessing. A mild threat to your sanity. And depending on who’s next to you, it’s either blissful, chaotic, or something bordering on criminally hot.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions. 

What happens when you wake up in their space, tangled in sheets that weren’t this messy when you first fell asleep?

Well, dearest readers… let’s just say: things get interesting.

There’s only one way to find out.

[ 𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ]

✑ 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

You woke up in a nest of luxury—wrapped in dark blue and black silk sheets so soft, it felt like you were swaddled in a secret. Crowe’s room was a humble kind of rich: tidy, calm, and impossibly comforting, like it had been curated not just for sleep, but for rest.

Real, soul-deep rest. It even smelled like him—clean, warm, with just a touch of something expensive and masculine. You had been cocooned in it for hours, and honestly?

You would’ve stayed there forever if you didn’t have plans.

You stirred first, careful not to wake him. Somehow, what was supposed to be a simple sleepover had turned into more than that—it started with you missing him, due to a few missed visits, and Crowe insisting, “Just stay.” Which turned into two nights. Then four. Then it was like his place learned your name and asked if you’d like to live there.

Not that he minded. In fact, he looked like a man who’d decided the rest of the world could wait.

Because Crowe was… honestly a problem. 

A beautiful, infuriating, gentleman-shaped problem.

He slept curled toward your side, one hand tucked beneath his cheek, the other draped loosely over the space you’d just vacated. His dark brown skin seemed to glow faintly under the filtered morning light, lashes thick against his cheeks. 

His hair used to be in that single braid—his signature—was undone, lay across his chest, the end brushing his collarbone, a few loose strands half-heartedly tucked behind one ear. You couldn’t help but stare for a moment. How could someone be so devastatingly handsome and pretty at the same time? 

His face was sculpted but gentle, his lips relaxed in sleep, his brows smooth. Peaceful. You could’ve sworn even the sheets clung to him like they were in love.

It was unfair, really. Life was unfair.

So you got up—very, very slowly—and slipped into one of his black button-ups, drowning a little in the size and warmth of it. It had an absurd number of white buttons, which was both a stylistic choice and mildly excessive, but somehow made you feel wrapped in something that belonged.

Something safe. Something his.

And since you couldn’t cook to save your life, and the last thing you wanted was to ruin his cathedral of a kitchen or wake him up with the horror-movie soundtrack of your culinary attempts, you ordered breakfast instead. You even found a bed tray like this was some kind of love drama where you knew your role—and played it well. 

You made everything look nice. Thought about plating. Napkin placement. Symmetry. He always did everything for you, without question, even when you asked him not to. Even when you begged him not to.

So this? This was just you trying to do a fraction in return.

When you returned to the bedroom, food in hand, the room still wrapped in that cool blue quiet, Crowe hadn’t moved much. One eye peeked open, that deep, ocean-blue irises glinting in the half-light.

Sleepy. Heavy-lidded. Disoriented.

Then he smiled. The slow kind. The lazy, heart-melting kind that made you want to crawl right back into bed and never leave again.

“…You look better in that shirt than I do,” he murmured, voice thick and low and absolutely criminal in the morning.

You smiled softly as Crowe blinked himself further into consciousness, watching you set the breakfast tray beside him like you were delivering divine offerings. The moment his eyes landed on the arrangement—folded napkin, fresh fruit, flaky pastries, and his favorite overpriced tea you absolutely Googled just to get it right—he looked… stunned.

“You did this?” he asked, voice still sandpaper and velvet, deep and wrecked from sleep.

You nodded, a little smug. “Well… technically, a very nice delivery guy did most of the heavy lifting, but I curated the whole thing.”

Crowe blinked. Slowly. “You curated me breakfast?”

“I did. Because you always do everything for me, and I figured it’s my turn, even if it’s the bare minimum.” You winked, setting down his tea.

His expression melted—confused awe shifting into that dangerously affectionate look that made your knees go soft. He stared like you just offered him your soul in a silk box. “It’s not the bare minimum. I-I can’t believe you actually—you woke up before me to do this?”

You rolled your eyes playfully, “Wow, you know I’m capable of effort, you know.”

“And crimes of fashion,” he added, eyes trailing down to his own shirt swallowing your frame. “That shirt has… twenty-three buttons.”

“Don’t remind me,” you groaned, tugging at the collar. “I almost died getting it on. Who needs that many buttons, Crowe? Are you afraid of the wind?”

He laughed—low, rich, entirely too hot for someone who hadn’t brushed their teeth yet. “It’s called style. And drama. You should try it.”

You tilted your head, smiling. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready anyway? I mean, the student council must be foaming at the mouth without you.”

That was your first mistake.

His smile dropped the second the words left your mouth—like you just told him he had to do taxes and smile about it. He let out the most soul-weary groan imaginable, dragging a hand down his face with enough dramatics to win an award.

“Ugh. Don’t say that cursed phrase to me this early.”

“What, student council?” you teased.

He hissed like it physically injured him, eyes narrowing in theatrical betrayal. Before you could smirk again, he struck—swiftly curling his fingers around your wrist and tugging you back toward the bed like you weighed nothing. 

You let out a breathless little yelp as your balance tipped, and the next thing you knew, you were back in his arms, warm and tangled in those black silk sheets, wrapped up like you were the prize he refused to share with the world. His arms slid around your waist possessively, his head dropping against your torso like a man done. His long brown hair tickled your side as he let out a sigh so content it melted straight into your ribs.

“Jericho,” you warned, tone flat, one brow raising as you carded your fingers through the dark strands falling over his cheek.

“Mmm?” he hummed against your skin, lips grazing the fabric of his shirt you were still drowning in.

You tensed slightly. “Don’t start.”

He didn’t answer—not in words. Just started peppering lazy, sleep-warm kisses across the curve of your waist. You froze, heart stumbling as his lips followed the line of your body with a tenderness that felt almost unfair.

"Jericho," you repeated, firmer this time.

He tilted his head up, eyes smoldering now under thick lashes, amusement dancing in the corners. “You say my name so sweet,” he murmured, fingers skimming the hem of the shirt—his shirt—as if debating whether to behave. 

“…I wonder if you could say it louder later on…”

Spoiler: he chose violence.

He shifted above you in one slow, fluid motion, pressing you back against the mattress with deliberate weight. His hand slid to the first button just above your chest, popping it open with almost sinful patience.

You inhaled sharply.

“Jericho,” you said again, a final warning.

But he was already lowering his head, lips brushing the newly revealed skin. His voice was low, wicked, and soaked in heat as he murmured, “The student council can wait.” Another button undone. Another slow kiss just beneath your collarbone.

“I want to take my time eating my breakfast.”

You gawked. “Oh my god.”

He laughed, soft and smug against your skin, as if this was normal behavior. 

Oh no. Oh hell no.

You were lowkey terrified.

But your heart was sprinting, your brain was short-circuiting, and your willpower had officially filed a resignation letter. This was your life now—trapped under a six-foot dark-skin demigod with bedhead, deep blue eyes, and absolutely zero intention of letting you function like a normal person ever again.

Honestly? You could live with that.

✑ 𝓈𝑜𝓁

The first thing you registered—beyond the dull ache in your limbs and the soft cling of dried paint on your skin—was the weight. A heavy, inescapable warmth curled around your waist like a stubborn human blanket. You cracked one eye open.

Sol. Of course.

You were in Sol’s studio apartment, which, to be fair, had the vibe of someone halfway between genius and sleep-deprived chaos gremlin. Art supplies everywhere—half-open tubes of paint, crumpled sketch paper, an untouched energy drink from God knows when, and several brushes floating in what was definitely not a cup meant for rinsing. 

The morning light filtered in through the blinds in thin, golden slices, cutting across the cluttered room like strips of stage lighting over a still life in chaos. This wasn’t a bedroom—it was a living canvas. 

And you? Forever his muse.

The dim amber lighting gave everything a cinematic, hazy warmth, as if the clutter was intentional. A curated mess. Still, not dirty, just… lived in. Passionate. Unhinged, but with taste.

And there, tangled in those thin, paint-streaked bedsheets like a man possessed by sleep, was Sol.

You were stuck.

Flat on your back, his head firmly planted against your stomach like it was his personal pillow. His arms looped around your waist like he feared gravity would snatch you away. He was out cold—breathing deep, his face nuzzled into your borrowed band tee—thankfully given post-session, because the entire front of you probably resembled a living art exhibit right now. One long leg had somehow hooked over yours, locking you in like this was a hostage situation of the softest kind.

You shifted a little—your body mildly regretting everything that had happened last night in the name of artistic inspiration—but the moment you twitched, Sol groaned and held on tighter.

This man was over six feet of ink-stained dream logic and stubbornness, and you? You were his chosen teddy bear. There was no escape.

Your eyes drifted down to him. His black mullet hair, dyed with those signature green streaks, had long since escaped the half-up, half-down look he'd started the night with. Now it framed his face in soft, messy thirds—two thick locks had fallen loose on either side, lazily shoved behind one pierced ear. The rest spilled across your stomach and the sheets like he was a man who fell out of an art magazine.

And speaking of the piercings… you couldn’t help but notice them now. Like, really notice.

The way the dim light hit the black hoops of his spider bites, even if the double lip rings were removed for sleep. His ears were an aesthetic chaos of their own: a stud in the left lobe, two upper lobe piercings, and two helix rings tucked neatly in the cartilage. 

The right ear? Similar story. 

There was even one long bar that ran through his lower helix—sleek and dark, like a blade. You couldn’t figure out how he slept like this and didn’t impale himself in his sleep, but apparently he had the power of art student immunity and vibe protection on his side.

Your fingers twitched with the urge to brush a strand of hair from his face, to gently trace the sharp edges of his jaw, to cup his cheek and maybe see if his eyes—those gorgeous, rare central heterochromia eyes with fiery orange centers and crimson red outer rings—would flutter open and look at you like you were still his muse.

But he just sighed in his sleep, nuzzling closer.

“Clingy bastard,” you whispered to the ceiling, half-laughing, half-swooning. Honestly, you needed a two-hour shower, a gallon of body scrub, and possibly a week-long nap… but the way Sol was wrapped around you like his life depended on it?

Yeah. You could lie here a little longer. Maybe forever. BUTTTTTT--

Was it bad that your fingers were already halfway through his hair before your brain caught up with your actions? Probably. But he was asleep. Dead to the world, soft and warm against your stomach, and so wrapped around you that even trying to shift felt like you were disrespecting fate. You’d try to justify it later. Right now? 

You just… couldn’t help yourself.

Sol’s ears had always intrigued you. Covered in piercings and framed by messy black and green hair like a walking daydream from a punk magazine. So you reached up—tentative at first, gentle. Fingertips brushing the edge of his left ear, tracing the cool metal of one of the upper lobe studs.

He didn’t stir.

You went further. Thumb gliding over the smooth hoop of his helix ring, letting your fingers ghost along the trail of metal like a collector counting treasure. His skin was warm. He had so many piercings up close—you could count at least four on this ear alone, and your curiosity was starting to spiral. You brushed the tips again, just a little firmer this time.

And that’s when it happened.

A low, breathy moan escaped him. Barely audible, more sigh than sound. His body twitched slightly, the arm around your waist flexing tighter.

You froze.

His eyes opened. Slowly. Glazed with sleep and only halfway focused. “…The hell are you doing?” he murmured, voice still rough with sleep, warm enough to punch the breath out of your lungs.

You blinked. “Bored.”

Sol stared, dumbfounded, eyes narrowed, looking at like ‘what the fuck does that mean.’ So, of course, you have to answer better. 

“Okay, I was admiring your ears,” you added innocently. “You never told me how many piercings you actually have. You’ve got, what, like four just on the right one?”

His gaze narrowed, but the blush creeping over his cheeks betrayed him. “Ten on my ears, added together. … Four on the right, like you said, and six on the left side.”

“And the two lip ones,” you nodded, counting on your fingers. “So that’s, like, twelve total?”

Sol’s face darkened. 

That silence? Suspicious. Guilty, even. You squinted at him. “…Wait. Are there more?”

Sol exhaled hard, turning his head into your stomach like he was trying to disappear. “Please, no more, let me go back to sleep,” he groaned, dragging your name out like a curse.

You lifted an eyebrow. “What other ones, Sol?”

“Nope,” he muttered, pressing his face against you like a cat burying itself in a blanket. “You don’t actually care. You’re just trying to see them for the novelty. You’re not really interested.”

You gasped theatrically. “Is that your way of guilt-tripping me out of bed?”

“Maybe,” he mumbled.

You pouted, sitting up halfway in protest—only for him to yank you right back down. His arms rewrapped around your waist with sudden, lazy strength, pinning you again like gravity had picked a side.

“Fine,” he grumbled, cheeks pink now as he stared at the ceiling like it had personally betrayed him. “I’ll show you. Just stop looking at me like you’re about to launch a full investigation.”

You smirked, victorious. “So you were hiding something.”

“I didn’t hide it,” he muttered. “You just never asked about the one in my—”

He stopped.

Your eyes widened. “Oh my god,” you breathed. “There’s one I can’t see?”

Sol groaned. “I swear to god, if you tell anyone…”

“You’re doomed,” you said, voice full of glee, already imagining the ways to tease him about this for eternity. “Completely doomed.”

He sighed again, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” Sol sat up slowly, muscles stretching under skin as he peeled off his oversized shirt. You blinked—once, twice—as your eyes caught the flash of silver gleaming against the dusky brown of his skin.

Wait.

Your gaze dropped, and there they were. Piercings. On his chest. Twin silver bars glinting across each nipple like some chaotic blend of punk rock and divine provocation.

You gawked, shamelessly. “You—wait. You have nipple piercings?”

He blinked at you, confused. “Yeah?”

Your face twisted in disbelief. “I thought that was just a thing for the girls in the itty-bitty committee.”

Sol choked on a laugh, a hand flying to his face to cover the smirk he was absolutely failing to hide. His cheeks turned a bright, endearing red. “You’ve been staring for like… five minutes. Say something before I die of embarrassment.”

“I’m just processing,” you said, eyes still glued to his chest. “I mean, they’re kinda hot?”

He huffed, shifting slightly. “You ever gonna stop looking or…?”

“…Do they hurt if I touch them?” you asked, curiosity dragging you deeper.

He leaned back on his hands, chest exposed, a slow smirk curving his lips despite the flush still warming his ears. “They’re healed. Had them for a while now. Wanna try?”

Oh. That tone? Dangerous.

You bit your lip, but couldn’t resist the grin tugging at your mouth. Crawling into his lap, you straddled his thighs, feeling the way his fingers instinctively gripped your waist, grounding you. Your gaze lowered again, zeroing in. The silver bars were stark against his skin, cool and clean and… really unfairly attractive, honestly.

With delicate fingers, you traced one, rubbing gently over the piercing, watching how he tensed under your touch. Sol inhaled sharply, a breathy moan slipping past his lips. His hands tightened at your sides, grounding you both. “Shit,” he muttered, eyes fluttering, “Keep going…”

You blinked up at him. “Don’t you have an art project to finish?”

He cracked one eye open, lazily. “Screw the project. I’ve got plenty of time. I’d rather have my muse work on me.”

Your lips twitched. “So this was the plan all along, huh?”

Sol chuckled, voice deep and low. “I mean… you’re the one still in my lap, babe.”

Touché.

✑ 𝑔𝑒𝑜

You woke up slowly. Not the jolting kind of wake-up—more like drifting back to consciousness through layers of warmth and softness that feel too perfect to be real.

The first thing you notice is the sheets.

Heavy. Warm. Impossibly smooth. They cling to your skin like they’re trying to convince you not to move, like they were designed to trap people in comfort. There’s a certain weight to them, the kind that tells you money was involved. High-thread-count Egyptian cotton, probably imported and washed in glacier water by monks.

These sheets don’t just cover you—they embrace you. Soft in a dangerous way. Like, if you stay here long enough, you’ll forget how to function without them.

And the mattress?

Dear god, the mattress.

It doesn’t creak. It doesn’t shift. It doesn’t even breathe wrong. It’s firm in a way that doesn’t feel punishing—just supportive. Like it looked into your soul, saw your back problems and emotional baggage, and whispered, I got you. It’s the kind of bed you could melt into and reemerge reborn. A mattress so precisely engineered it feels like the Swiss invented it just for people who cry when their posture’s corrected.

You sink in deeper without meaning to, half-wrapped in a blanket so plush it might qualify as a sentient being. Your skin slides against the sheets like you’re being tucked in by silk-clad angels on a PR contract. And you’re not even touching the other person in bed. That’s how big this thing is. California King? Please. This is Empire Emperor Eldritch-level.

You’re not home, obviously.

You’re in Geo’s bed. Which is very much shocking for several reasons. Mainly, Geo doesn’t just let people into his personal space. And yet here you are. Sleeping where he sleeps. Wrapped in a level of comfort so extreme it might count as psychological warfare.

The air smells like him—clean, sharp, expensive. Subtle cologne that clings to the fabric, mixed with the faintest metallic tang you can’t quite place. It’s sterile, precise, with undertones of don’t touch anything unless you’ve washed your hands twice.

The room is dark. The blackout curtains do their job a little too well, sealing out even the most determined ray of sunlight. You can’t hear the city. No cars. No footsteps. No ambient life. Just… peace. Wealthy, suffocating peace. And beside you, the slow, even rhythm of breath.

Of course. Geo. The broody and moody prince.

You shift your head on the pillow—God, the pillow. It cradles your skull like it was made for royalty recovering from emotional damage. Just firm enough not to smother, just soft enough to ruin every pillow you’ll ever sleep on after this.

Your eyes adjust to the dark.

He’s there. Still asleep.

Geo—cold, composed, borderline terrifying—looks, for once, completely still. His dark violet hair is tousled from sleep, a few strands curled messily over his brow. The elegant sharpness of his face softened by exhaustion, his mouth barely parted. It’s the most unguarded you’ve ever seen him. Quiet. Warm. Human.

You blink slowly.

You probably shouldn’t be awake right now. But you are.

And somehow, it doesn’t feel like a mistake.

Again, which is insane, really—because Geo is not the type of person you imagine waking up beside. He’s too rigid. Too calculated. The kind of guy who schedules sleep like it’s a corporate meeting and probably sets alarms just to meditate before sunrise. His life runs on structure. 

You’ve seen the calendar on his wall—color-coded, hour-blocked, terrifying. Morning routine? Practically ceremonial. Open the window exactly eight inches. Inhale the morning air like a monk. Ten minutes of yoga, fifteen of meditation, one precisely brewed cup of green tea that probably cost more than your monthly groceries.

And if it’s the weekend? He works out. Not because he has to, but because “idle time dulls the edge.” Direct quote. So yes, waking up here—in his bed, next to him—should be unsettling. And yet…

It’s not. It’s because throughout this whole week was a war zone.

And not what you’re thinking—dirty minded, yeah I know you… 

Hours of archery training. Real training. 

The kind that made his muscles shake and his temper flare. Every missed shot seemed to dig into him deeper than the last, like failure was a personal insult. You stayed, of course. Even when he told you to go home. You pushed when he got sloppy. Took his sharp-tongued jabs like armor and threw back dry corrections without flinching.

He hates help.

But he lets you help.

By the time you made it back to his place, Geo was moving like a man fresh out of war. Silent. Jaw clenched. Walking like each step personally offended him. You tried to throw yourself face-first into his marshmallow-soft, cashmere-draped bed like any emotionally and physically drained sidekick would—but no. Of course not.

He stopped you with a look. Not a word. Just one of those glares. The kind that could curdle milk and crack glass. Then—whap—a towel and one of his old t-shirts smacked you dead in the face with all the tenderness of a slap. “No one dirty gets near my bed,” he said, voice flat and absolute, colder than his stainless steel water bottle collection. “Not even you.”

You didn’t argue.

Valid. Because, let’s be honest—who in their right mind does sleep in someone’s bed with outside clothes on? Especially hisbed? Geo, with his monogrammed linen, his clinically-aligned throw pillows, his probably imported mattress that cost more than your rent. 

You knew better.

So you did the walk of slight shame to the guest bathroom and promptly began one of the most unnecessarily complicated shower experiences of your life.

His shower… that demon. It had buttons. Screens. A dial. A sensor that blinked at you like it was judging your socioeconomic status. You stood there, towel-wrapped and spiritually defeated, too scared to ask Geo for help. That would’ve been social suicide. 

He would never let you live it down.

You figured it out eventually, after what felt like a mild psychotic break. And once the water hit—oh. It was like being baptized in a billionaire’s tears. The soap lathered like whipped silk, the conditioner smelled like wealth and emotional detachment. You took your sweet, luxurious time. Because when was the next time you’d get to use his stuff? 

Answer: probably never.

Let’s just say—it was a long night.

And now?

Now it’s morning. The room is still dim, blackout curtains in full effect, the air slightly chilled and scented faintly of cedarwood, bergamot, and expensive quiet.

And there he is. Geo. 

Lying face-down like the universe finally shut him off. One arm flung under the pillow, the other barely peeking from the sheets like he’s trying to ghost himself from reality. The covers are tangled around his waist, his t-shirt riding up just enough to show a sliver of toned back and sharp hipbone.

You have to physically stop yourself from committing a felony-level stare.

Because Geo? Geo looks wrecked. Not in the tragic way. No, no—this is the elite, cinematic kind of wrecked. His long hair, normally bluish purple and perfectly tamed in that ridiculous precision bowl cut with the low ponytail? Ruined. The tie’s gone. Abandoned. His dark violet strands are everywhere. Messy, soft, cascading across his cheek like he slept through a typhoon and somehow made it fashion.

His bangs are a whole saga. One strand is stuck to his lip. Another is fanned across his lashes. It's giving tragic anime rival post-defeat—and you're into it.

You really shouldn’t be staring.

But you are. Because his face? That face that usually looks like it's judging your existence from ten miles away? It’s… soft. Not just relaxed—vulnerable. The perpetual scowl has melted into something quieter. His lips, full and usually pressed into a thin, annoyed line, are parted just slightly. His brows are smooth. The flush on his cheeks—either from sleep, heat, or residual pride damage—is maddeningly pretty.

He looks human.

Tired. Real. Like someone who ran himself into the ground, then collapsed mid-step. The kind of person who fights even sleep itself—and lost.

You keep staring.

Because there’s something painfully beautiful about seeing him, of all people, undone like this. Like all the hard edges melted. Like the armor cracked just enough to remind you he’s made of the same soft, breakable stuff as everyone else.

Even if he’d never admit it. And honestly? You’re down catastrophic.

You can’t help it. You glance at the bedside clock.

He slept in. By at least an hour.

That alone is enough to make you check the temperature of the room and quietly consider if the world’s ending outside. Maybe today, the sun won’t rise on schedule. Maybe Geo—the unshakable, unsmiling, prideful archer—finally needed a break.

You shift slightly, careful not to disturb the sheets too much. He doesn’t stir. Just breathes. Slow. Deep. At peace, for once.

And you realize you kind of like him like this.

Not perfect. Not performing. Just… existing.

You barely shift when you feel the mattress dip—subtle, like a sigh. Geo stirs beside you, groaning low in his throat like sleep had dragged him through a war zone and then left him for dead.

He sits up slowly, like he’s made of bruises and bad decisions, one arm bracing himself as the sheets slide off his shoulder. His hair is a disaster—long dark violet strands sticking out in every direction, the once-neat ponytail now a halfhearted knot somewhere near the back of his neck. A few pieces fall over his eyes, catching on his lashes. You don’t even try to pretend you’re not staring.

Then—those eyes. That aquamarine stare, foggy with sleep but still stupidly sharp, cut toward you.

“…You’re still here,” he rasps, voice hoarse and broken with sleep. Deep. Rough. Way too attractive for someone who probably hasn’t even brushed his teeth yet.

Your brain short-circuits for a full second.

“I—uh. Yeah.” You mumbled before adding, “Please don’t kick me out.”

He blinks. Just once. A slow, heavy-lidded thing. Then exhales through his nose like he’s too tired to summon sarcasm. His hand drags back through his hair, fingers catching in the mess. “My hair’s a damn mess, isn’t it?”

You nod, lips twitching. “Yeah… A disaster.”

Geo groans, low and ruined, dragging the word out like it personally offended him. “Ahh… fuck.”

It’s not even vulgar—it’s hot, coated in that wrecked, gravelly morning voice that sounds like it was marinated in sleep and frustration. Before you can process it, he flops back down like gravity filed a restraining order on his spine, surrendering entirely to the mattress.

And then—God help you—he shifts closer. Slow. Heavy. Deliberate. His forehead finds your chest with a quiet thud, like that was exactly where he’d been aiming all along. There’s no asking for permission. No hesitation. Just the weight of him pressing in, settling against you with that casual kind of intimacy that knocks the air straight out of your lungs.

One arm snakes around your waist—possessive, lazy, final. Like, yes. 

You are now Geo’s human pillow. Deal with it.

And wow. Okay. You’re dying. Imploding, really. Internally combusting in real-time. Because this is Geo—Mr. I-have-a-schedule-for-my-soul. Mr. Sharp-eyes-and-judgmental-silence. And he is clinging to you. Like you're the one thing in this entire cold, brutal, flawlessly coordinated world that makes it tolerable to wake up.

He smells like expensive sleep and subtle cologne, like silk sheets and quiet privilege. His long hair is a mess, strands falling in loose, chaotic waves across your stomach and neck, tickling where it shouldn’t and making it impossible to think straight. 

You can feel his breath—warm and slow—where his cheek rests against you, and then he murmurs, half-asleep and muffled against your shirt:

“Don’t make me get up yet…”

You go still. Not because you’re nervous, but because your heart is doing Olympic-level gymnastics. Geo, broody and impossible Geo, who lectures you on discipline and acts allergic to emotions, is holding onto you like you’re the last safe thing on earth. Like if he lets go, the world might crack open beneath him.

“…oh, right, your dad’s still out there,” you murmur, gently carding your fingers through the mess of his hair.

“Exactly,” he mumbles. “Give it fifteen. He’ll go on his stupid morning walk soon.”

You don’t ask why he doesn’t want to face him just yet. You just stay there. Let him breathe. Let him press closer.

“After that, we can make breakfast,” you offer.

He grunts. That’s a yes. 

“Well, maybe… fix your hair first?”

Another grunt. Less enthusiastic. And somehow, you understand. He’s exhausted. Not just in body—but in that deeper way. The kind of tired that no amount of rest can fix. So you stay.

You don’t move. You don’t breathe too hard. You just let him cling. You smile into his scalp. And if your hand drifts into his tangled hair and you press your cheek to the top of his head?

Well. You’ll both pretend it didn’t happen.

✑ 𝒽𝓎𝓊𝑔𝑜

Hyugo’s place was exactly what you’d expect from someone who was more myth than man—barely lived in, suspiciously neat, and filled with strangely curated clutter. 

The kind of space that screamed I don’t live here; I just crash here when I need to not die of sleep deprivation.

Still, you found yourself spending more time here than at your own place lately. Something about your apartment felt… off. Or maybe you were just bored of your own four walls. Whatever the reason, you’d wandered into Hyugo’s world, and now you were curled up in his suspiciously stiff bed, waiting for the elusive, night-haunting man to finally show up.

The bed was all sharp corners and no give—military-grade firmness. You were starting to suspect he chose it on purpose, like some kind of self-imposed punishment to never get too cozy. It didn’t exactly scream “a sweet guy lives here,” but then again, Hyugo was full of contradictions. 

One minute, he was offering you cake with sparkly berry drizzle like a Disney prince in combat boots, and the next he was vanishing into the shadows without so much as a text back.

His apartment, though? Absolutely fanboy-coded. 

Posters lined the walls—classic noir detective flicks, sci-fi anthems, and a few vintage anime movie prints. His console collection was stacked neatly beside the TV, surrounded by limited-edition controller sets and at least three different Detective Conan DVDs. 

And the kitchen? Not a single spice in sight, but enough sweets to give Willy Wonka a sugar rush: fruit tarts, cream-filled pastries, and what looked suspiciously like a shrine to strawberries.

You’d sprawled across the bed with a sigh, dressed in one of his oversized hoodies, You stayed up longer than you meant to, thumbing through the endless scroll of social media nonsense—videos, memes, fan theories, rabbit holes that led nowhere.

The screen glowed in the darkness of Hyugo’s bedroom like a little portal to a world that, somehow, still felt more distant than the man you were actually sharing space with. 

Or not sharing, technically.

The sheets were cold beside you. Unsurprising. It wasn’t like Hyugo was known for being reliably present. He’d always been more phantom than person, flickering in and out of your days like some enigmatic glitch in reality. A shadow in a hoodie with too many secrets and a goddamn stash of berry parfaits in his fridge.

Eventually, the fatigue set in—eyes stinging, thumb cramping, brain buzzing from too much brightness. With a defeated sigh, you tucked your phone beneath the pillow and flopped onto your side.

The bed still smelled like him—sharp citrus and clean cotton—but that was all you got. No arm to curl against. No soft snore, no sleepy mumble of your name. Just you and the stiff mattress in a room that felt a little too empty. 

So, you slept.

When morning came, it was rude.

The blinds—half-closed as always—let in just enough sun to paint golden bars across the room, slicing the air with warmth and unwelcome awareness. You groaned and shifted, pulling the blanket up, eyes still crusty from sleep and your hair a mess of pillow friction. You stretched, spine cracking satisfyingly, and rolled over—

Still no Hyugo.

A familiar little twist of disappointment lodged itself in your chest. Not surprising. Not unexpected. But it stung anyway. You had this dumb, fleeting hope—maybe, just maybe, he would’ve shown up in the dead of night, kicked off his shoes, and crawled into bed like some cheesy, fanfiction-level plot convenience. You even left a space open for him, like a fool. But no. Reality had other plans.

You sighed and sat up, hair sticking up at odd angles. You reached for your phone. And yet… something felt off. Off enough that when you swung your legs off the bed and looked around—

There he was.

On the damn floor.

Face down, one arm thrown dramatically to the side like he had spontaneously collapsed mid–Family Guy cutaway gag. His teal hair was a disaster, strands sticking out in every direction like the aftermath of a high-speed chase. 

His bangs were matted to his cheek, and that ridiculous long rat-tail he refused to cut had curled awkwardly near his collar. The coat was halfway down his arms, one boot still clinging stubbornly to his foot, the other nowhere in sight. A lazy trail of crumbs framed his body like some ridiculous pastry chalk outline.

You blinked. Once. Twice.

“…Are you serious?”

No answer, of course. Just light snoring and the occasional mumble. You sighed—long, low, and entirely defeated.

How did you not hear him come in? And why the hell is he sleeping on the floor like some tragically aesthetic raccoon?

You slid off the bed with the grace of a cat who had not, in fact, gotten a full eight hours. Padding over in your sleepwear, you crouched beside the body of your once-and-future cryptid, brushing a few strands of teal hair away from his cheek.

“Hyugo,” you muttered, poking his shoulder. No response.

You poked again, this time his cheek. He groaned, rolled onto his back with a sound like a dying alien, and blinked up at you, crimson eyes bleary and unfocused.

“…Bed’s too firm,” he slurred, voice hoarse with sleep.

You gave him a look. “You sleep on rooftops. You once fell asleep in a shopping cart.”

He yawned, the corners of his lips twitching. “And?”

Oh, he’s sassy too now? 

You swallowed the lump that rose uninvited. “You’re a menace.”

Before you could get up, his hand reached out—half-conscious but terrifyingly strong—and yanked you down. Not into a hug, no. Into a full-blown, koala-grip straddle. You found yourself awkwardly seated on his stomach, balancing as his arms locked tight around your waist.

“Mmph. Warm now,” he muttered against your shirt.

You rolled your eyes, cheeks burning. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m tired,” he whispered. “You’re here. Floor’s fine.”

You just sighed, brushing your fingers gently through his hair, teasing that thick center bang back from his brow. The way his features softened in sleep made him look younger, more open, like the walls he so carefully maintained had been knocked down by pure exhaustion.

“…I didn’t think you were still here,” came that familiar soft voice.

You didn’t even open your eyes, only tilted your head toward the sound. “You didn’t think I’d vanish before breakfast, did you?”

A lazy chuckle vibrated against your chest. He’d shifted to lie beside you now, fully dressed—still somehow dignified in his disheveled chaos. One arm rested behind his head. The other hovered, hesitating like it wanted to touch you but wasn’t sure if it was allowed.

Typical Hyugo. Always almost.

But then he frowned, brows pinching like something troubled him. “Actually…” he muttered, “I did try to sleep in the bed with you.”

You blinked. “What?”

He looked sheepish. “You were kind of… dead center. I tried to move you over.”

“And?”

His ears turned pink. “You—uh. You woke up. Glared at me like I insulted your ancestors. Then told me to ‘get the fuck away’ and shoved a pillow in my face.”

You stared. “I… don’t remember that.”

“I know,” he muttered. “You were half-asleep. It was kind of impressive.”

Silence hung between you.

And then you sighed—deep, guilty. “Okay, okay. I didn’t mean it. I was just tired. And… maybe a little annoyed.”

He tilted his head. “Annoyed?”

You hesitated, then looked away. “I… guess I felt lonely. I stayed here thinking I’d have your attention, but you weren’t here. It just felt... off.”

Hyugo didn’t say anything right away, and for a breathless second, you thought maybe he’d dozed off again—curled around you like a worn hoodie someone refused to throw away. But then, as if a switch had flipped inside him, his arms tightened, drawing you in without hesitation, without permission, just need.

He pressed his face into the crook of your neck, and suddenly there were kisses. Rapid, butterfly-soft, peppered along your jawline, cheek, temple. The kind of affection that tried to say what words failed to.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice muffled against your skin, lips barely pulling away long enough to form the words. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like that.”

You tensed slightly, caught off guard by how earnest it sounded.

“It’s fine—” you began, brushing your fingers through the loose strands of his shaggy teal hair.

“Nope. No, it’s not,” he cut you off, gently but firmly. “I’m making it up to you.”

Another kiss. This one slower. Near the corner of your mouth. His voice softened further, but it still held that edge of stubbornness he always wielded when it came to you.

“I’m not leaving. Not unless you need me to.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

The silence between you didn’t feel cold anymore—it was warm now, intimate. Like the world had slowed down just to give the two of you a moment.

“I don’t,” you said quietly, the words escaping before you could second-guess them. “Not this time.”

He smiled at that. That rare, almost bashful smile he only ever gave when he wasn’t sure he deserved the closeness, but was grateful for it anyway. He pulled you even tighter, curling into you like a cat that had finally found a sunbeam.

For a moment, you forgot about the crumbs, the stiff floor, the missing boot, and the strange liminal haze of early morning. You could’ve stayed like that forever. Or at least until his stomach inevitably growled loud enough to ruin the mood.

You tilted your head back and peeked at him through half-lidded eyes. His hair was disheveled from wind and sleep, strands catching the low, golden sunlight that leaked through the blinds. 

There was a smudge of city grit near his jawline—evidence of wherever he’d been that night—and a thin white bandage wrapped around his knuckles. A faint, purpling bruise bloomed under one cheekbone like the start of a storm cloud.

“You look like hell,” you muttered, voice filled with dry affection.

He cracked a smirk, still not lifting his head. “You always say the sweetest things.”

“I’m serious. When do you even sleep?”

He finally glanced up, red eyes finding yours. For a split second, something flickered in them. Not amusement. Not sarcasm. Something… hollow and fragile. Then it was gone.

“When you’re here,” he said, barely audible.

And you stilled.

Those words—“When you’re here”—weren’t dressed up in charm or wit. There was no playful gleam in his eye, no sly curl of his lips. Just truth. Quiet, raw, and heavy in a way that settled beneath your skin like something aching. Something long-held and quietly desperate.

Your breath caught for a moment. Your eyes dropped to his cheek again—the faint bruise blooming beneath delicate skin, soft and plum-dark. A smear of exhaustion clung to his features like a second skin, making his usually youthful face look just a touch older, worn from whatever invisible war he fought before coming home.

“…What happened last night?” you asked, voice hushed, as though saying it too loud might break the moment.

He shifted slightly beneath you, the shrug subtle but unmistakably dismissive. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

You didn’t believe him. Not really. That wasn’t an answer—it was a deflection. You could’ve pressed him. Demanded to know who laid hands on him, why he looked like someone had dragged him through a back alley, why there was blood dried into the folds of his sleeve. But the truth lingered in the stillness between your bodies—he needed the silence more than he needed the interrogation.

So instead, you offered warmth.

You reached down, fingers brushing against the rough gauze wrapped around his knuckles, then laced your hand gently with his. His hand was cold, slightly stiff, but it curled around yours instinctively, like it was second nature. Like holding onto you was the one thing he didn’t have to think twice about.

“You know,” you murmured, your voice slow and dry, “for someone who says the bed’s too firm… you’ve really committed to the floor like it’s a luxury spa.”

A lazy chuckle ghosted past your neck, warm breath brushing your skin. “Only ‘cause you’re in it.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes even though he couldn’t see it.

 “You’re such a little shit.”

“I missed you too,” he said simply, almost too quietly.

Then his arms tightened again, drawing you in with the kind of strength that didn’t bruise but didn’t allow escape either. He buried his face back into your shoulder like it was the only place in the world where his guard didn’t need to exist.

You let him.

Not because he asked. Not because you felt obligated. But because, in that strange moment—curled up on a carpet sprinkled with pastry crumbs, light spilling in from the slats of cheap blinds, the city beyond his windows still half-asleep—there was nowhere else you’d rather be. His heartbeat was slow under your palm, a steady thrum of life and tension and something unspoken.

And maybe you weren’t the kind to play house or cling to romantic daydreams. Maybe cuddling on the floor wasn’t your usual script.

But with Hyugo?

With Hyugo, it fit—this messy, half-awake intimacy laced with sugar dust and unsaid things. He sighed, body relaxing a little under your weight. “Stay like this… a bit longer.” 

Your lips twitched into something soft. “Only if you promise not to pass out with food in your hand next time.”

“No promises,” he mumbled, voice already heavy with sleep.

Such a little shit frfr.

✑ 𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓎𝓁

Dear lord.

You honestly deserved an award—or at least a gold medal—for managing to pin this walking, talking ball of golden retriever energy down into an actual bed.

Deryl was never still. Ever.

If he wasn’t sprinting across a football field or lifting absurd weights, he was pacing around his room like it was a cage and he was some kind of restless lion hopped up on sugar and testosterone.

The fact that he invited you over to ‘hang out and chill’ was a miracle in itself. Apparently, the football coach had finally granted him a rare moment of freedom, and instead of partying or sleeping—like a sane person), he wanted to spend it with you. That should’ve been flattering—and it kind of was—but good god, it was also exhausting.

From the second you stepped foot in his place, it was like walking into the eye of a hurricane. He barely gave you time to sit down before he was tugging you by the hand to show you everything. His room. His signed football. The dumb little trophy from third grade he pretended wasn’t a big deal but kept on display anyway. 

He talked nonstop, words tumbling over themselves in that typical Deryl fashion—grinning, excited, animated like he’d swallowed the sun.

You tried to keep up, really. You even humored him when he insisted on doing impromptu push-ups while holding a full conversation with you.

But eventually, you crashed. Not like, passed out—but emotionally, spiritually, mentally—done. The guy was just... too much. So you did the only reasonable thing left: you wrestled him onto the bed.

It took effort. A lot of effort. 

The man was built like a truck and fought like a child being dragged away from a bouncy castle. But eventually—after a brief scuffle that probably looked a little too playful for your liking—you managed to get him horizontal, arms flailing, laughter bubbling from his chest.

“Damn,” he panted, hair tousled, eyes bright with the kind of joy that made your chest feel tight. “You really wanted me down, huh?”

“Yes,” you said, breathless. “You’re not allowed to move for at least ten minutes. That’s a law now.”

He grinned like you’d just given him the greatest challenge in existence. “Ten minutes? I don’t know if I can survive that.”

“You will survive, Deryl. Consider it a recovery period.”

“Recovery from what?”

“From being you.”

He laughed, head falling back against the pillow, arms spread like he was about to make a snow angel in the mattress. “Fair.”

Finally—finally—he lay still. The room quieted for the first time all evening, and you took a seat beside him, watching his chest rise and fall with each breath. He was still buzzing with energy—you could feel it under his skin—but he was making an effort for you. Trying to be still. Present.

His gaze flicked over to yours, warm and stupidly sincere. “Hey,” he said, voice a little softer, “I really am glad you came over.”

You raised a brow. “Even though I basically tackled you into submission?”

He chuckled. “Especially because of that. No one else gets me to chill out like you do.”

You couldn’t help but smile, despite yourself. “That’s because I’m the only one brave enough to try.”

“You’re not wrong.”

It should’ve been a peaceful moment.

Deryl’s hand had found yours with that ridiculously casual charm he always carried—like it was the most natural thing in the world. Fingers laced, warm skin, a lazy thumb sweeping circles across your knuckles. His grin softened into something quieter, something almost domestic, like this was the kind of thing he could do every night without a second thought.

For a split second, he actually looked still.

But you knew better.

Just as your brain dared to entertain the delusion—maybe he’s calming down, maybe this golden retriever finally burned through all his zoomies for the day—he sat up. Sat up. Like a bolt of lightning just recharged him.

“So I was thinking,” he began, voice way too energetic for someone who should be deep into REM sleep, “we play just one game—Monsters & Mayhem—you’ll love it, there’s strategy, and traps, and dice, and I get to be a werewolf warlock again—”

You blinked, dead-eyed. “…I thought you were going to rest.”

“I am! This is rest! Board games are relaxing!” He was already halfway off the bed, dragging out the board from under his desk like a kid unwrapping a present on Christmas morning.

You just sat there. Exhausted. Physically, mentally, spiritually done. Your spine was folding in on itself like a haunted Victorian child in need of soup. But Deryl—Deryl was on his knees, organizing little plastic figurines and muttering strategy rules to himself, bouncing slightly where he sat. Fully locked in. Eyes sparkling.

You tried.

You tried to be patient.

“Deryl, I really—”

“I’m telling you, the game only takes an hour, maybe two! Depends on how intense the boss phase is, but I’m already setting it up so—”

“Deryl—”

“Okay, pick a character card! You strike me as someone who’d be an elf rogue, right? No wait—you’d hate that—hold on—”

You snapped.

You didn’t mean to. But it came out, loud and unfiltered, fueled by sleep deprivation and the haunting echo of dice rattling in a box:

“DERYL, I WANNA GO TO BED.”

The silence that followed was biblical.

He froze mid-setup, a die hovering in his hand like it was afraid to fall. His mouth hung open a little. His eyes—wide, hazel-green, full of innocence and genuine confusion, blinked once. Twice.

“…Oh.” His voice was very small.

You collapsed back onto the bed dramatically, limbs splayed like a martyr. “I love you, but if you roll one more die, I will launch myself out the nearest window and haunt your locker.”

Deryl was quiet. Thoughtful. Then slowly—very slowly—he put the die down and padded over to the bed, sitting at the edge like a kicked puppy.

“…What if I said I had a candy that helps with sleep?”

Your eyes cracked open slowly, your vision still hazy with sleep, and immediately narrowed in suspicion. “…Candy?”

Deryl sat cross-legged at the edge of the bed, proudly holding up the small, half-crinkled wrapper of the capsule you’d handed him the night before. His face practically glowed with naive delight, cheeks slightly puffed, tousled blond hair flopping in every direction.

“Yeah! That thing you gave me last night? The candy? It made me so sleepy. That stuff’s magical.”

You just stared.

“…Oh my God,” you whispered, horrified and impressed in equal measure. “You actually ate it.”

He blinked at you, eyes wide and honest. “Why wouldn’t I? You said it was strawberry-flavored and ‘good for my energy levels.’”

Right. Energy levels. That was one way to frame melatonin.

To be fair—you had warned him.

Not in words, of course. But through your thoroughly drained expression, your drooping posture, and your complete and utter refusal to play Monsters & Mayhem at midnight. He didn’t pick up on any of it. Of course not. So, really, you had no choice but to lovingly sedate the human golden retriever using candy-wrapped sleep hormones.

And yeah. That’s how the night ended.

Surprisingly effective.

When you woke up the next morning—well, more like afternoon—you felt oddly refreshed. Limbs loose. Mind clear. The blanket tangled but intact. Except for one issue:

You couldn’t breathe.

There were roughly 210 pounds of human sunshine sprawled across your body like a furnace set to maximum heat, wrapped in limbs and pure, unbothered audacity.

Deryl was completely draped over you, face smushed lazily into the crook of your neck. His breath tickled your collarbone, slow and steady, mouth half-open as he snored soft and low—like a purring engine buried in muscle. His skin was warm against yours, dark and smooth beneath the golden morning light filtering through the blinds, a faint sheen of sleep still clinging to him like dew.

His hair—dark brown, thick, and coiled in lazy curls—was flattened on one side, tousled and unruly from tossing around. The sides of his head were neatly shaved, which only made the bedhead up top more dramatic. You could feel the faint scrape of his stubble against your shoulder, rough and unintentional, but somehow comforting. 

One of his broad arms was slung heavy over your waist, the other flopped uselessly off the side of the bed. His legs were tangled messily with yours, practically pinning you down, and despite being entirely unconscious, he radiated heat and smug peace like someone who had absolutely no intention of moving.

You squirmed, trying to shift your hips. No luck. Just more snoring.

“Deryl,” you groaned. “Get off.” Nothing.

He muttered something unintelligible into your skin—probably gibberish—and clung tighter, like you were the mattress itself. “Mmm… five more minutes…”

“It’s one in the afternoon, you overgrown golden retriever,” you hissed, jabbing his side with what little leverage you had. “You are literally suffocating me.”

He let out a deep, groggy moan—like a dying beast—and cracked one bleary eye open. His bright green gaze peeked out from beneath thick, dark lashes, slightly unfocused and glazed with sleep. His full lips parted as he spoke, voice hoarse and low. “You’re so dramatic…”

Still, with the grace of a defeated walrus, he finally rolled off you and onto his back, groaning all the way. His arm flopped across his own stomach, curls falling over his forehead, mouth still half-open in a dopey, content expression.

You sucked in a grateful breath, like someone who had just escaped being flattened by a mattress-sized sandbag.

“Oh, thank God,” you gasped. “You were crushing me.”

Deryl, eyes still closed, grinned into the pillow with zero shame. “You’re soft. Like a human pillow. I regret nothing.”

“You should,” you muttered, glaring at him.

But he just chuckled faintly and burrowed deeper into the sheets—his dark skin glowing softly against the white bedding, stubble catching the light, muscles relaxed and at ease.

Even half-asleep and disheveled, he looked frustratingly good. Like he’d just stepped out of a dream—one that snored, hogged the bed, and refused to let you breathe properly.

You hated how fond you were of him in moments like this.

Even if he had nearly killed you with affection.

Silence stretched between you for a beat, peaceful and golden in the post-nap lull. Then, without even opening his eyes, Deryl asked, “So… what do you wanna do today?”

You blinked, still recovering. “I was gonna rest. Maybe nap again. Eat something.”

He yawned. “Might do my usual workout. Make a smoothie. Maybe chill.”

You made a noncommittal noise. “Sounds like a plan.”

“…Wanna work out with me?”

Your head snapped toward him. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” he asked, suddenly more awake. “It doesn’t have to be hardcore—we could do yoga! Like couple’s yoga. Or plank challenges. Or—”

“No.”

“But—”

“I said no.”

He rolled onto his back and pulled the full might of his pouty face: big, round eyes, slightly jutted bottom lip, messy hair and all. The kind of face that should be outlawed. “Pleeease?”

You stared at him, expression flat. Then sighed. Loud. Long. Suffering.

“…Fine. Yoga. That’s it.”

“Yessss!” he cheered, throwing both arms in the air and almost rolling off the bed in the process.

So much for a chill day.

You should’ve known better than to trust the chaos incarnate.

✑ 𝒷𝓇𝒾𝓉

Sleeping over at Brittney’s place was less of a choice and more of a declaration of war you quietly lost.

You could’ve done literally anything else with your night. Catch up on studying (God knew you needed to). Work on that essay you'd been avoiding like the plague. Rewatch that one show where the characters actually made sense. Hell, even organizing your sock drawer sounded like a more productive use of time. But no. 

Because Brittney—Queen of Ultimatums, Dictator of Plans, and Menace in Lip Gloss—had decided otherwise.

The chaos started during a regular hangout with your group. Everyone was winding down, casual conversations bubbling like background noise. Then, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, Brittney looked straight at you and dropped the bomb with that infamous smirk.

“You and me are having a sleepover tonight. Just us.”

You blinked. “Uh, what—”

“I already decided,” she said, tone breezy, as if she hadn’t just hijacked your evening like a scene-stealer in a teen drama.

You scrambled to backpedal, coming up with the most reasonable excuse: “I have to study. I’ve got an exam next week and I haven’t done—”

“Boo,” she interrupted, eyes gleaming as she slowly drew an invisible line through the air. “Cross out you.”

You stared at her.

She stared back. Intense. Unblinking. The kind of stare that made your soul step outside your body and reconsider all your life choices.

You broke first. With a sigh worthy of an Oscar, you rolled your eyes and muttered, “What time?”

She smiled like she’d just won a bet with the devil. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”

And then—because Brittney was never content with just winning—she had the nerve to give you a slow once-over, eyes flicking down your body with shameless interest.

“Wear something cute, 'kay?”

You stood there, mildly stunned, internally screaming.

Jesus. My God.

As promised—on the dot, like she had alarms wired into her bones—Brittney showed up outside your place at exactly eight. Her car pulled up sleek and smooth, the bass of her playlist thumping low in the background like it had its own attitude. You stepped outside in your basic sleepover getup: a quarter-sleeve top, pajama pants, and a duffel bag slung over one shoulder. Nothing fancy. 

You were keeping it simple—mostly to spite her, just a little.

She leaned out the driver’s side window with her usual razor-sharp grin. “Cutie,” she greeted, like it was a title she’d already knighted you with.

You slid into the passenger seat, grumbling something incoherent under your breath while tossing your bag into the back. She didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she was beaming, sunglasses pushed up into her honey-blonde waves even though the sun had already dipped under the horizon. Because of course she was extra like that.

The drive to her place was filled with casual banter, her curated playlist of Y2K bops, and her dramatic commentary on every passing car. You didn’t even realize how quickly time flew until you were standing at her front door, bag in hand, and she was already dragging you inside like you lived there.

Her house was quiet—eerily so. She casually mentioned her parents were out of town for the weekend, which basically translated to: zero supervision, unlimited chaos.

The evening kicked off lowkey. A couple of microwaved snacks, the two of you stretched out on her plush living room floor surrounded by an army of throw pillows and a comforter stolen from her bed. She’d already queued up a nostalgic lineup of early 2000s rom-coms—everything from Legally Blonde to Jennifer’s Body. 

Brittney had no shame in living her Paris Hilton-era fantasy.

At some point, she got bored of just watching movies and decided you were her canvas for the night.

You tried to protest. Really, you did. But Brittney was already pulling out her makeup case before you could say “pass.” She sat cross-legged in front of you, legs brushing yours, with an evil little glint in her eyes.

“Hold still,” she ordered, already dabbing concealer under your eyes. “If you mess this up, I swear I’ll glue rhinestones to your eyelids.”

You suffered through it with only mild complaints. Her concentration was oddly soothing, and her hands were surprisingly gentle as she applied everything with an expert’s precision. She finished with a proud little flourish and turned your face toward her mirror.

“Damn,” she said, smug. “I outdid myself.”

You had to admit… it didn’t look half bad. Which only made it worse.

But she wasn’t done.

“Feet up,” she said next, holding a bottle of baby pink polish like it was a threat. “I’m doing your nails, too.”

“You’re unhinged.”

“And you’re lucky.”

You rolled your eyes but complied, and soon you were both giggling over the ridiculousness of it all—your toes painted, your face fully beat, and the faint glow of movie light flickering across the room. Time slipped by without you realizing it.

Somewhere between the third film and the final coat of nail polish drying, the mood shifted—calmer, quieter. More intimate. You were both lounging against the couch now, her head tilted against your shoulder, mascara-streaked lashes fluttering closed every few seconds.

For someone who'd forced you into this, she looked damn peaceful.

And you… Weirdly, didn’t mind it.

Not that you’d ever admit that aloud.

When you finally cracked your eyes open, it was like waking up inside a fever dream. Britney’s room was...a lot. 

Hot pink reigned supreme—walls, pillows, LED lights that softly bathed the room in a rosy glow. Zebra print was splashed across throw blankets, chair cushions, and even her fuzzy rug like some kind of kitschy jungle rebellion. The floor was scattered with open fashion magazines, mostly featuring Japanese gyaru style queens and Harajuku icons in glossy poses. 

A mirror near the vanity was half-covered in sticky notes and lip prints. Her massive makeup collection gleamed in its tiered organizer, every drawer labeled with sparkly gel pen.

It was clean—technically. Just... chaotically organized. 

Like a tornado had passed through Sephora and left her to sort through the glittering debris with her own system. And somehow, she always knew where everything was. You wouldn’t dare move a single thing or she'd hex you.

She hadn’t even taken off her makeup.

Her deep blue eyes remained closed beneath feathery, false lashes—miraculously still intact despite the pillow abuse. A tiny beauty mark rested elegantly beneath her right eye. Her eyelids were dusted with a pink and blue gradient—bubblegum shimmer at the center, icy blue smoked at the edges. Her lips, glossed in a creamy pink, had faded slightly but still looked kissably obnoxious.

Her blonde hair was down. Even in sleep, her look screamed curated chaos. Her nails—manicured to perfection—alternated between cotton candy pink and electric blue, complete with rhinestones that glinted under the fairy lights.

You blinked, dazed, your limbs a little numb from the weight of her.

“…Brit.” You called.

She didn’t stir. Just let out a soft, contented sigh and curled closer, pressing her nose into the crook of your neck. You debated whether to move, but decided it wasn’t worth the energy. You were trapped in pastel hell, and honestly? It was kind of warm.

Eventually, you reached for your phone on the nightstand and blinked at the time. Late morning—more like early afternoon. Neither of you seemed in any rush to move, and there wasn’t much planned anyway. 

You could hit the mall, maybe dig through some thrift shops for vintage gems or accessories. Or you could both just stay in, doomscroll Pinterest for outfit inspo while half-watching some messy influencer apology videos. 

There was always some juicy drama in the fashion world, or on campus, or in her DMs. A yawn escaped you, and Britney groaned softly, eyes fluttering but not quite waking.

“Brittney.” You called again.

Britney stirred with the subtle grace of a cat sunbathing in a window—stretching slowly, fingers curling against your side before one of her legs slid further over yours, anchoring you in place like she sensed you were considering escape. 

Her blonde hair, once tied up in that obnoxiously perfect ponytail, had come loose sometime during the night and now spilled around her shoulders in a soft, tousled cascade of gold and candy-colored streaks. It framed her face like some ethereal dream girl version of chaos incarnate.

You watched her lashes flutter as she squinted one eye open, bleary but sharp enough to notice the phone in your hand. She groaned dramatically, voice a sleepy rasp laced with velvet and attitude.

“Ugh… no phones in bed,” she mumbled, fingers finding your wrist and tugging it gently back down. “I’m not done being warm yet.”

“You’re literally clinging to me like a space heater,” you muttered, though you didn’t pull away. “And it’s past noon.”

Her lips curled into a sleepy, mischievous smile. “Then consider it brunch-in-bed cuddles. With a side of me.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the tiny grin tugging at your lips. “You are so full of yourself.”

“And yet, you still let me do your nails and fall asleep in my arms.” She cracked both eyes open now, her voice lower, playful. “Which, might I say, is very girlfriend behavior.”

You snorted, turning your head slightly. “Don’t push it.”

She pouted, inching closer—her breath warm against your jaw. “But you’re so cozy,” she said, practically whining. “And cute. I mean, look at you—bedhead and everything. You could at least let me kiss your forehead or something before you go tearing me away from my beauty sleep.”

“You weren’t asleep.”

“Details,” she said, brushing her nose against yours, her manicured fingers now tracing lazy little hearts against your side. The glint of rhinestones on her nails sparkled under the soft fairy lights strung across the ceiling, catching your eye every few seconds like a spell.

You opened your mouth to protest, but she beat you to it, pressing a kiss to your temple with all the gentleness of someone who knew exactly what they were doing.

She pulled back just enough to whisper, “Don’t you wanna stay in bed with me a little longer? Or…” she drew the word out, trailing her fingertips down your arm, “I could do that contouring trick I saw on TikTok. The one that makes your cheekbones look criminal.”

“Brit,” you said flatly, though your voice came out softer than intended.

She blinked up at you, putting on the most pitifully sweet expression she could muster. “Pleeease? I promise to let you study after. Maybe. Kind of. Probably not. But at least you’ll look hot while procrastinating.”

You buried your face into the pillow with a groan, defeated. “Fine. But if you pull out glitter again, I swear—”

“I make no promises,” she sang, already grabbing for her makeup bag like it was Christmas morning.

And honestly… you let her.

𝒶𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒:

I honestly had way too much fun writing this. 

That said—just a heads-up—what you’ve read so far MIGHT (Because I would know I'm simply unpredictable when dealing with myself so much) be the last time I do parts on Brittney and Deryl.

There’s still so much bouncing around in my head, and it gets sofrustrating because my dumbass keeps forgetting stuff unless I force myself to sit down and write it all out.

But anyway, chaos and memory lapses aside, I really enjoyed crafting this chapter—especially the parts with Geo, Crowe, and Brittney.

Ugh. I’m such a simp for those three now, it’s ridiculous.

[eddiegettingshot]

okay so let's just recap what happened. maddie tells buck he should try making new friends because he's not coping well with his only friend eddie being gone. so buck tries to make friends with eddie's replacement, looking like a complete loser in the process, due to he doesn't know how to make friends and eddie's just a freak disguised as a pretty cool and normal dude. they manage to settle on an activity that eddie should probably not haunt (drinking) except for that buck is really intent on making sure eddie haunts everything and everyone so he spends the entire time talking about how he is eddie's princess and eddie is soooo good at stuff and has never done anything wrong in his life and he's so much fun, let's play this drinking game he taught me! ravi who is sick of this forcibly inserts tommy in his place and gets the hell out of there before buck can say eddie's name a billionth time. tommy doesn't really get what he's supposed to be doing there and doesn't give a shit until he learns that eddie is gone, upon which he Turns It On and they end up going back to. well. (tommy voice) eddie's house. buck has not unpacked a single thing and is never even there so they have tequila-drunk sex on a bare mattress without sheets or anything, there is definitely no lube available so it's definitely dry as fuck, and afterwards buck (drunk, just had sex) still has the wherewithal to change into his sleepytime shirt (he doesn't take his watch off though) before falling asleep, so it probably isn't all that athletic either. in the morning buck wakes up in an empty (sheetsless) bed and is like Haha okay he probably just left! but no. tommy's in eddie's kitchen and he has cooked 1 pound of bacon and 17 eggs and an entire fruit salad and chopped up celery and carrots and also cut 4 bagels AND brought champagne. to celebrate their dry ex sex they had on buck's bare mattress in eddie's house, which by the way he thinks it's super weird that they're in eddie's house, but hee hee eddie's gone so he can ignore it and GET IN THERE!!!!! like he's been waiting to do for months apparently. then for some reason when buck asks him if he's not afraid buck will break his heart anymore he decides the best response is to be like WELL YEAH NOW THAT YOUR BEST FRIEND HAS MOVED TO A DIFFERENT STATE. YOU KNOW, BECAUSE OF HIS FAMILY FALLING APART DUE TO HIS GRIEF. YEAH HE'S OUT OF THE WAY NOW SO IT'S ALL GOOD OVER HERE. HOW ABOUT SOME BUBBLY? and buck, understandably, is weirded out, and also freaked out, but even he is like. Ummmm. first of all eddie rented this house. and he's straight. so you're wrong about my feelings for him, which neither of those things address. also i don't have feelings for you btw. and then tommy walks out, leaving buck with approximately 80 united states dollars' worth of breakfast, so he can call an uber from eddie's front porch. and he has to sit there and wait for his uber, and probably he's thinking, Wow if i told buck i was getting an uber right now, buck would probably say, "me and eddie got an uber once!"

[wonderjanga]

Teen Dad Marvel

There’s some very big leaps and logic the JL has decided at Marvel is a teen dad. Billy doesn’t even know how it happened. Let’s take a look at some pass incidents that have made them think this.

To start us off, the very first incident of this occurred when Batman, Superman, and Marvel were debating how old a kid should be before they become a sidekick.

Marvel: “I wasn’t even 12 when Junior came along.”

Supes: “I’m sorry, not even 12?”

Marvel: “Nope. And then it was about… two years or so later that he got his powers and we went on the fight crime together.

To Billy, that meant that he met Freddy when he was around eight and the other boy was nine. It when Billy was nine himself that he got his powers and then a year later, Freddy gained his.

To Superman and Batman, that sounded like somehow, in some way, Marvel had a kid at a max of 12 years old. It also sounds like that two-year-old got powers before it could probably even walk.

Batman and Supes: *sharing looks*

Supes: “I… I’m sorry?”

Marvel: “For what?”

Batman and Supes: *share another look*

Batman: “Nothing, Captain. We just hadn’t expected that you’d gone through something like that.”

Marvel: “Something like what?”

They didn’t answer Billy’s question because they assumed he was playing dumb.

The second incident that convinced the JL, or just Batman and Superman, of this, happened when both Marvel and Junior were at the Watchtower. It seemed like that day was a bad day for Junior’s leg, so Marvel offered to massage it. That how they ended up in the rec room watching Cartoon Network a little too intently as Marvel absentmindedly, massaged the leg draped across his lap.

Marvel and Junior: *watching Gumball or something and sipping juice boxes*

Junior: “How do you do that so well?”

Marvel: “Freddy, I’ve been doing this since I was like nine, obviously I’m gonna do it well.”

Junior: “Yeah, but how did you learn?”

Marvel: “You know that kooky doctor on 48th Street?”

Junior: “The one that’s not evil and turned like half his patients blue?”

Marvel: “Yeah, him, so on one of your really bad days, I got really desperate and really wanted to find a way to make it less bad. So I went to him and he gave me a massage therapy book for a penny.”

Junior: “Oh… Cool. Do you still have that book?”

Marvel: “Yeah? It’s probably somewhere at the Rock.”

Supes; *listening from around a corner, clenching his heart because he finds them wholesome*

And it really was from Clark’s point of view. See, most of the JL assumed that Junior was born with a bad leg. After all, he’s supposed to be a demigod, isn’t he? He’s pretty much indestructible so they didn’t think he’d gotten that injury from someone or something. In Clark’s mind, he’s imagining a nine-year-old, itty-bitty Marvel with a baby Freddy massaging Freddy’s little baby leg because he was crying.

Also, Junior’s real name is Freddy? Also, Marvel was NINE when he had him??? Wait, but then how old is Marvel now? Also how old is Junior??

Supes never got an answer to these questions because he was too chicken to bring up the topic.

The third incident came from Mary and Marvel who were also at the Watchtower when this happened. The two were baking cookies together, one of the usual father-daughter activities the JL have seen them do. Specifically, they were making dark chocolate bat-shaped cookies for Batman, on the request of Robin. When Bruce found out about this, he went to go tell them to stop because he really didn’t need the cookies even if they were absolutely delicious.

That’s how he overheard their conversation.

Mary: “Do you remember mom?”

Marvel: “Uh…” *thinking* “Nope, I got nothing.”

Mary: “How?”

Marvel: “Because the last time I saw them, I was eight years old, Mary? You were too.” *whisking something in a bowl*

Bruce took that as Marvel leaving home, at a concerningly young age, for whatever reason and eventually taking Mary to see her grandparents when she was around the age he left. Either that, or he left, and took her back to visit her grandparents when she was two-years-old.

Mary: “Yeah, but I had amnesia. What’s your excuse?”

Marvel: “I was eight?” *hands her the whisk so she can lick it*

It was this incident, and the two others that shaped this idea of teen dad Marvel. Thus, using the combined brain cells of both Batman and Superman, the two came to a conclusion: for some reason, Marvel left home, during the time he left he somehow got someone pregnant and that resulted in Mary and Junior.

Either that, or he just found them on the side of the road, though, the first theory is more believable. The only problem being their ages.

If only they could find their mother… maybe she’d be willing to spill.

[yanadolls]

Hi sweetie, can you write abt bllk boys getting jealous/possessive when the teammates try to be friends with reader, please??

NOT ALLOWED!

||| FEATURING: NAGI SEISHIRO, REO MIKAGE, ISAGI YOICHI, RIN ITOSHI X FEM READER

||| CONTENT: jealousy, fluff

ᯓ★

REO MIKAGE ౨ৎ

reo never claimed to be a calm guy, especially when it came to his lover. however, he was typically lenient with nagi whom was his best friend. he could easily put up with his whining, laziness, moodiness, and even carrying him around and forcing him to practice. but the one thing he couldn't handle was how clingy nagi could get with you- his precious girlfriend. the two of you weren't even necessarily friends!

"mh, y/n. can you not move? i'm gonna game over.."

nagi huffed when you tried to move from sitting on the floor, the tall man slumping half his weight on you while tapping away on his mobile game. he just found you comfortable, that's all. you were small and cute, and a very accessible resting chair. even if that was all nagi's intentions were, reo was quite literally tweaking out at the sight from across the room. his eye twitched a couple times, jealousy flowing through every single vein in his body.

'does he like my girlfriend?'

'oh god, what if y/n leaves me for him?! nagi's taller than me!"

'that stupid whiny baby just pisses me off sometimes! go rest on chigiri or something!'

'i'm gonna rip out every single strand of hair on my head if this goes on any longer.'

what made reo snap was when nagi sighed heavily, burying his face in your shoulder once he died in his game.

"mh. we should hang out sometime. you seem pretty cool."

nope, that was the final straw.

reo abruptly stood up, walking towards the two of you and practically yanking you out of nagi's hold, making him fall onto the ground. the white haired boy immediately went to complain, but reo shut it down.

"she's not going on a date with you, nagi! stop trying to steal my girlfriend from me!"

not even close to what nagi had said, nor what he was trying to do.. before he could say anything in retort, reo was pouting and dragging you out of the room, arm tightly wrapped around your waist. he kept that serious and gloomy look on his face as he walked out to his car with you. reo was going to keep you home for the next week, determined to keep you safe and sound from the sights of any men who may have wanted to steal you from him. the purple haired man would probably have a total breakdown if he saw you with another man ever again, especially nagi (even if he trusted his best friend deep down).

"babe? are you-"

"I'M NOT JEALOUS!"

♡

NAGI SEISHIRO ౨ৎ

"..."

nagi was silent, clutching his phone in his hand as he intently stared at the scene playing out in front of him. the one time he had decided to invite you to his practice game, reo took it upon himself to be a damn gentleman to you- opening doors for you, complimenting you, laughing and talking almost the entire time with you. of course, the rich man just wanted to get along with his best friend's girlfriend and make a good impression, but maybe, he was a bit too much without even realizing it..

"y/n, haha! it's no wonder nagi likes you so much, i totally understand it now. i really get it."

what the hell was that supposed to mean?

a pout came to the sleepy striker's face, an unfamiliar feeling washing over him. was this how it felt to be jealous? quite an annoying feeling, he thought. before he could stop himself, nagi was already walking towards the two of you, and without warning he hugged you tight from behind and tugged you against his chest, burying his face into your neck. right in front of reo.

"y/n..." he whined, "come.. don't want you to hang out with reo anymore. 'ts such a hassle to see."

"huh?" reo blinked, looking pretty confused by his best friend's words.

neither reo or you could say anything else before nagi gently took your hand in his, pulling you away from the now very puzzled man. nagi dragged you to the changing room before groaning in annoyance, cuddling you on the bench.

"baby, what was that-"

"shush. don't talk to reo anymore.. it's a pain to feel like this cus i like you so much. please only talk to me."

you couldn't help but smile- nagi was so cute, all pouty and jealous. you had never seen him get like this before, and you'd be lying if you said it didn't make you feel a bit more special; it proved that nagi really did love you a lot. your boyfriend could be a handful sometimes, but he was worth it at the end of the day. nagi kept you close to him, not letting you leave his embrace for the next hour. he wanted it to be very well known that you were his, and his alone.

♡

ISAGI YOICHI ౨ৎ

"tch." isagi clicked his tongue as he watched bachira get a bit too touchy with you. his stupid best friend knew exactly what he was doing- purposely trying to spike up the blue eyed man's jealousy for the hell of it. there was not real reason to do this, other than the fact it would be hilarious. bachira did know how to ragebait people pretty well..

"nyahaha! y/n, you're so cute!"

the hyper man spoke in a loud enough voice for isagi to hear, grinning ear to ear like a child on christmas. meanwhile, you were pretty confused since you had never met bachira prior to this.

"oh, um.. thank you."

"noooo problem! say, wanna hear a secret?"

bachira glanced over at isagi, who was silently raging, before leaning in to whisper in your ear, his lips dangerously close to your skin.

"isagi's about to be sooo mad~"

on cue, the egoist had marched up to the two, wrapping his arms around your waist and practically throwing you over his shoulder as you yelped in surprise. isagi glared at bachira with jealousy burning in his eyes, to which his best friend burst out laughing.

"we'll talk about this later, bachira."

"haha! whatever you say!"

isagi carried you out of the room, lips pursed in a straight line. he headed towards the exit to take you home- but not without glaring at any man who looked in your general direction, first.

"yoi! c-calm down, i'm pretty sure bachira was just trying to get a rise out of you!"

isagi scoffed, his fingers gripping your thighs a bit more.

"don't care. he should know better than to get so close to something that's mine."

isagi was a totally different person when he was on the field, and when he was jealous. the sweet, man friendly was no where in sight.

♡

RIN ITOSHI ౨ৎ

isagi was chatting with you, oblivious to the storm that was brewing inside rin. it was now hitting the 30 minute mark of your conversation with him, and deep jealousy was bubbling up inside your emo boyfriend. had the shorter man realized that you were rin's girlfriend? nope, not at all. if he had, he probably wouldn't have entered in your vision in the first place as he definitely didn't want to cause more trouble between him and rin, as the two already had a rivalry of some sort.

"y/n, was it? that's a pretty name." he said with tinted cheeks, giving you a kind smile.

"oh, thanks! i appreciate that a lot."

"y-yeah, no problem..!"

'i'm gonna punch his teeth in.'

the man seethed silently, glaring intensely at isagi. who did this irrelevant piece of trash think he was- getting all flustered around his girlfriend? he was putting him in his place, right now.

"move it, npc number five."

rin practically shoved isagi against the wall to get to you, wrapping his arms around you and darkly shooting a mean look at isagi, who was just recovering from the random act of violence.

"ow- oh, rin? are you two..?"

"she's mine, you moron. did you think your half baked compliments would seriously woo her? you're more pathetic than i thought."

isagi was used to his blunt and rude words at this point, but was definitely surprised by the fact you and rin of all people were dating. he immediately backpedaled.

"no! i wasn't trying anything, dude.. i just wanted to be friends."

"you can't do that, either. someone as bland and boring as you doesn't deserve to talk to her. don't go near her again."

isagi put his hands up in a surrendering motion, a bead of sweat on his cheek.

"bro, chill.. i wasn't planning on it."

isagi walked away, half embarrassed by the situation and half annoyed by rin's constant insults back to back. you simply giggled at rin's obvious jealousy, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"aw, y'so cute when you're jealous."

"i wasn't jealous, idiot."

"whatever you say.."

♡

AN: this was sm fun to write! tysm for the request hunnie ^_^

[ikeuverse]

safety point | pjs

pairing: jay x fem!reader genres: angst, fluff, smut wc: 18.6k+

꒰ 𝅄 warnings ꒱ : some swearing, several mentions of cancer and chemotherapy. some mentions of food. kissing, dry humping, jongseong being extremely chivalrous and cliché. lmk if i missed anything.

꒰ 𝅄 synopsis ꒱ : you stopped your whole life to live for your mother and her cancer treatment. you wanted to do everything alone, without burdening anyone, of course… you could do it! but the unexpected happens when jongseong enters your life, sharing this task with you effortlessly and without asking for anything in return.

꒰ 𝅄 notes ꒱ : it's my birthday, but i want to give a gift to those of you who always read my work. initially this idea was much bigger than what i wrote now, it would probably have to become a fic of almost 3 parts… however i tried to reduce it as much as possible because i really wanted to post it. it's an old plot that i thought about with affection and that i took inspiration from a book i read. hope you like it!

꒰ 𝅄 masterlist ꒱

“Don't you think you need to go out for a while?” your mother's voice snapped you out of your thoughts, making your eyes disconnect from the book you were reading and look at her slowly.

“But I've been out this week, mom” you mumbled, a small smile adorning your lips before returning to your reading.

Both you and your mother knew that a trip to the supermarket wasn't such a big outing, but she also knew that your concern and instinct wouldn't make you do more than that.

It was a forbidden conversation after your mother's diagnosis. You quit your job to live with her in the childhood home you lived in with your family since your younger sister had her own family now. Nothing would be lost for you without teaching the classes you loved so much. Just that.

It would bring you closer to your mother, to palliative care and everything she needed. But there would also be a hobby for you to read more books while she slept, knit some scarves that your grandmother had taught you, then passed on to your mother, and now she had taught you. And your great passion for painting.

Your mother had been against the idea from the start, with you dropping everything to move back in with her, always trivializing the state. However, you and your sister had seen the worst of her before the diagnosis was discovered. She was sure she'd raised two strong, independent women, and you, with your strong, rigid personality, wouldn't give a toss when you turned up with all your suitcases on her doorstep.

You had no reason to think otherwise; after all, she was your mother. You'd do anything for her, and you knew your sister would, too, if she hadn't just given birth to a beautiful baby boy.

That delicate moment had upset your family a little, especially since you all lived together and your mother decided to return to the old house where you and your sister grew up. Everything was so old, vintage, and nostalgic. There were still marks on the hallway doorpost where you and she marked the heights over time. Or the big stain on the carpet where you and she had spilled grape juice and ended up staining it a bit.

There, nothing had been changed to maintain the essence of when you two were little, even more so with the arrival of your nephew. You and your sister wanted to show him where you both grew up, how the tree house your grandfather made was still spotless, the wood looking like new. A good clean inside and you knew it might be habitable to take the little one there when he came to visit you.

“I mean really leave, Y/n” your mother sighed, bringing you out of your thoughts again. You closed the book this time, looking at her intently. Her hair was starting to thin, not completely falling out, but there were signs of it. You tried to smile, although the image always cut you to the heart “When was the last time you accepted a friend's request to go for a walk?”

“We've been over this, miss Dorothy” you tried to play it cool, knowing that the subject would always come up. Your ways of deflecting it always worked, but on that particular afternoon, your head was so immersed in the book you were reading that you didn't see it coming, you were just hit with countless questions.

“I'm going to die one day or another, and you won't have enjoyed anything” she seemed to be starting to get angry, you knew she was.

In those moments, your mother would say things that would cut your heart out, like a little – and unwanted – goodbye, ragging on you for not wanting to go out and stay at home with someone like her. That's what she used to say and you hated it. You hated the way she tried to trivialize it.

You took a deep breath, trying to ignore the slight stinging in your eyes and the lump forming in your throat. This was a losing argument because you could never finish talking, leaving the place crying or hugging your mother and agreeing to leave next time.

“I—” you opened your mouth to say something, but your cell phone rang halfway through.

Your blurred vision gradually dispersed as you blinked hard to keep the tears at bay, lifting your body to the other side of the table to pick up the phone and answer it in a few rings.

“Hi, sis” your gaze was on your mother, who was analyzing the whole situation in a brief silence “We're fine. And the rest of you, how are things?”

As your sister told you about your nephew and her husband, and how things were going in the house, your mother got out of the chair in front of you on the balcony and entered the house. At that moment you let out a heavy breath.

“What's wrong? Tell me” she asked on the other end of the line. That simple question made you collapse in seconds. Although she was the youngest, your sister seemed to have the instincts of an older sister in every respect.

She was stronger in situations like this, more resilient, and much more rigid. Your sister could get around her mother when the heavy stuff started and she always helped you when you got into trouble at school. It couldn't be any different now. If she had been in your place, she would surely have made your mother stop talking about how she was going to die or that you were wasting your time with someone who was sick. Your sister would never allow that kind of thing.

“I have some good news to share” she was so excited and, at the same time, you could sense a hint of wavering in her voice. Your thoughts had already run wild about your nephew or something else that might have happened, but if that was the case, your sister wouldn't have spoken so excitedly like that. So you just sighed.

“Tell me they're not pregnant again” you joked, the first relaxed thing to come to mind after venting your frustrations for minutes on that phone call. Knowing that she would listen to you even if she didn't have time. Your sister was your haven after your mother and you felt grateful for that.

She laughed, making you laugh too as you frantically denied it.

“Not really, although Jake has already said he's expecting the second in a few years” you could imagine her rolling her eyes as she snorted. Maybe one hand on her waist while the other held her cell phone nonchalantly. You, on the other hand, were straightening your posture on the sun lounger and, from time to time, looking inside for your mother.

Noticing the comings and goings around the huge counter in the middle of the kitchen, now preparing something to eat. At least that's what she did on her own, since you didn't dare to cook, because you were so bad in front of the stove.

“But what I wanted to tell you is—” she paused for a few seconds, a mumble on the other end of the line and you knew that your nephew was waking up or awakening your sister's attention. She said a few words of comfort to him before returning to the subject: “Mackenzie and I are going to spend some time with you and mom.”

What? If you weren't sitting down, your legs would surely give way, because that wasn't supposed to happen. Your sister had only given birth to your nephew a few months before, so there was no way she could go there.

“Hazel, that's—”

“It's not crazy and I've already decided” she interrupted you, saving her little speech, “We'll talk about it later.”

“Hazel!” you called out again, wanting to understand the reason for the sudden idea.

You wanted your sister and nephew there, of course you did. Although they didn't live that far away, the commute took time and with a small child and a woman in palliative care, it was a bit more complicated.

She said goodbye briefly, knowing that no matter what she did, you would be against any of her arguments. So just letting you know that she was leaving was enough. Hazel still had the room from her childhood and it would be more than perfect to stay there for a while.

When the call ended, you were still trying to absorb it and think about what came next. Of course, you'd lecture your sister for hours, but you'd forget why you were angry soon after, after all, you and she never really got angry with each other. But what worried you was how your mother would react. If with you she was always more restricted, with your sister and nephew coming, she might be even more vulnerable.

But at least you'd have someone else to share the anguish with a little more closely. After, of course, cuddling your nephew and scolding Hazel a bit.

You went into the kitchen to get Jaeyun a glass of cold water, and a small silent thank you for taking your sister's and Mackenzie's bags upstairs.

His footsteps were right behind you, following you into the room.

“You're angry, aren't you?” he asked in a calm tone, entering the kitchen just after you. His eyes didn't look at you, but you knew the boy had those puppy-dog eyes your sister always talked about.

“Angry, me? Why would I be?” you tried to sound indifferent as you opened the fridge to get the jug of water, forgetting for a moment that, as well as your brother-in-law, Jaeyun was your best friend.

It was because of you that he started dating your sister. It was with your help that he asked her to marry him. Jaeyun knew you even before he met Hazel.

“Maybe because I know you as well as you think,” he let slip, humming softly after you turned to get a glass from the drainer. Jaeyun raised one eyebrow when you looked at him, the puppy-dog look having been abandoned for your best friend's shrewd gaze.

Pouring the water, you handed him the glass so he could drink. A moment of silence passed between the two of you as Jaeyun finished the contents, thanked you, and then handed it back to you.

“You know” he began, his hands still resting on the marble of the kitchen counter as he stared at you from across it, “it was my idea for the two of you to come here.”

“Yours? Why?”

He sighed softly, trying to ignore your exasperated tone and looking towards the kitchen door. At that moment, Hazel was talking to your mother in some corner of the house while asking her about her health and even trivial things. She must have been asking the same questions about the family, what it would be like with a baby in the house, and things like that. At least they were both too entertained to even think about going to the kitchen.

“Because I had to go back to helping out in the restaurant a few days ago, it's a mess there without her” Jaeyun began, his eyes now on you as he explained “The boys can manage, but you know, Hazel's the one who puts things in order” he smiled shyly.

You knew this because you had lived with your sister all your life, she was the one who made order happen in every respect. You also knew how organized she was in the workplace, even though you hadn't had a chance to visit the new address yet.

“And she was getting very lonely, so I thought I'd leave her here with you,” he kept looking at you, hoping that some glimmer of a smile or some praise for a good idea would come out of your mouth “Not to mention that the restaurant is a ten-minute drive away, so any of the guys and I can get here if you need anything.”

It was a good plan if you thought about it that way and wanted to give it a go. Jaeyun was right and you knew it, Hazel wouldn't be going back to work and what she liked to do any time soon, at least not until Mackenzie could go to nursery, and you knew that was a few months away. She must have felt lonely since Jaeyun, her only adult companion, had to go back to work.

From the glare on your best friend and brother-in-law's face, you knew he didn't want that. Not when his dream was to build a life alongside Hazel and now that his family was formed, being inside the restaurant was all he wanted at the moment. Not that he hated his job, on the contrary, Jaeyun loved what he did, but he loved his family even more.

“So you forgive me for going against your wishes and bringing the two of them here?” he asked after a while of rambling, knowing that his mind was running wild as countless assumptions ran through his head. How you would take care of Hazel and Mackenzie, how you would make Jaeyun less worried about his wife and son, and even about you and your mother. Because you knew that he worried as if he were her son. He called every night by video call to talk for hours with the two of you since you moved back in with your mother to take care of her.

“I swear to God, I hope Mackenzie doesn't bring out that puppy dog side of you, otherwise Hazel and I are going to be screwed” you muttered, looking away from him as you heard him laugh.

As with Hazel, getting angry with Jaeyun didn't last long. You and he had never had a serious fight since you met and became best friends. So it wouldn't be now, as an adult, that you and he would do that.

He knew how focused and determined you were to take care of your mother alone so as not to burden anyone, but you also knew how tiring it was and how much Jaeyun and your sister knew that. Little by little, they wanted to sneak in to help you and make you give in at least a little. Getting everyone to the house had been the first step that was working.

“There's just one condition, then” you muttered as you watched him cross the kitchen, stop beside you, and stretch out his arms towards you. You rolled your eyes at the small act of affection that was about to take place, but you still didn't deny it, moving closer to Jaeyun to hug him.

“You can ask me and I'll do anything, I hope I can” he said, hugging you as tightly as you hugged him, resting his chin on the top of your head as he slowly cradled your body.

“You can bring me a tasty meal from the restaurant at least once a week, can't you?”

Jaeyun laughed a little loudly, echoing throughout the kitchen as he felt you squeeze him even tighter, laughing along with him.

“I'll do that” he whispered.

“Look, did you two make up after all?” Hazel walked into the kitchen with her mother by her side, both of them smiling while the eldest held the baby in her arms, a little sleepy and grumpy. You and Jaeyun stepped aside and he smiled at his mother-in-law lovingly.

“Of course, Jake promised me meals from your restaurant” you hummed.

“I'm sure you'd ask for that” Hazel laughed, walking past Jaeyun and kissing him quickly on the lips. Then she walked past you, messing up your hair and going to the fridge.

This time with a full house, apart from you and your mother, could be good after all.

Having your sister and nephew at home wasn't so bad, not even Jaeyun's regular visits after work. Your best friend making a point of having dinner with everyone and still keeping his promise to bring some of the restaurant's meals for you and your mother to try.

“They're not the ones I make, but they're still wonderful” you knew Hazel would boast, and rightly so. She was an incredible cook and you were immensely proud of her.

Even more so in her strength and determination to balance Mackenzie's growth and development with hospital visits and appointments with her mother. Of course, she wanted to intersperse, so that she could also drive once in a while to a routine check-up or to pick up some medication for her mother. All of this was part of the companionship between you as a family, which you were learning to deal with.

Because before it was just you for your mother. Your car leaves the garage at least four times a day to chase things. Now you could rest and take a nap while your sister did it. Even if guilt consumed you, but… Guilt about what? Her helping you? Because that's what was happening.

A whole month passed with these thoughts hammering away in your head, Hazel and Mackenzie becoming more and more embedded in the routine of looking after their mother and now Jaeyun was sleeping there some nights too. A full house was always a good sign, but the extra help made you a little uncomfortable. You didn't want to burden their small family, especially with a small baby. That was absurd.

“In a few weeks I can put Mackie in nursery, so we'll have more time to do things for mom” Hazel said after leaning over the coffee table, picking up some sour treats you'd bought earlier in the week.

Just to settle your stomach before Jaeyun called to let you know he was coming. Your mother was upstairs fixing some hair scarves. She'd gotten way ahead of herself by buying a few pieces when the hair hadn't even fallen out yet, but you knew how anxious she was – and afraid of what lay ahead – so letting her focus on that was the best choice to make.

“But you're going back to the restaurant and your house is twenty minutes away, don't make it up” you tried your best big sister tone, staring at the side profile of your sister who was eating yet another acidic treat without trying to grimace.

She opened her mouth to say something, to try to protest and say that that house could house all of you with peace of mind. Jaeyun wouldn't mind spending some time living there other than in the apartment they had planned when they got married. Everyone knew that your mother's treatment would take a while, but your sister was worried too.

Not just about your mother – that was the main thing – but about you too. About the fact that you had quit your job with no foreseeable return date, abandoning your hobbies while creating new ones. Or at least some of which you could do at home with your mother, keeping her in your field of vision at all times.

“I think we can handle this very well as a big family, Y/n” Hazel turned, finally facing you. She ran the tip of her tongue over the corner of her lips to wipe away the remnants of jam that had remained there “You've done a lot on your own and—”

Suddenly your sister's speech was interrupted by the ringing of her cell phone reverberating through the room. She straightened up on the sofa, picking up the device without even looking at the caller ID.

“Hi” from her smile, it was Jaeyun. You'd recognize it anywhere, because it was the same way, in this very house, that she used to answer his calls when she was in college.

You decided to leave the two of them a little more privacy and got up to go to the kitchen, eating those candies had left your throat a little dry, maybe sparkling water would help. Grabbing the bottle from the fridge, you let the fizzy noise invade the room with such pleasure as you turned the cap on the bottle before taking a long sip.

“Hey, sis” Hazel came into the kitchen a little while later. The phone was still in hand, but the screen was off and she looked at you expectantly.

“What?” you asked, taking another sip and feeling your eyes sting from the fizzy water going down your throat. It was a wonderful sensation that calmed all your previous thirst caused by the candy.

“You know…” Hazel placed her cell phone on the counter, glancing at you quickly “Jake said he was going to have a small meeting of the boys, a dinner between them, and he asked us to come.”

You were ready to protest, your mouth open to deny the invitation and repeat the same words you'd say to anyone who tried to get you out of the house, but your mother appeared in the kitchen long before you could even think.

“Of course she's going” she smiled slowly.

“Mom” you began, but she interrupted you again.

“I'm a bit tired from fussing with those scarves” she said, standing between you and your sister, alternating her gaze between the two of you “I probably won't be having dinner tonight if Jake brought something, so you'd better go.”

The protest was already on the tip of your tongue, a strange feeling of not having anything to say while two people, en masse and in force, were trying to get you out of the house.

“Besides, you need to go out with your sister and your nephew too, just staying in here will make you sick along with me.”

You wanted to be able to predict every time your mother made a comment that made the atmosphere heavy or made you ill, reminding her how sick she was. Making her sink further into ruin along with that damned disease.

She knew that you would say something, that you could scold her as you always have since she began to face a reality – a rather harsh one – in the face of that situation. Your mother approached you, kissed your cheek, and wished you goodnight. She passed your sister and did the same, leaving the kitchen and leaving the two of you there.

A moment of silence between you and her was enough to make your eyes sting, remembering the words that came out of the mouth of the person you love most in the world.

“I hate it when she does that” your laugh came out without humor, and you sniffled softly to try to keep away the tears that threatened to fall. It was your sister's turn to approach you in slow steps, testing the waters until she was finally standing in front of you.

“You know she's going to say that kind of thing because look at everything Mom's going through” Hazel held you by the shoulders, staring into your eyes with tense emotion. She took a deep breath at the same moment as you, feeling her eyes sting in the same way. “But we know that nothing bad will happen because we found out at the beginning, that this phase of degradation always happens to those who go through it.”

“It's just that— Shit” you cursed softly, feeling Hazel pull you into a hug.

“How about we go out for a while tonight, have dinner at the restaurant?” she proposed while still hugging you tightly “You can meet the staff, have a real chat, and try some more good food.”

Pondering for a while, you wanted to say no again. Even if the idea was too tempting and your stomach was rumbling, you'd never gone out like this before. Ever since your mother discovered cancer, everything around you stopped to focus on the woman who gave you life, and that was what had to happen. But not all the time.

You could also go out for a while and still send a message or wait for a call since your contact was your mother's emergency contact. You had all sorts of means of communication, so there was little way of depriving yourself of going out this time, and from the pleading look on your sister's face, after she pulled away from the hug, you knew there was no denying it.

“I'm just going to take a shower” you finished. She squealed with excitement, running into the kitchen as you walked slowly out of the room.

“I'm going to shower Mackie and get ready too, we'll be leaving soon. I'll let Jake know!”

It seemed that Hazel had won a huge prize just by agreeing to leave. You laughed at her excitement, realizing how important it was for her, even for your mother and Jaeyun, that you also took care of yourself. Because you needed to be strong and healthy to deal with the whole process together with everyone else.

You allowed yourself to take a little longer in the shower this time, taking a deep breath each time you scrubbed your body, thinking about how strange the feeling in your chest was that night. It could have been a bit of relief at finally getting out, or just a feeling of gratitude at having such loving and caring people around you.

Both answers could be correct, and that's what motivated you to get out from under the shower and look for a nice outfit to go out in.

The drive to the restaurant was filled with nostalgic conversations and a few mumbles from Mackenzie. The atmosphere in the car was light and you found yourself smiling a little more than usual as your sister talked as much as you did. About everything and anything.

The two of you were trying to make up for the time when you were too far away from each other while, in the time since Hazel's return, you and she have been closer than ever.

She announced quietly when she arrived at the restaurant, maneuvering into the parking lot while you got ready to leave. Grabbing your bag, hers and your nephew's while your sister parked to pick up the baby. A perfect team effort that you and she developed without even agreeing.

“We went through a renovation before Mackenzie was born, so I'm entering this new place together with you for the first time” her smile was so infectious that you couldn't help but smile back. Her excitement, her enthusiasm.

This place meant everything to your sister. You remember when she went to gastronomy school, something completely out of the ordinary that your family thought the youngest would follow. You had already been a total buzz studying to be a kindergarten teacher and majoring in fine arts as a second degree. Your sister doing something that wasn't geared towards medicine, law, or whatever your family thought, made you very happy. Hazel never followed any kind of pattern and that's what made her unique and a role model for you, even though she was the youngest.

After she graduated, she thought about opening a restaurant, but her savings were low and she had just been proposed to. Everything was being saved for the big day, even with the help of her family and Jaeyun's, Hazel wanted to have an important role in this as well, besides saying yes in front of many guests.

She was lucky to have friends in college, one of them in particular encouraged her to open a restaurant, even becoming her partner, where you heard very good things about it. All the people who did good to your sister were worthy of your respect and joy, even without knowing them. Until today, in fact.

You let her go in first, opening the huge glass doors while you marveled at the new decor. Since you didn't know what the old one was, you started to appreciate the place as being the way it was from your first impression, every detail being in very good taste while you could feel your sister's opinion of everything. There was a bit of her in everything in that establishment.

“I can’t believe my eyes” a male voice took you out of your thoughts. It wasn’t Jaeyun’s, so you didn’t know who was speaking “Our greatest love…”

“Mackie!” another voice interrupted the boy, who opened his arms to run to Hazel and pretend to ignore her while taking the little one from the girl’s arms.

“And I’m invisible in this place?” Hazel protested, crossing her arms over her chest as she watched the two drooling men playing with the little newcomer. He watched with curious and wide eyes, paying attention to the little noises they made to try to get attention.

“We’ve worked hard with you, we want to see our new mini-boss.”

“I think I’ll talk to Jay about layoffs when I get back” she hummed.

“Don’t scare them, love. We’ve had a busy day today, they deserve a distraction” Jaeyun finally appeared, the only one you knew so far.

The game with your little nephew lasted only a few seconds, as soon as they looked up to look at Hazel, they saw you behind her too.

“Oh, we have a visitor” one of them said, moving away from the one holding Mackenzie and walking towards where you and Hazel were. He smiled, greeting your sister first and then looking at you with a small smile “I’m Sunghoon, nice to meet you.”

“Hi, I’m Y/n” you lightly shook his hand that he extended after saying the name.

“Hazel’s sister? Poor thing, having to put up with her at home” the other joked “I’m Heeseung” he rocked Mackenzie lightly, giving small sniffs on the top of your nephew’s head. You couldn’t blame him, the baby smell was addictive.

“She’s more demanding than here, I bet” you joined in the joke, getting the first laugh from your sister’s friends and employees.

Hazel would even protest if it were at another time, maybe saying it wasn't like that or pretending to be angry. But seeing that you were comfortable in the first few minutes you were there made her heart swell with joy. That was what she wanted. That was what Jaeyun also wanted from his best friend.

“It's working out” he whispered to his wife, kissing the top of her head as he approached, pulling out a chair for Hazel to sit down.

“I hope you're all willing to help me bring the food to the dining room” the voice was loud enough to come from the kitchen and reverberate where you all were, but in a playful way. You could hear the effort the owner of the voice had to make to speak loud enough for everyone to hear.

“I'm busy” Heeseung shouted back, not wanting to let go of Mackenzie for even a second, but that didn't last long since Sunghoon also wanted to hold him. And that's what he did.

“Now he can, my turn to be busy,” he joked for a moment before the huge wooden door opened.

The steps that followed made everyone stare at the man who was approaching. He walked gracefully, carefree as he untied his kitchen apron and placed it on the table where you decided to sit. It had an identification plate, probably the number that was used during the time the restaurant was open, but that was no longer so important.

For a moment, all the conversation around seemed to go silent when your eyes met his. The expression of the man in front of you was of slight surprise, but he kept a small smile on his chapped and reddened lips as he maintained eye contact with you.

Your sister, your brother-in-law, and the other boys were still talking about something, but you and that man seemed not to want to break your gaze from each other. And you wanted to understand why.

Maybe it was his well-defined jawline, or his tanned skin and the way his neck was adorned with a silver chain. The top two buttons of his white shirt were open and his black hair almost got in the way of your vision, if it weren't for the hands insisting on moving them out of the way.

“Jay” Jaeyun's voice finally brought both you and him back to reality. “This is Y/n, my sister-in-law and best friend.”

He blinked a few times in understanding, a noticeable “oh” leaving his lips without much sound. He had certainly heard about you, as well as the other two you had met a few minutes ago.

You looked around to notice that your sister was now holding Mackenzie in her arms, he was whining – probably hungry – so that was the reason why she hadn't introduced you, but Jaeyun instead.

The boy with the perfect jaw took a few steps, looking a little less confident now. If you were a good body reader, you would say he was nervous as he got closer. But as soon as he stopped in front of you, he extended his hand towards you.

It was your turn to blink slowly, finding the greeting a little more formal than usual, but even so, it didn't stop you from reaching out and holding his hand too. You just didn't expect that, when you touched his hand, the boy would lean in and press his lips to your skin. Even though it was chapped, it felt strangely soft and warm against your back.

“I'm Jongseong” he said softly, his lips still close to your skin and his warm breath hitting it. This made a shiver run through your body and made your heartbeat accelerate in a ridiculously instant way. “But you can call me Jay.”

The words wouldn't come out of your mouth, you wanted to say something. Anything to not look like an idiot in front of him, but Jongseong seemed to notice your shyness and his act that had – probably – taken you by surprise. Even him, after all, why had he greeted you so intimately like that?

He wouldn't say it was because he was mesmerized by your beauty, or even that his heartbeat was almost in his ears because of you. Jongseong had never been nervous like that.

“Do you want help in the kitchen, man?” Jaeyun bit his tongue to keep from making any kind of joke, much less making a fuss about the situation since only he had seen everything. The others were busy talking while Hazel got ready to feed the baby.

“Please” Jongseong turned to him, thanking him with just a look since his friend was the great savior.

“Do you two need help?” your voice finally came out, and Jongseong swore he felt his knees weaken a little. Your voice was beautiful, just like you.

“Actually—”

“Don’t even think about it, miss Y/n” Heeseung appeared, placing himself between you and the other two who were gathering to go to the kitchen “Leave it to us, you stay with Hazel and hope for the best in this restaurant.”

“It’s only not better because I didn’t prepare anything,” Hazel said a little louder.

“How conceited” Jongseong joked.

“Tell me the truth, you miss our competitions” she said.

This man had all sides equally attractive. Whether it was the flirtatious side – unintentionally – that he showed you a few minutes ago, the relaxed side he was showing with his friends. You feared that he would be like that in every way, how could you stand it, after all?

When the three disappeared into the kitchen, you finally sat next to your sister and faced Sunghoon. The two quickly looked at you, a small smile on the lips of the only boy present there.

“Sunghoon, no…” Hazel started saying, leaving you completely confused.

“What? I wasn’t going to say anything” he tried to defend himself, but she interrupted him.

“I’ve known you long enough to know what you were going to say.”

“And what was he going to say?” you asked, almost regretting it the moment your sister closed her eyes and Sunghoon’s smile widened even more. Working with people for so long could sharpen a sixth sense of what they were thinking or what they were going to say next. Knowing someone so well that you could know what the other was capable of.

And that was how it was with your sister and Sunghoon. The two seemed to understand each other while she tried to tell him to be quiet with just scolding looks, but he didn’t seem to care. Shrugging almost every time before turning to you and smiling even wider.

“That someone finally brought our cliché Jongseong back” Sunghoon leaned over the table to say those words as if he wanted to tell you a secret. Hazel mumbled something, throwing her head back as she listened to him continue, “You two really fit together.”

“Sunghoon!” you protested, your cheeks turning red and hot, your face on fire. Your throat was dry and you almost ran away from there if it weren’t for the lack of a ride since you had gone with your sister to the restaurant.

“Tell me I’m lying” he turned around, speaking directly to your sister. She was focused on making Mackenzie burp, your nephew’s head resting on her shoulder as she patted his back lightly.

You thought your sister would deny it, say it wasn’t like that, and that Sunghoon was crazy. Everyone there seemed a little crazy, you could tell by your brother-in-law and your sister, that they weren’t normal. But what followed was a knowing smile and a slight nod.

“I knew this would happen” Hazel finally said, leaving Sunghoon to celebrate with fist pumps in the air.

“So… Did you guys plan it…?”

“Not at all” they both said at the same time.

The question hung in the air, if that had been something everyone had done for you to get to know him or if it had happened that way. That it was supposed to be that way. From their surprise, you knew that nothing had been planned, but at least the doubts were hammering in your head.

What did it mean to bring the cliché Jongseong back? Wasn't he the way he was showing? You looked at Hazel and then at Sunghoon, your mouth opening and closing a few times before being interrupted by the kitchen door opening again.

Your heart almost jumped out of your mouth when Jongseong appeared, a small smile on the corner of his lips and his gaze directly at Sunghoon.

“Hey man, enough talking, we need another hand here” he nodded into the kitchen, before closing the door and disappearing from view.

“Duty calls me” he stood up, waving to you and your sister before running the few steps until he opened the doors with less delicacy than before and went into the kitchen.

Hazel bit her lower lip to keep her smile from widening even more, while her eyebrows were still furrowed and her expression was one of complete confusion. But she knew you well enough to know what was going on in your head, so slowly her sister began to speak.

“Maybe in time, you’ll know what Hoonie meant” Hazel settled your nephew on her lap, now he was a little sleepy and mumbling. She gave him a little kiss on the forehead before looking back in his direction “It just depends on you getting out a little more.”

Part of you didn’t want to find out, simply letting it go and ignoring everything that had happened. Focusing only on dinner and the conversation that would come from there until you left. But another part of you was looking forward to it, maybe a very small one, because it meant you would see Jongseong again until you found out what Sunghoon meant.

The mental conflict made you even more confused, you just wanted to understand what had happened for a guy to mess with you so much in such a short time.

After that night at the restaurant, you tried to get back to your normal routine. Continue to focus entirely on your mother, taking advantage of the fact that your sister would be back home soon, but almost everything slipped through your fingers.

One night you were sitting on the porch of your childhood home, refusing to go out for anything other than your mother's appointments and the tests she needed to do. Another time you were sitting at the table in your sister's restaurant, having dinner and chatting animatedly with her friends and changing the course of your entire life.

You didn't imagine that that night Jongseong would sit next to you, start a conversation with you, and not mind joining in on the conversation his friends were having. He was just trying to fill Hazel in on what had happened while she was away, so it was much more interesting for him to talk to you and hear your stories.

This led to a long night in which you got to know a little more about him, and how charismatic and truly charming Jongseong was in every way. All the topics with him flowed naturally, engaging in one conversation after another without stopping and without the two of you having a single moment of silence. Save for the few seconds in which he listened to you talk, sipping some of the wine that Jaeyun had chosen or answering a question from the other group when directed to him.

You also didn't mind having only his attention, even with the provocative looks from Hazel and Sunghoon, and a giggle here and there from Heeseung and Jaeyun. That wouldn't make you so shy. And the redness on your cheeks you could blame solely on the wine you were drinking, so everything was under control. Until you started to feel strange.

A part of you ran from one side to the other as your mother's exams became more frequent, the discouragement she felt with each chemotherapy showing in the thinning of her hair and the thinness on her face. It was affecting her little by little. Another side of you, the small side that had little life outside of hospitals, longed to see Jongseong again. But you couldn't afford to leave your mother at home and go on a date with him, no way would happen. Not even the few hours you spent at the restaurant that day would be enough to repeat.

You brought the cliché Jongseong back, that only made sense when you realized that man was in your kitchen making dinner.

He asked your sister for your number, and Hazel certainly wouldn't object to that. If she did, Jaeyun wouldn't do it, so there was no way out but for him to send you a message. He knew what he was getting into, he knew what you were like from the countless conversations he had with your sister, who was his business partner and best friend. Family problems were shared between the two of you, and when Hazel told him that you at least did something for yourself, Jongseong didn't think twice.

If inviting someone to your house wasn't something he wanted to do, then he decided to talk to Jaeyun and propose a dinner for all of you. Maybe if your mother attended, if it was under your roof, you would at least be there. He could see you again.

And that's what he did.

Cutting the umpteenth asparagus and looking away at you, Jongseong gave a small smile when he realized your eyes were still on him. Arms crossed as he watched you prepare the ingredients before Hazel came back to help.

“Do you cook too?” he asked, breaking the silence that had settled for a short minute. Jaeyun had just left to put Mackenzie in the stroller when he fell asleep. Your mother was upstairs choosing an outfit a little better than the pajamas she wore, after all, it wasn’t every day that she had guests.

“Only my sister inherited this talent” you commented with a small smile, looking at Jongseong’s fingers that cut masterfully. He seemed to have a unique precision in each cut. If it were you, nothing would be asymmetrical and you would have hurt yourself by now.

“Come on, you have a talent for artistic things, or do you think I forgot?” he joked.

Your heart skipped a beat when he said that, and then Jongseong remembered the conversation you had at the restaurant a while ago. You two had talked about so many things, you just didn't know he would remember your speeches about college and graduation. Maybe it was irrelevant.

But for him, it wasn't. Jongseong remembered every detail and every word you had said to him that night, he could recite the most diverse subjects you and he talked about if it was to keep things lighter again.

“Y/n” he called you next, your eyes leaving his hands to go to the boy's face “Do you mind trying it and see if I put too much salt in the sauce?” he removed the dish towel from his shoulders and looked for the largest spoon he had on the sink next to the stove. Your throat dried, and you became slightly nervous.

“Me? Really?” your tone of voice almost betrayed you, if it weren't for the secondary noises of cutlery that Jongseong was spreading until he found what he needed.

“Hazel usually does this, but I think she and Jake are checking out the mini chef,” he said, making you laugh.

It wouldn’t be a big deal to try a seasoning on something you were going to eat sooner or later, and it was certainly just to put Jongseong’s insecurity aside. After all, he was a great chef. Getting the salt right was the least of his worries. Even so, you approached, still with hesitant steps, and walked around the kitchen counter until you were standing next to him. A few more steps and you were next to the boy.

“You can be honest if I’ve overdone it, okay?” he asked, trying not to waver in his tone of voice to convey confidence, but deep down, Jongseong was a little scared. He wasn’t sure, but he wanted to impress you with a sophisticated dish, he wanted you to admire him cooking in his kitchen. Even though the first time you two met, you ate something he had prepared. But it wouldn't be the same if he hadn't been watching from across the kitchen.

“I bet it’s amazing, I don’t know what you’re so scared of” you joked to lighten the mood, seeing that he was nervous. Wanting to believe your words, Jongseong took the spoon and ran it along the edge of the sauce, collecting some of the bubbling mixture.

You waited patiently as you were mesmerized once again. Jongseong’s lips formed into a pout as he blew out the smoke that formed under the red mixture, some leaves between the sauce and the smell lingered in the air. If your stomach could talk, it would scream to try it right then, but you were also delighted with his care before serving it to you.

It was something simple, your sister had already done it for you, and your mother did it too. Even Jaeyun once blew on a hot mixture before handing it to you to try, but no one had done what came next.

Jongseong brought the spoon to your lips, waiting for you to open it to try it. He didn’t hand you the spoon or let you take it yourself… He did it for you.

Your heartbeat was racing, your face was burning and you could at least say it was because you were so close to hot food. At least that would serve as an excuse. Not the fact that Jongseong had one hand firmly around a spoon in front of your mouth, while the other was against your chin.

“Open” he just whispered, so softly, but in such a seductive way at the same time. His fingers touched your skin like a feather, you saw him look away at your mouth as it opened, wrapping itself around the spoon to eat the sauce.

It tasted great and the salt was perfect, it couldn’t be any other way.

“It’s… It’s great, Jay” you didn’t even care about the stuttering due to nervousness at that moment, you were too focused on Jongseong’s eyes alternating between your eyes and your lips. Your tongue slowly ran over your lower lip to collect the remains of the sauce and at that moment you noticed his lips slowly part, an inaudible sigh leaving the lips of the boy in front of you. This made you nervous and unresponsive because you swear he leaned in a little. You also swear you leaned back, but before anything else, both of you moved away with Jaeyun's thunderous entrance into the kitchen.

“So, everything ready?” he asked nonchalantly, not looking at you and Jongseong much. Thank goodness, you both thought at the same time, without even knowing it.

“A few more minutes and we can have dinner” Jongseong composed himself, waiting for you to do the same before turning his attention back to the sauce.

The rest of the time passed in a blur, you followed the entire dinner talking to everyone who was there, picking up Mackenzie when he woke up to let your sister have dinner with a little more dignity too. Your heart raced when it was Jongseong's turn to hold the baby in his arms. That scene was unusual and so cute. You didn't know why you were like that.

Maybe it was because of the way he always acted, so naturally and so politely. How he talked to your family, or how he always interacted with you. Showing care in his words and showing that he cared about what you were saying, no matter how small.

Jongseong was the first person you let get a little closer after your mother's diagnosis. He was the only one who was able to talk to you for hours without making you mention your mother, or without making you look at your phone to see what time it was time to go home, or making you uncomfortable with something he said. He was always making sure you were okay or asking if you needed anything.

I need you to stop this, it's dangerous, you answered mentally every time. So dangerous that your heart already felt the possible effects that Park Jongseong was having on you.

“The dishes are on me now” your mother smiled after a long time of talking, denying it in every possible way as Jaeyun and Jongseong tried to run ahead to stop her. The two of them were seeing how stubborn she was, and where you and your sister had inherited it from.

“If anything, you can call me, okay, mom?” you asked.

“Sure, my love. Enjoy it” she smiled in your direction before disappearing into the kitchen. Jongseong and Jaeyun took all the dishes to the sink, at least helping with that while you and your sister still sat at the dining table.

“And I'm going to change someone's diaper because I think we have a surprise here” Hazel hummed as she saw the concentrated faces and expressions that Mackenzie was making. You laughed out loud when you saw your nephew's face turn red, then the farting noises he made.

“Good luck” you said before she left with the little one upstairs for a long diaper change.

“Your sister—” Jaeyun soon appeared.

“Upstairs changing the little boss's diaper” you heard his and Jongseong's laughter at using the nickname everyone was giving the little boy. Your brother-in-law and best friend didn't even wait or say anything else, he followed your sister upstairs, leaving you and Jongseong alone again.

“So…” he said, pulling the chair next to you to sit where you were before. You felt your body tingle when his shoulder touched yours, slowly turning towards the boy.

“So…” you repeated his words, biting your lower lip to keep from smiling so much. Or so he wouldn't look at your mouth again, making you nervous. Not that you weren't at that moment, but something in the air seemed a little lighter between you and Jongseong.

“I was thinking” he rested his elbows on the table, stretching his hands in front of his body and staring at his fingers. Anything to get the courage to speak instead of staring at you, because he knew nothing would come out coherently if he was looking into your eyes. “Would you be willing to have coffee with me sometime?”

You turned so abruptly towards him, that the shock in Jongseong's words caused you a certain panic, but as his eyes reached you, noticing a certain curiosity as he waited for your answer, you relaxed. He seemed as shy and vulnerable as you were at that moment.

“Jay…” you started speaking, noticing how attentive he was as he waited for you to speak “My mother… You know…” and then he smiled. A small, simple smile, but it didn't seem sad. You knew your answer, but you were surprised by his reaction.

“Jake told me you would say that, but I decided to try anyway” he laughed at your expression, and you noticed that your eyes were wide and still in shock.

“I’m sorry, I—”

“Hey, it’s okay, I rushed” Jongseong interrupted you.

“No, Jay, you didn’t rush” you said too quickly, fumbling with your words and, most importantly, your actions. In a moment of desperation so that he wouldn’t feel upset or rejected – you didn’t want to reject him, nor were you crazy about it – you held his hands. Your fingers slowly slid between his and Jongseong just let it, feeling your soft skin come into contact with his “I’d love to have coffee with you, but it’s just—”

“We’ll find a way, okay?” he asked “I’ll wait, it’s okay.”

Hot, understanding, and patient. Did that man have any flaws?

You couldn't say anything at that moment, lost in your thoughts and in the caress he began to make with his thumb on your torso. Your eyes quickly met his, and then a smile drew your lips that he loved to see so much up close. Jongseong wanted to feel them too, but one step at a time.

And as he said out loud, he would wait. Jongseong, for sure, would wait.

Getting used to a full house would only be bad when your sister returned to her routine, working at the restaurant after she managed to put Mackenzie in daycare. You thought it wouldn't shake you, after all, it was always you and your mother. You were always the one who ran after everything so that your sister could feel calmer and less overwhelmed.

But you also didn't know that you would miss more laughter and voices in that house. That the antics of your brother-in-law and best friend would fill an environment that only had sadness and regrets. You also noticed how pale your mother started to get after the chemotherapy treatments were becoming more and more invasive.

The conversations with the doctors and nurses were more frequent, both because of your mother's complaints and for them to warn the two of you of what was starting to happen. The hair loss came gradually, and you thought you would be strong enough to deal with it alone. Seeing the clumps of hair in the bathroom and the older woman's teary eyes she tried to say that everything was fine.

It wasn't. And you knew this because you lost count of how many times you sat on the bathroom floor, hugging your mother's fragile body while she cried over the loss of more strands of hair. The scarves were now her best friends. At least something she had chosen a long time ago was helping to keep her a little happier.

Not as much as you would have liked, seeing Mrs. Dorothy crying around the house and staying quiet was worse than hearing her say atrocities. At least she talked to you, mumbled something or simply fought with you to leave the house. You just wanted to hear your mother's voice. But the few conversations you had were on the way to chemotherapy or at the dinners she decided to attend, not when she left you alone in the kitchen with the cold plate in front of you waiting for her to come down.

Not hungry. That was what she usually told you the next morning, and you swallowed it because you no longer had the strength to argue. Hazel would come by every day after work to check on you, talk to your mother – or try to – while bringing her a new hair scarf to wear at her next appointment. That made her smile, at least.

You just wanted it all to end, you just wanted to cry in peace and get all that weight off your shoulders while thinking about nothing but yourself. But thinking about yourself was as far away as you wanted, and opening up about it to your sister was a delicate subject. She would make you drop everything to take responsibility, and you wouldn’t forgive yourself for making her become an absent mother to Mackenzie while you went to take care of your mother. There was no escape.

“Are you hungry? I’ll make you something to eat…” you left the bag on the kitchen counter, waiting for your mother to come into the room after another appointment. She smiled at you, in a sad way that broke your heart even more, if that were possible.

“I think I just want to rest now, sunshine” she said quietly, but you heard enough. Her tone was sad, but she tried to encourage you as she looked and smiled in your direction. Your mother leaned down enough to kiss your cheek. “Don’t go without eating, I’m going to go to my room, okay?”

“Mom—”

“My door is open and my phone is fully charged, I’ll call you if I need anything. I promise.”

It was a promise she had never broken, at least. The few times your mother needed you, she called you to run upstairs and help her with trivial things, but she still called. So even though you hated leaving her alone, you decided to trust her and let her rest.

Sometimes it was good for her to be alone for a while to reorganize her thoughts. You were going through this as her daughter, while she was the patient with that damned disease. She was the one who was feeling everything, experiencing it – literally – on her skin and you couldn’t imagine the pain and anguish it was to live with that inside yourself.

Your eyes followed her figure up the stairs and, finally, disappeared from your field of vision through the upper floor of the house.

You let out all the breath you didn’t know you were holding, your eyes starting to burn as you didn’t know what to do. Would you call Hazel now? Would you leave the house to clear your head? You even thought about sending a message to Jongseong, but nothing that was going on in your head was coherent enough to be carried out. So the only lucid thing you could do was to grab a bottle of wine and drink it in no time.

The bitterness of the drink went down your throat for the umpteenth time, your body was curled up in the corner of the couch while your eyes flickered through the silliest channels without really paying attention to what was happening there. You just wanted to get drunk on wine and go up to your room so you could sleep. But the sound of the doorbell wouldn't let you do that.

Maybe it was time for Hazel to arrive and check on you and your mother, this could happen quickly because you started to get dizzy from a bottle of wine and your mother was already on her tenth sleep if she could be counted. So you got up from the couch to drag your feet to the front door. The speech was on the tip of your tongue because your sister would certainly scold you for drinking without eating anything, but what you found there in front of you didn't look anything like Hazel.

Jongseong had nothing to do with your sister. Only his worried expression and his eyebrows together could be said to be an expression you knew well: concern.

“Y/n… Are you okay?” he asked a little euphoric, but trying to relax little by little when you blinked a few times, trying to assimilate.

“Jay…”

“Gosh, I was worried” he moved his hands from side to side as he gestured and spoke, and you heard the sound of bags, but ignored it for a moment “Hazel said she would come here to check on you and I said I could come after work, she called you and you didn't answer so I—” little by little, Jongseong followed your gaze to his hands, where there were bags he was holding “Oh.”

“What is this?” you asked.

“Answer me first” he said back, looking at you this time. You straightened your posture, a narrowed look in his direction before softening and leaning against the door frame.

“I can’t deal with my problems so I drank an entire bottle of wine—”

“Did you eat, at least?” he interrupted you, seeing you shake your head. For the first time, you noticed a serious expression on Jongseong’s face, as if he was angry with you. And something stirred inside your chest when he walked past you without asking permission and entered your house.

Jongseong wasn’t a stranger, but he also didn’t consider himself an acquaintance to the point of doing this. But combining concern with several other feelings made him act on impulse. You closed the door to the house and simply followed him to the kitchen, where he placed the bags on the counter where you had placed yours a few hours before.

“Jay” you finally called out to him, and he looked in your direction. The same serious expression from before was still there, not softening for a single second. “What are you— What is this?”

Stop stuttering, idiot. Your eyes started to burn because he was mad at you, and you were too drunk to deal with that kind of thing.

“You said you’d have coffee with me, didn’t you?” he asked, waiting for your answer. You blinked slowly to keep the tears away and sighed, nodding positively to the question he had asked. “I decided to bring some things to make coffee here, since that way you wouldn’t leave the house and… Well…”

Now he felt shy enough to verbalize all the effort he was making. Of course, Jongseong had contacted your sister and Jaeyun to see if it was a good idea, especially since he was constantly listening to Hazel’s complaints about your mother’s situation. He didn’t want to demand attention from you, much less for you to go out with him. As he had said that day, he would be patient enough and wait. But nothing was stopping him from bringing the coffee to you.

“So you… You wanted to come have coffee with me?” Your voice was shaky, you felt like you could break down at any moment. No one had ever done that for you in your entire life: demonstrated. You had been around people enough to understand that not everything could be reciprocal, not everything people would make an effort, and that was okay. No one had that obligation.

And seeing that Jongseong didn’t treat it as an obligation, but because he wanted to do it, made you even more vulnerable. Sunghoon’s voice always hammered in the back of your head saying that you had brought the cliché Jongseong back, and if that was him, you were happy to rescue him somehow.

“I didn’t… Damn—” you heard a sob erupt from your throat, realizing you were crying the moment you felt the salty tears run down to your lips.

Everything happened so fast and before you knew it, Jongseong's strong arms were around your waist, pulling you close and nuzzling your face against his chest.

You and him could stay like that for hours and you wouldn't complain. The smell of his cologne was calming your nerves as you cried copiously and sobbed against his light shirt – now completely stained with your makeup – while he said nothing. But the caress on your back and the few kisses on the top of your head could say much more than you wanted to hear.

He didn't know when it was the right time to open his mouth or look at your face, so he let you dictate the time you needed until you gradually stopped crying. Slowly, your face lifted from his chest, finding Jongseong's face now a little softer and his bright eyes looking only at you.

“I'm sorry” you whispered. It didn't surprise you when he leaned in, resting his forehead against yours and lightly brushing the tip of his nose against yours. If it had been before, this would have left you completely static and nervous, but at that moment, it was the most calming thing he had done besides still hugging you.

“Don’t be sorry” he whispered back, the air from his lips hitting yours as one of Jongseong’s hands went up to your face, wiping away some tears.

“Could… Could you…” it would be bold of you to try that, but you needed it. Something inside your heart told you to ask, and that was exactly what you were going to do. “Can you stay here today, please?”

Jongseong smiled a little, still caressing your cheek with his fingertips as he moved down to your jaw.

“I’m glad you asked that” he said, his nose still brushing against yours. You could see the internal battle he was fighting between closing the distance and still respecting you and waiting for everything to calm down so he could get even closer. That in itself was making you even more enchanted because he took care of you down to the smallest detail “Because I wasn’t planning on leaving any time soon.”

“Are you the one taking my mother to the doctor today?” Hazel frowned, glancing at Jongseong as she focused on the right amount of green leaves for the dish she was preparing.

He decided to just watch, as the movement was a little slow because it was the beginning of the workday. Resting his hands on the edge of the kitchen counter, he lightly pressed his fingers on the marble to try to contain the emotions that were bubbling inside his chest.

Jongseong thought he was making the same mistake as in his other failed relationships: he was too emotional and had thrown himself into something that hadn’t even come to fruition. He knew you were different from any woman he had ever met in his life, but the slight fear lingered in the back of his mind. What if you spoke like the others, or felt the same way?

You’re such a cliché, Jay. You don’t have to be so emotional.

He always heard that, and after a while, the women would simply leave. Claiming that the problem was the way he showed it. But what could he do if that was the case? That was what Jongseong did when he felt he was worth it.

People who aren’t worthy of you, Hazel would hammer those phrases home whenever he talked about how exhausted he was from people saying he was too emotional.

“My sister is just a little bit cornered because of our mother, but she won’t complain about your cliché” she added one night, one of the many they got together after work to talk about their day and plan their week at the restaurant. Hazel was Jongseong’s biggest supporter of you, and she made sure you two got along.

He was happy about that. Because at least someone, throughout the love life he had faced, wouldn’t think he was crazy for it.

And Jongseong found out that what Hazel – and all the other guys – said and encouraged him when it came to you was true. He was afraid to bring meals to your house and eat in your living room. It was too intimate, but at the same time, it was the only way he had found to be close to you since you never went out. The efforts were worth it with every shy smile you gave when he arrived with the bag of food.

Then, after a lot of talking – and a little arguing on your part – he wanted to take your mother to a doctor's appointment. It wasn't his obligation, of course, but Jongseong felt his heart heavy when he arrived at your house and saw you practically a sleep-deprived zombie. You hadn't slept the day before the exams, getting nervous about how your mother would handle it. So he thought he could take you so you could rest more.

“It's not your obligation and I'm not going to leave my mother alone” he remembers the shine in your eyes, your trembling voice, and the shortness of breath as you tried to hold back your tears. Tiredness, fear, anguish, all together as he stood in front of you, wanting only to do the best.

“I know that.” Jongseong took a few steps toward you, stopping right in front of you. “But nothing I do for you or your mother is out of obligation. I do it because I want to and because I like you both” He didn’t care if that statement – ​​at least on his part – was interpreted romantically. He would make a better announcement, he wanted to say that he liked you more romantically, but for now, that would do. “And your mother will be with me, who said she’ll be alone, Y/n?”

That night he knew he had won the argument and that he had started taking your mother to your appointments so you could sleep a little longer, only on the condition that you both told her every detail when you got home.

Jongseong and Dorothy told you what the doctor had said, of course. But they didn’t tell you that they ate fast food on the way, or that they were late because they were at the mall buying a new scarf for her and a matching shirt for him. Your mother already saw you as a potential son-in-law and Jongseong didn’t deny it when she asked you things about you in the sentimental sense of the word. He wanted to tell you openly about it, and the best way was to start with your mother. Since your sister and brother-in-law were well aware of that.

“I’ll go” he sighed, trying to hide a smile that was forming at the corner of his lips. That didn't go unnoticed by Hazel, who stopped what she was doing to look at her best friend. “It's her last chemotherapy, and we—” he couldn't help himself, his smile widening even more. “We're going in matching clothes.”

“What?” she almost shouted inside the kitchen, surprise taking over and causing Heeseung to enter the place with wide eyes.

“What? Did someone get hurt?”

“Jay and my mother are going to the last chemotherapy in matching clothes,” she practically shouted. “And they didn't tell anyone!”

It was Heeseung's turn to scream, with joy and surprise. He followed Jongseong's advances on you as much as everyone else in the restaurant, being updated by the boy and your sister since you were shy enough to say something when you went to the restaurant to meet them.

“Your mother asked us not to tell, it was supposed to be a surprise” he grumbled, pushing himself away from the counter as soon as Heeseung approached. He knew his friend would mess up his hair or squeeze him, so the further away he was from him at the moment, the better.

“Now you’ve ruined the surprise and we want to see it.”

“Okay, I can bring her after the appointment and you can all see. What do you think?” Jongseong said.

And he kept his promise that day. The short time he stayed at the restaurant was just to get things organized for his friends to drive for the rest of the day, while he ran out to the car and towards his house. His pastel blue shirt was the same color as some details of the scarf your mother was wearing that day.

You didn’t get to see them leave, keeping your promise that you would rest while Jongseong took you safely. He was happy to see that you were trusting him and taking a little more care of yourself, with the fear going away when you saw your mother finally recovered. It was a victory for everyone that she was going to her last chemotherapy.

“Ready, Miss Dorothy?” he asked as he parked, turning off the car and looking at his mother with a charming smile.

“Ready, future son-in-law” she said as excitedly as he was, taking him by surprise even though that had already come out of her mouth a few times. But not calling him directly future son-in-law. Dorothy was just expressing her desire to make Jongseong part of the family. That you would give him a chance and stop being so worried since she was getting better and managing to reach the end of her treatment.

He got out of the car and ran around the vehicle to open the door for your mother, with the way she called him still hammering in the back of his mind.

“Jay” Dorothy called him, intertwining one of her arms with his as they both headed towards the elevator of the hospital building. The path so familiar to both of them is now being taken one last time.

“Yes?” he replied, pressing the floor button while turning his head to her and smiling.

“How about dinner at home tonight? Hazel and Jake are also coming, I wish you were there to celebrate.” She tightened her grip on his arm a little, showing how happy she felt in the boy’s company.

His smile widened, he knew they could celebrate somehow, but being invited by your mother before anyone else seemed a little more special than if he were even invited by you.

“I would love to” Jongseong said finally before the elevator door opened.

Your mother and he left, with confident and determined steps, heading to the oncology desk to finish that cycle.

Life seemed to have taken a huge turn for you in the last few months. Your mother was finally cured of that damned disease. Your routine began to settle down when your sister, along with Jaeyun and Jongseong, managed to call the school where you previously worked. The principal of the place didn't think twice about accepting you back, especially after Hazel told the whole story in a little more detail.

You had omitted a lot of things, saying that your departure had been due to personal problems. It was. But no one needed to know about your mother's diagnosis, much less that you sank into it with no prospect of coming back to the surface.

Now, with the routine of working at school again with your classes, you still lived with your mother until you settled in a new place nearby. A small apartment on the outskirts was all you needed, different from your old place. It was relatively big, you loved it, but after the turmoil in your life… Just a space for you to have your things and sleep now and then was enough.

You let out a small sigh, closing the tab to search for apartments online as you looked around the room. You would have already left school if it weren't for Jongseong's request that he pick you up that day. Something like the two of you having dinner together to unload a tiring Friday was all he needed. And, apparently, so did you.

Because denying him that was out of the question. You remember rarely having denied him anything since the two of you met. Taking into account that he was the only one who managed to make you give in to the tiring routine you had with your mother. It was Jongseong who made you sleep a little longer while he took you to the doctor. You wouldn't even let Hazel drive to the hospital.

Sure, she had a child at home and you were afraid that she would catch something contagious on the way or simply get even more tired. But with him… It was all so much easier.

Jongseong settled into your life effortlessly, with the attitudes you always sought without knowing you needed. He was the one who brought you lunch on the days he was sure you were living on nothing but coffee – he wouldn’t tell you that he had memorized your routine, knowing exactly the days you were most agitated because of your mother’s medication or something she needed to do.

The two of you also started having more nighttime dates, like dinners out with the guarantee that you would take him home early so you wouldn’t be gone for so long. But you bit your tongue about it, because the time with him seemed to fly by and, before you knew it, you had spent the whole night talking to Jongseong and learning a little more about him.

About how he was patient with you all this time, touching you subtly and getting closer little by little, afraid to make a move and invade your personal space or disrespect you. The most you and he shared were kisses on the forehead and hugs that lasted a little longer. A few times you almost made a move, but there were such vulnerable moments when you were crying or exhausted enough to just do something thoughtless.

You also noticed that he would hold back whenever he was close enough, staring at your mouth for a little too long before nibbling on his lower lip, sighing, and looking back into your eyes. It made your heart race, your heartbeat pulsing uncontrollably. Both he and you wanted this, but it seemed like something always happened to make it not right. Yet.

Something inside you was boiling that day. Jongseong asking you to wait at work so he could pick you up was just the icing on the cake of your relationship. You were going to make a move today. There was no way out of it. If he thought it was still too early or that you two didn't need to take that step, that would be fine. You would understand. But you wouldn't stop trying at any cost.

Your cell phone vibrated, still in your hands, and you shivered in the chair with the slight fright you got.

jay: i'm around the corner from the school, can you wait for me in the parking lot?

A simple message, but you smiled at it. There was no need to reply, you just finished organizing your things inside the large bag, going to the bathroom to see your current state.

Shit. You swallowed hard.

Working at a school again made you forget the state you were in when you came home. The denim overalls you were wearing were stained with paint from the straps to the hem around your ankles, much of your arms were also stained with the same colors. Your hair was disheveled in a ponytail and your cheeks were flushed and shiny from the light marathon you ran after some little students during the day.

Well, you could fix that last part by splashing some water on your face. And that's what you did, drying it with a paper towel before leaving the bathroom.

Maybe Jongseong would drop you off at home so you could shower and change, that would take a while since you only needed a few minutes. Get the paint off your skin and the sweat off your body to look a little more presentable.

Picking up your bag again after leaving the bathroom, you walked through the school hallways until you reached the exit, waving to the doorman and some employees who were still there. Arriving at the parking lot, Jongseong was already there. You could feel his smile through the dark mirrors, even though they blocked the view from those outside. You quickly reached the car, opened the passenger door, and slowly got in.

“Hey” he greeted you softly, as he always did.

“Hey,” you said back, closing the door and adjusting your bag in the space between your feet. Turning to him, you smiled at the sight. He had a small, tired smile on his lips, but the sparkle in his eyes was always there when he had you around.

“Long day?” the same question he asked when he came to pick you up, testing the waters to see how you were feeling that day. If he should talk more or let you do the talking. Jongseong loved both.

“Somewhat” you leaned back a little more on the bench, your eyes still on the boy next to you who didn’t look away for a second “I think I prepared an activity that didn’t work out very well in the end” pointing to your clothes, he looked away to notice a little more.

The paints, the variety of colors, and, finally, your face. Your hair looked beautiful to him, even with the strands out of place although you had already tried to fix them with each stroke of your hand. He suppressed a sigh, biting his lower lip.

“You look beautiful like this” he let out, making no mention of any regret as his eyebrows rose.

“Jay, come on” you held back a shy laugh “I’m covered in paint… I was even going to ask you so I could go home and—”

“Actually” he interrupted you, raising one of his hands towards you and taking your hand in his. Jongseong had done this a million times, you had lost count, but it was as if it were the first time with each touch of his against your body. He brought your fingers to his lips, smelling your skin and closing his eyes as if that would calm him down for a moment. “I wanted to ask you if you don’t want to do something simpler today. Maybe different.”

“And what would that be?” you said quietly, afraid that your tone of voice would make him open his eyes. The boy’s breath was beating against your skin, warm and comforting.

“Dinner at my apartment” he squeezed his fingers lightly in your hand, opening his eyes to continue with the sentence “You can take a shower there if you want, I have something that will fit you if you need it.”

Wearing his clothes was quite intimate and different. You had only worn his coats when you went out somewhere and it was cold enough – you always forgot how many clothes you should put on on a cold night – and that was it. Nothing like a sweatshirt or a shirt. Especially taking a shower outside your house. He wasn’t a stranger, anyway.

“You…” your voice faltered a little, he still held your fingers against his lips, occasionally kissing your knuckles when he felt you a little more thoughtful and tense “Are you sure, Jay? We can leave it for another day…”

“I’m sure” he said seriously, but there wasn’t a hint of anger in his voice. He just wanted to steady any uncertainty you might have shown at that moment. He then sat up straight in his seat, still holding your hand lightly enough to intertwine his fingers with yours “My day was full and stressful, but I didn’t want to miss seeing you because…”

For a second he was quiet. One of the rare times Park Jongseong stopped talking mid-sentence without you interrupting him was because he thought he was talking too much.

“Because…?” you encouraged him, squeezing your hand in his for the first time.

With his free hand, Jongseong turned the key in the ignition and let the car slowly start moving. You slid your hand into him, letting him have both hands free so he could drive safely, but your hand still traveled to his shoulder. Soon sliding down to reach the hair on the back of his neck.

A position that screamed couple, but neither you nor him cared about that.

“Because you calm me down in a way” He was looking at the movement on the street now, leaving the parking lot of your work to go towards his apartment “I think it’s better than anything I could try to do in my day to make the stress go away.”

“And is dinner at your apartment a good idea? Don’t you want to rest?” you asked, trying to ignore the agitation of your heart as Jongseong leaned into the small caress you were giving his hair.

“Having dinner with you at my apartment is what I want most right now” he sighed tiredly, looking away for a brief second before returning to the other cars that were in traffic with him. “Taking a shower, talking about anything, and having your company until I fall asleep… I swear, I’ve been looking forward to this all day.”

This was even more of a couple than the touch you were doing in his hair, sliding your fingers down his neck to his shoulders, returning to the nape of his neck and tangling his hair again.

Even if he didn’t see it, Jongseong knew you were smiling. Shyly or not, he could feel a slight smile on your lips as you let the naked truth come out of your mouth.

Secretly, he also thought it was time to act, that he should take a step beyond what the two of you were. And it could start with you finally going to his house. Getting to know his space since he’d been to your house so many times.

He was taken by surprise when he stopped at a red light and felt the warmth of your lips against his cheek. He quickly turned towards you before realizing that, yes, you were indeed smiling.

“I think that’s the perfect idea” you said so quietly that he had to hold back as much as he could not to stop at that light, take off his seatbelt, and kiss you right there.

So Jongseong was content to wave, smiling a little more than you before moving forward when the light turned green. He was desperately looking forward to being home soon.

Jongseong had such a cozy apartment that screamed, in every corner, how much of it was him. From the colors to the decoration, you were enchanted by that place more than you thought you would be, forgetting the slight nervousness that settled inside you when you got there.

But little by little, he made you relax effortlessly. He guided you through the corners of the apartment and showed you each part, then he went to his room and separated a change of clothes for you that, according to him, were the ones he wore the least. But even so, those pieces smelled like him. The t-shirt and sweatpants smelled like Jongseong and you were becoming more and more addicted to it. To smelling his scent, to knowing that it was calming you to extreme levels.

After taking a shower, having dinner, and cleaning up all the mess you two made, sitting on the couch and watching something while talking was all that was left to do before going to sleep. Neither you nor he had brought up the subject of where you would sleep. In the bed with him? In the guest room? Would he let you sleep in the room alone and sleep there on the couch? If Jongseong didn't say anything, you wouldn't talk about it.

Especially because the weight of his head on your lap, the silky dark strands between your fingers, and the sound of his laughter after a funny subject were your focus at the moment. You wanted to have maximum attention on what was happening above anything else. Listening to him talk about Jaeyun's antics on a workday made you laugh a lot, it helped you share with him some things your best friend did back in the last year of high school.

“And he won Hazel over like that?” Jongseong turned his head to look up, his attention was now on you and no longer on the TV and the entertainment program that was on. Neither of you were paying much attention to that, anyway.

“You bet” you sighed loudly and dramatically, making Jongseong laugh. “These two have been pestering me for a week so I could play cupid.”

“And it worked” He was still looking at you, his eyes half-closed from the shared laughter while the two of you were still on that subject. But as the silence settled in, he remained looking in your direction, and that made your heart race. Your heartbeats went up to your ears as Jongseong’s gaze didn’t let you. “Now they both wanted to return the favor” He lowered his voice enough for you to hear him closer. It wasn’t quite a whisper, but it was low enough for a normal tone of voice.

Your eyes roamed all over his face, trying not to linger on his lips, freshly moistened by the tip of his tongue, which still contained a small smile.

“What do you mean?” you asked, trying not to stutter or let your voice fail, but it was becoming increasingly impossible not to be nervous in front of him. Not when Jongseong lifted his head from your lap, sitting next to you on the couch, but without breaking the distance between the two of you.

He looked away for a few seconds and let out a little laugh, and you wondered if it was because of nervousness, shyness, or if he thought you were a fool for asking that. It was the first two, but you would never know that.

“Introducing you to me, making us both go out together whenever we had the chance” he began listing the little things that Jaeyun and Hazel had done for the two of you over the long months. You knew your sister and your best friend had given you a little push about it, but the biggest effort was Jongseong’s persistence.

You felt his hand find yours, his fingers slowly intertwining against yours. That gesture was starting to become familiar to both you and him.

“I didn’t persist in anything, I just… I let it happen because I wanted to” he whispered this time, and your eyes widened when you realized you had let your thoughts out loud.

“I didn’t— I mean… Damn” your low, displeased mutterings at yourself for being caught only made him laugh a little more, pulling your hand to his lap and bringing the other one to your face.

Moving your damp hair away from your cheek, tucking it behind your ear to get a better look at your face.

“Why do you think that way, Y/n?” he asked.

You thought about it for a bit, not knowing what to answer. Why did you think that way about someone who showed so much care and affection for you and the situation you were in without asking for anything in return? Maybe it was because it was something rare, almost nonexistent. No one you know – except for your family and your best friend – would do something like that. But he did. And he did it long before you knew him.

“I don’t know” was the only thing you could answer after a while because it was true. You weren’t sure what to say, but it seemed like he did.

Leaning towards you again, Jongseong rested his forehead against yours. Like that night in your kitchen, the closest gesture you had with each other. His breathing, unlike yours, was calm. Warm against your skin, almost making you sigh.

With a slow movement, he brought one of his hands to your face. His fingertips made their way from your cheek to your jaw, holding your face with all the gentleness you had known from that man in the last few months.

“I know it’s random to say this, but…” Jongseong began, speaking softly and slowly, giving a small smile when he met your eyes. They seemed bigger and more questioning, curious, and that was enough for him to continue, “I want to tell you because all my friends say you brought back the old, cliché Jongseong.”

A nod was enough for you to agree. First, curiosity had been eating away at you since the day Sunghoon had talked about it at the restaurant, the first night you had met all his friends, and him. Then, more and more, someone would say that phrase, making you even more thoughtful. Wanting to ask why that cliché had been hidden for so long.

Jongseong kept his hand holding your face, rubbing his thumb on your cheek with random drawings against your skin. His other hand looked for yours and, when he found it, he made sure to hold it with the same affection he held your face. You tried to calm all your heartbeats at that moment as you listened to him speak.

“I was raised in a way that we should show care and gratitude in our way, to the people we love and who do us good” He kept his eyes on yours, never letting them fall anywhere else on your face. Jongseong wanted to capture every second of your reaction and attention as he opened up in that conversation “I've always been someone who did everything for the people around me without expecting anything in return.”

He was too kind and you knew it, but hearing that only confirmed your suspicions. Hearing him say with so much affection everything he did for his friends, for his family. You even dared to let out a little laugh when he told you that he left home at two in the morning to hit the road for the first time and meet Heeseung, who was at the beach house alone and feeling sick.

“He wanted to go before us to organize the house, but he got food poisoning and I ran to take him to the hospital” was the simplest, yet cutest explanation you heard.

That was Jongseong through and through, the guy who had done everything for you, your mother, and your sister in the last few months. Every gesture, every moment of company. The weight you felt thinking you were taking advantage of him gradually faded away as he told you everything he did for people. Until he cleared his throat a little.

“Do you want to stop here?” you said for the first time since you started that subject, feeling your voice crack a little due to lack of use.

“No, it’s okay” you felt him squeeze your hand lightly, a small smile forming on his lips. Resentment? Sadness? You didn't know, but you wanted to hear it anyway “I want you to know.”

You nodded once more and listened to every word with the same attention. You knew that Jongseong would have other relationships. After all, a man like that couldn't have gotten this far without trying anything in life. It was a sin to think that he would be immaculate. But a wave of sadness washed over you, not because of that, but because of the way he started telling the story.

He only had two girlfriends. But they were enough to traumatize him. Jongseong did everything for them, as he did for anyone in his life, but they both ended up the same way: calling him an idiot for doing everything, saying that he was too passive and that the relationship was monotonous. Without adventure and boring. The first one left him less than two weeks after the breakup, going to live abroad. The second one took a while, but she came back to torment him when he opened the restaurant.

“She went there today” he said, almost in a whisper. “After I started making money, it seems like I became even more of an idiot because she tried to get closer out of interest. And that drives me crazy.”

It would drive anyone crazy, of course. You wanted to feel uncomfortable and jealous that someone who had done him so much harm was around on the same day you were with him. But all you could think about was the sadness Jongseong must have felt. Seeing someone he had tried everything for show up just to want something in return.

After all the trauma that followed, he had closed himself off to clichés and managed to do this only to his friends. No one had ever accessed the old, old Jongseong again. Until you arrive.

“That’s why I say that everything I did was because I wanted to” he got a little closer, his breath getting hotter and hotter against your skin “You rescued something in me effortlessly. Something that I thought was buried after what I went through.”

“Now I understand” you replied, letting go of his hands and holding Jongseong’s face between your small fingers. Your touch on his skin sent shivers all over his body. He thought he was warm after his bath and a nice dinner, but your touch made it even better “I just thought I was being a burden because I kept even Hazel away from what was going on.”

“But you don’t have to do this to me” Jongseong had a pleading tone in his voice, you could feel it in every word. “Because I like you and I want to be around to do everything I can.”

I like you. He said. Without pause, without wide eyes or regrets. You smiled without realizing it.

“I like you too, Jongseong. And I promise not to stop you from anything else in my life.”

“Oh, that’s good” he teased “Won’t you stop me if I kiss you now too?” your laugh was the sound he liked to hear the most in the last few months. The sound he liked to tease just to feel complete.

“You can do it whenever you want” was the cue for him to finally lean in and press his lips against yours. They were soft and warm, and you could feel him smile against your lips before parting his to press the tip of his tongue between your lips.

Your hands slid to Jongseong's shoulders and, as soon as he entwined his tongue with yours, tasting you, he wrapped his arm around your waist to pull you onto his lap. You kept your protests of surprise to yourself, settling yourself on his lap at the same time that you became familiar with having his tongue subtly touch yours.

Jongseong was taking it slow, savoring your taste and molding his mouth to yours as he led the pace of the kiss, resting his hands on your waist to keep you in place on top of his lap. Your head was spinning, wondering where he got so much courage to do that… He was the one who took great care to hold your hand, kiss your forehead, and scream into the pillow when he got to the apartment because he had been so close to your mouth and hadn't even managed to lean in.

But now here you two were, pressing your mouths against each other and feeling the rhythm of the kiss change every time Jongseong tightened his grip on your waist or you tangled your fingers in his hair to pull.

The breaking point was when you unconsciously shifted on his lap. The slight brush of your hips against his newly growing bulge made Jongseong gasp against your lips and swallow a moan that he knew would be loud enough. Instead, he slid his lips over yours and down to your neck to kiss and lick your skin.

He had no idea where your sweet spot might be, what to do with you, and how to proceed. Not wanting to cross any boundaries that day. So he went carefully, slowly kissing his way down your neck to below your ear, feeling your body shiver against his lap and your hips press into him a little more. It was your turn to let out a low noise, he knew it could very well be a moan if you weren't so shy.

“Don't hold back for me, Y/n” he whispered against your skin, sliding his teeth on your earlobe and moving down to your neck again “I want to hear you.”

Why had that simple, stupid sentence stuck right in the middle of your panties? Jongseong couldn't be serious, he simply couldn't say that kind of thing and pretend it had no effect on you.

Your response was a small nod, thinking better of returning what he was doing against your skin. As the kisses became more intense and wet, you decided to follow the movement of his mouth against your skin with your hips circling over his. The brush of Jongseong's cock against your pussy, the layer of clothing creating a nice friction in the sensitive area that you and he both wanted to touch so much.

“Fuck” he murmured against your collarbone, his fingers tightening on your hips, but not stopping you from moving on his lap. If he was guiding the pace of the kisses and marks he was leaving on your skin, he would let you guide the pace on his lap.

One of Jongseong’s hands left your hips to pull the shirt you were wearing, the collar going down enough on your skin to show your collarbone where he could continue the session of kisses and marks on you.

Your smile grew, along with the shivers running through your body with each kiss of his and each intensity with which his hips moved. The sweatshirts you both wore weren’t that thick, but it was a hindrance to have that amount of clothing between you and him, even so, it was something you would work on. Not to tease him, but to make it even hotter.

So you pressed your chest against his, hiding Jongseong's face against your neck and collarbone, keeping your hips so close that one movement forward and you could feel the head of his cock rubbing perfectly against your needy clit.

“Jay” you moaned his nickname for the first time, making the boy go into an internal meltdown at how that sounded to him. It was beautiful. A perfect sound that he never thought he would hear in his life. If you moaned like that just because of the way you and him were, Jongseong wanted to imagine the aftermath of it.

“Yes, love” he replied against your skin, lifting his face and placing a slow kiss against your chin. His eyes stared at you with so much affection but at the same time with so much desire that it made your head spin. His hands were still on your hips and he pulled you even further forward, rubbing your clit against the head of his cock again, sliding the entire length over his sweatpants “You're doing so good, you know that?”

You only had the strength to agree, nodding and moaning his name as you moved a little more willingly against Jongseong's clothed cock. He dared a little, the teasing was too much, but he didn't want to stop. Leaning back, he pulled your body along so that you were both more comfortable on the couch.

Now, he had enough strength to support his feet on the floor and push his hips up to go against your movements, so both you and him could feel each other's arousal even more.

Your panties were already sticking against the lips of your pussy, you knew that a few more frictions and your juices would be passing through his sweatpants. It would be shameful if you weren't seeing Jongseong's determination to follow your movements, moaning your name and pressing his lips against your jaw every time he knew he could moan louder when you rubbed in a specific way against his cock.

Something inside you was on fire, the knot in your stomach was getting closer and closer to bursting, and by the way, Jongseong was moaning, grunting, and pushing his hips against yours, you knew he couldn't be that far away.

It wouldn't be shameful to cum like that, after all, the friction was as good as the penetration. And you would be bold enough to ask for this to continue in his room. You promised you wouldn't let anything go by.

Another kiss was initiated, this time by you as you felt your clit throb every time it was pressed in an even more delicious way. The wet noise muffled by the sweatshirt, you couldn't tell if it was from your pussy or his cock, but either way, the pleasure was being very well distributed. You nibbled on Jongseong's lower lip, releasing slightly with a pop as you rested your hands on his chest to steady yourself.

“Jay, I—” you lifted your body, arching your butt a little higher to give more momentum to your movements. He placed his hands on either side of your buttocks, letting you slide down his cock even though you were still dressed.

“Are you going to cum?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer. Your nod was the answer he needed, pulling you into a messy kiss as he thrust his hips again and intensified the rubbing with you.

The feeling was surreal. Cumming in your panties while still riding your orgasm with the shallow thrusts and over the clothes that Jongseong gave you to help you reach your peak. You moaned against his mouth, watching him swallow all your moans just as you did with his. His hips stuttered, but never really stopped to prolong that sensation until it bordered on overstimulation.

You fell against his chest, tired and panting. A little embarrassed by the sticky feeling between your legs, your cheeks started to heat up and you wondered if it was from the orgasm you had just had or if it was because reality was setting in and you had just dry-humped Jongseong.

Your eyes slowly opened, searching for his as he was already looking at you. A tired smile adorned the lips you loved kissing, along with a blush on the tanned skin you were addicted to. Both you and him looked down at the same time, and his chuckle made you feel a little more relaxed.

It wasn't just your sweatshirt that was sticky, but the large stain on his pants told you that the orgasm had been intense for both of you.

“We can clean ourselves up and lie down if you want” he whispered, his voice husky and deep, sending shivers down your entire body even after the intense orgasm you had had. Leaning towards him, you kissed Jongseong's lips and smiled slowly.

“Or we can continue this after we clean up too” you whispered back.

“Bold” he chuckled softly, “But I like it.”

“That’s good, right?”

“That’s great” he finished, kissing you once more before hugging your body to his. “Since you’re being bold, can I too?”

He had more time to be bold than you that night, but you would never stop Jongseong from being bold. From being cliché. You would never stop him from anything. So you just agreed, feeling him hug you even tighter as you hugged him back.

“I wanted to tell you that this apartment is too big for just one person” he hummed, his face slowly hiding in the crook of your neck. His smile grew bigger and bigger as he saw the fresh marks on your skin starting to turn a reddish color. You chuckled softly, already imagining where the conversation was going “Maybe you and I can share it. Only if you want, of course.”

He shrugged, outwardly pretending that it didn’t matter. But deep down Jongseong was afraid of your answer. He was afraid that he had been too invasive, even though the moment you two shared a few minutes ago had been more than intimate.

“Are you asking me to live with you?” your tone was playful, but even so, he still didn’t dare to look at you. He kept his face buried in your neck. He only agreed with a slight nod as he murmured, “I’ll need to see if your bed is good to sleep in every night, then.”

“Or we can do it on the couch every day. It’s comfortable here, isn’t it?” He finally lifted his head, his bright and inviting eyes making you sigh – internally and externally. It was your turn to rest your forehead against his, brushing the tip of your nose against Jongseong’s.

“Anywhere is comfortable with you” you whispered, kissing him slowly “You’ve convinced me.”

“Great” it was his turn to kiss your lips, sliding his hands from your waist to your legs, picking you up. Finally, he stood up with you in his arms, accompanied by your little screams and laughter along with his “Because I didn’t intend to let you go, anyway.”

It was so good to have let him into your life. And even better that he stayed because, honestly, you didn’t know if you would have been able to endure everything up until that moment without him.

You would be immensely grateful to your sister and Jaeyun for having introduced you that day at the restaurant, after all, they were both just repaying what you did years ago. Jongseong was right about that.

© ikeuverse, 2025. do not copy, translate or steal my stories.