#wanted to share at least this part before the deadline | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shina913 · 29 days ago

Text

A Very Patient Man 2 | LJH

Pairing: Lee Jihoon x AFAB!Reader

Rating: M 🔞; NSFW

Genre: F2L; smut; a touch of angst and fluff

Warnings: cussing; dirty talk; breast play; fingering; orgasm denial; cunnilingus; face-sitting; protected sex

Word count: 4.6k words

Summary: After years of being best friends, you and Jihoon share one night of completely sober, consensual sex—something you both swore wouldn’t change anything. But it does. Now you’re caught in the in-between, where neither of you knows how to talk about it, afraid that telling the truth might ruin the one thing you’re both trying to hold onto.

A/N: This is a follow-up to this story, which I fully intended to be a one-shot only. And then Woozi started ruining my life after that, so you can send your complaints to him. You don't need to read the first part, but there are some callbacks to that. So yeah. This is just something completely indulgent for me.

Maybe @roaminginthenights and I can cook up a third installment—where all patience has been drained from this man 🤣 Until then, enjoy!

Your phone pings with a DM from your match.

You tap the screen, hoping for something exciting–or at the very least, normal. Instead, your face twists in immediate disgust. Blocked, without hesitation.

"You’ve got to be fucking kidding me," you grumble, tossing your phone across the couch.

Reactivating your dating profile was a mistake. Deep down, you knew it. But pretending nothing's changed was easier than facing the truth.

Except, everything has changed—since the night you slept with your best friend, Jihoon.

It wasn’t some drunken mistake. It was intentional. Clear-headed. Consensual. Mutually beneficial.

The memories are vivid: his fingers tracing your skin, the breath between you before that first kiss. And after, with your foreheads pressed together, neither of you wanting to be the first to let go.

It was supposed to be a one-time thing. A problem he helped you solve. Now it’s become a new problem you can’t stop thinking about.

Because Jihoon has raised the bar for everyone else. He didn’t mean to. He just showed you how it could be.

Sex with him wasn’t just sex. Every touch was unhurried and purposeful. It was the kind of experience that made you feel seen. Your body's needs weren't just being met, they were being understood. For once, he made you feel safe enough to let yourself sink into that space completely.

And now, every swipe on your phone feels pointless and hollow.

The truth is, nothing will ever come close to that night. Nothing. You're just not ready to admit it out loud.

You haven’t seen him in weeks—not because of anything dramatic, but just…life. Work. Deadlines. Obligations pulling you both in opposite directions.

The texts and calls never stopped. Neither did the inside jokes or snarky memes. The way his check-ins come in right as you're about to spiral from stress. He’s still your best friend, Jihoon–steady and comforting. But he’s also the guy who’s wrecked you in every which way. Both can be true.

He kept his word, honoring the boundaries you’d set. He didn’t push, much less think about leaning against the edge of that boundary, unless you asked.

And God, you’ve wanted to. Not just ask, but beg. Beg for him to cross it, jump over it. Completely obliterate it.

You’ve typed it out a hundred times, but you’ve also deleted it every time. Saying all this over the phone feels wrong, just like fast-forwarding to the ending you haven’t earned yet.

Words on a screen can’t express all this.

So here you are, fully dressed. Sitting on your couch, watching the minutes tick by, waiting for it to be a reasonable time to show up at Jihoon’s place. To watch sports, of all things.

Luckily, he's invited a few other friends. Built-in buffers, at least! Showing up too early means being alone with him. And the thought of it feels dangerous, despite looking forward to seeing him again.

Your phone buzzes. Thankfully, it’s not the dating app this time. You glance at the text notification and smile before you even read it.

Jihoon: Where are you? The game's about to start!

You: Still debating which top matches my pants, you lie.

Well… it’s half a lie. You tried on at least four outfits before settling on one that felt effortlessly cute, even though you're still second-guessing it.

Jihoon: You could show up in a garbage bag and still make it look hot.

You: Flattery won't make me move faster.

You laugh to yourself as you send off your response.

Jihoon: Bring them all. I’ll help you decide… but I can’t guarantee I won’t get distracted halfway through 😏

Warmth unfurls in your chest as you head toward the door. One last glance in the mirror. And you're off, with just enough mischief in you to match his.

************

The elevator dings on the seventh floor. You step out, clutching a box of Jihoon’s favorite cookies. Technically, you didn’t need to bring anything. Soonyoung had covered all the food and drinks after apparently losing a bet. Still, you feel weird showing up empty-handed.

Music and laughter seep through the seams of the door.

You knock once, then adjust your top. Which you’ve already checked in the elevator. Twice.

The door swings open, and there’s Jihoon standing there with a freshly bleached buzzcut.

You blink, caught off guard, and blurt out, “Wow. That’s… new.”

His smile switches to something slightly self-conscious. One arm lifts automatically, pulling you in for a hug.

His hoodie brushes your cheek, and that familiar mix of clean laundry and warm whiskey hits you like a punch to the gut. His body is solid, heat rolling off his chest, like your presence flipped some hidden switch inside him.

“Come on in. I’m glad you made it.”

“Oh, you know… just me and my walls this weekend,” you deadpan.

He glances at the box in your hands, clicks his tongue, and sighs dramatically. “I told you not to bring anything.”

“Unfortunately for you, my manners disagreed.” You press the box against his chest.

He spots the label and his face lights up instantly. “These are getting hidden. Immediately.”

“But I brought two dozen!” you reason, eyes wide.

“And sadly, still not enough to share,” he says dryly as he leads you into the kitchen.

You laugh, more at ease than you expected. Soonyoung and his girlfriend, Lia greet you. Jun waves from the couch, and a few other friends nod politely.

Jihoon nods at the counter filled with food. “Help yourself.” He then hides the cookies in one of the overhead cupboards.

You grab a plate, but your attention drifts back to his hair. “So,” you say, hand gesturing mid-air, “were you ever planning on mentioning this?”

His ears turn red. "Wasn't sure if it was selfie-worthy," he mutters, his hand sweeping over the strands. "Soonyoung's been making jokes about it. Is it that bad?”

Your fingers reach out before you can stop yourself. It’s softer than expected.

He steels himself, his breath catching.

“It’s different,” you say. “But good-different. I like it,” you finish with a sincere smile.

He breathes out a small, shy laugh. “Really?”

“Yeah! It looks badass.”

A slow smile spreads across his face. “Thanks.”

You catch yourself staring. His shoulders seem broader. Maybe they’ve always been like that, and the shorter cut is making them more noticeable? Or maybe it’s just you looking longer than you’re supposed to.

“So, you were just… chilling at home?”

You hesitate, then sigh in defeat. “That, and trying not to hurl my phone at the wall.”

He raises a brow, leans against the counter, and folds his arms across his chest. “Okay. Spill.”

You pull your phone from your pocket and hand it to him. His eyes drop to the screen, lips moving silently as he reads the message—the one that prompted you to immediately block the sender.

Do you like anal?

His brows lift, then his eyes flick to yours. “Well… do you?”

“Jihoon!” You shriek, snatching the phone back then swatting his shoulder.

He laughs, utterly unrepentant. “I’m so sorry.”

“Sure, you are,” you say sarcastically.

He shrugs. “Seems like a harmless question.”

“Yeah—but not as the first message.” You sigh, shoulders slumping. “It’s brutal out there,” you say, shaking your head. “I didn’t realize how bad it’s gotten.”

“Some people are just bold,” he quips.

“Some people are just douches. Is this really all that’s left?”

He tilts his head. “Maybe you’re just unlucky?” Then after a beat, “Or too picky.”

Clearly, not picky enough. “Or maybe I’m just looking for something I already found,” you mumble, your attention returning to the spread of food on the counter.

You don’t see the smile he’s fighting. His eyes flick toward the living room, then back, softening his voice. “You know, if you were feeling…some type of way, you could’ve just told me.”

His suggestion catches you off-guard. You inhale sharply before you turn to face him. “I…didn’t think this was that kind of friendship.”

His gaze doesn’t waver. “This friendship can be whatever kind we want it to be.”

You glance down, fingers tugging at the hem of your shirt. “I just… didn’t want it to seem like I was using you. Like that’s all I see you as.”

Jihoon’s expression shifts, but it’s unreadable to you. “Are you? Using me?”

You shake your head before the words even form. “No! God, no! You mean way more to me than that.”

He watches you, silent but expectant—waiting for you to elaborate on what more really means.

There’s a storm of thoughts surging in your head. Words you want to say so badly, but it all feels too raw, too exposed. What if he doesn’t feel the same? No, no, no. You didn’t plan for this conversation yet.

But it’s happening now. Whether you’re ready or not.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is—”

“MAKE THE FUCKING SHOT, YOU USELESS FUCK! GOD!!!”

You flinch at Soonyoung’s screams bellowing from the living room. Jihoon snorts, visibly annoyed but used to it.

“Guess he’s about to blow the over-under on this game again.” Then he turns back to you. “Sorry. You were saying?”

You open your mouth… then close it again. The moment's already slipped through your fingers.

“You know what, we’ll talk later.” you say, smiling tightly. “Let’s go watch the game.”

“Y-you sure?”

“Yeah. Go.” You nudge him back toward the others. But as he walks away, his eyes linger on you a moment longer.

Yes, you’ll say it. Just not yet. But soon.

*************

Your conversation might’ve been sidelined earlier, but Jihoon keeps sneaking glances during the game. Every so often, he finds an excuse to walk by—grabbing a drink, tossing a napkin, each trip lasting a little longer than the previous one.

Eventually, Lia catches on. “Do you want to switch seats with me?” she asks innocently, though the look she gives you says she suspects something.

You laugh nervously and push at Jihoon’s arm. “Don’t mind him! He’s just trying to get his steps in, right?” Then, when Lia looks away, your eyes flare wide at him, and through clenched teeth whisper, “Stop it.”

“Alright, alright…” He relents and finally retreats to the couch, but his eyes still find you again and again. You pretend not to notice, though a small part of you hopes he doesn’t stop.

The game ends in a buzzer-beater loss that sucks the energy from the room. One by one, people trickle out of Jihoon’s apartment, leaving behind crumpled cans, empty bottles, and half-eaten plates of pizza and wings scattered across every surface.

You and Jun stay behind to help clean up.

“I think that’s everything off the balcony,” Jun announces, dropping a couple of empty bottles into the bin.

“Thanks for coming, man,” Jihoon says as they exchange one of those bro-hug-backslap routines.

“Always a good time, bro.” He calls out to you and says goodbye. “Good seeing you!”

“See you around!” you wave at Jun as he steps out.

That leaves just you, Jihoon, and a pile of leftover wings.

“Should I put these in the same container?” you ask, already reaching for a zip bag from one of the kitchen drawers.

Jihoon calls over his shoulder, dragging a trash bag toward the door. “Nah, leave it. It’s late. Go home.”

You scrape the leftovers into a bag anyway and tuck it into the fridge before turning to the overflowing recycling bin.

“I’m almost done,” you say, tying the bag closed and lifting it. “Just have to—hey!”

Your hands collide when he tries to snatch the bag from you.

“I said, leave it,” he teases.

You clutch it tighter. “This is literally the last thing, then I’ll go home, I promise!”

“No, let go,” he says, attempting to keep a straight face.

“Or what?” You arch a brow.

He steps closer, his scent overwhelming you again. He drops his voice, narrowing his eyes at you. “Don’t test me.”

You hold your ground. The silence buzzes, with that same electricity you’ve been trying to ignore all night. Then his gaze drops to your mouth.

You take it as an opening, snatching the bag, and turning away triumphantly. “Hah!”

But you don’t make it far before his hands catch your waist, grounding you mid-stride. Your breath hitches at the contact.

“Told you not to test me.” His voice turns dangerously low.

You twist in his grip just enough to meet his gaze. “So what, you gonna wrestle me for it?”

The corner of his mouth quirk. “Do you want me to?” He’s teasing, but not really.

The flame in the base of your belly ignites. You let the bag fall to the floor with a quiet thud, suddenly forgotten.

“Okay, chill out,” you say, lightly, trying to cut through the tension. “Are you just salty about the game?”

Jihoon doesn’t answer right away. He pulls you in closer, his breath grazing your ear. “I’m not thinking about the game.”

Your stomach tightens. Every inch of space between you feels charged.

“Do you wanna stay over?” His offer is careful and sincere. No pressure, but no pretense, either.

“I thought you wanted me to go home?”

“I did,” he keeps his voice steady. “But now I changed my mind.”

It would be so easy to give in. To let the moment swallow you whole again. But something inside holds you back. Something more urgent than the ache pooling between your legs.

You take a breath, searching for the right place to begin. “I don’t want to kill the mood but… we need to talk.”

Jihoon steps back slightly, his hands loosening from your waist. “Sorry,” he says. “I got carried away.”

You catch his wrist before he can retreat further. “No, don’t.”

He regards you intently, waiting for what you'll say next.

“I think…” Your words are stuck behind nerves, but you push through. “I think I’m having a change of heart. About all this.” You motion vaguely between you.

A flicker of confusion crosses his face. “So you mean, you don’t want to—”

“No, no!” you say quickly. “I do. Believe me—I really, really do. And that’s the problem.”

His lips quirk in amusement.

You exhale, heart hammering beneath your chest. “I’m just…I’m just scared that this is headed towards something casual. Then eventually, nowhere. And before you know it, it’s nothing.”

He’s quiet for a beat. Then his expression softens. “It doesn’t have to be.”

“But what if—?”

“It doesn’t have to be nothing.” He steps closer again, not crowding you, but just closing the distance. “You set boundaries, and I respected them. I still do. But I haven’t stopped thinking about you.”

You search his face for any trace of sarcasm or deflection, the armor he usually wears when things start getting too deep. You see none of that. It is just him. Frank and open, as he's always been throughout your entire friendship.

“I didn’t know if you’d feel the same, so I gave you space. I focused on work. Tried to distract myself. But… none of it worked.”

The memory creeps in—waking up next to him, tangled in your sheets, his fingers gliding along the slope of your shoulder like he was memorizing a page he’d never get to read again. You told yourself it was a one-time thing. A fluke. Fun and harmless.

But the moment you parted ways that morning, you knew better. Something had shifted. From then on, seeing him as ‘just a friend’ felt like a lie you couldn’t keep telling yourself.

“I was scared to mess it up,” you admit. “You’re one of the good ones and I didn’t want to complicate what we have.”

“I think it’s a little too late for that,” he replies wryly.

You peer up at him, his smile is faint yet affectionate.

He lifts a hand, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “I just couldn’t forget any of it. Especially…” His thumb lingers beneath your lower lip. “The sounds you made. The way you felt. Tasted.” His voice drops with each word until it is barely a breath.

“Sounds like you needed a full memory reset,” you say, pulse racing.

Jihoon’s eyes lock with yours, his lips hovering near your mouth.

“Or maybe…” he counters, “I needed a refresher.”

You look into his eyes, and the hunger there is unmistakable. The smirk tugging at his lips tells you he knows you want this just as badly.

“Didn’t I tell you to quit staring at me like that?”

He tilts his head in mock innocence. “Oops. Guess I managed to block one thing from my memory.”

Your laugh tumbles out before you can stop it, with his following right after, melting some of the tension.

“So does this mean,” you ask quietly, “we can stop pretending?”

“I never pretended,” he says. “I was just waiting. Hoping you’d come around eventually.”

You smile, fingers reaching up to trace his jawline. “Guess I must have really tested your patience, huh?”

Distracted by your touch, he doesn’t answer right away. His hand flexes at your waist, eyes darkening again.

“Even now,” he murmurs, “you’re still testing it.”

You rest your palm on his chest, brushing your nose against his.

He curses under his breath, eyes fluttering shut. “Please,” he says, voice rough with restraint.

Your smile curves mischievously. Your fingers drift beneath his hoodie, skimming over the skin above his waistband.

“Please what?” you purr.

The groan he lets out is raw and tortured. There’s no posturing and his pride is out the window. If you told him to drop to his knees, he would.

“Jihoon?” you whisper, unsure if he’s still with you. You dart your tongue out and lick his bottom lip to reel him back.

His eyes snap open, pupils blown wide with arousal. His fingers dig into your hips, hard enough to bruise. The pain is delicious.

“Please... I need you. Let me fuck you,” he pleads.

A slow, cocky smile tugs at your lips—then you pull him in, kissing him hard.

Your kisses are frantic, teeth clashing. His hands slide up your back, pulling you close like he’s about to consume you. It’s messy. Addictive. You’re both overwhelmed with want after holding back for so long.

He breaks away, trailing his lips down your jaw, your throat. You tilt your head, giving him more access.

He groans your name as he sucks at your pulse point. And God, hearing him say it like that? You’re done for.

Every filthy thought he’s tried to suppress—the sounds of your moans, the feel of your body, your taste—it’s all happening, now. In real time. And he’s ready to revel in every second of it.

Your hand slips past his waistband. Your fingers wrap around his cock, and begin to stroke. He freezes mid-kiss, moaning into your mouth.

With a low growl rumbling from his chest, he pulls your neck closer, kissing you harder. His hands roving over your body. You grind against the thick length straining under his pants, both of you dizzy with need.

You fumble with his bottoms, but he grabs your hands, tugging you toward his room. You both stumble on your way there, laughing.

You strip each other’s clothes off between kisses. He lowers you onto his bed, mouth hot against your neck. He slides down to the swell of your breasts, sucking bruises into the soft flesh as he slips your bottoms down your legs.

Your fingers rake over his scalp. You’re briefly caught off-guard by how different it feels now that his hair was much shorter. He moves up to kiss you again, and you push up on your elbows, trying to flip him over so you can be on top. But he rolls you onto your side instead, your back pulled firmly against his chest.

He spreads your thighs with ease, tucking it under his leg, and finds your cleft. His fingers massages your folds, keeping your mouth sealed with his own as he teases you mercilessly. You moan into his mouth as he slips two fingers inside, then drags them out slowly to coat you with your own slick.

“Is this what you want?”

Your jaw goes slack, and all you can manage is a whine.

“You like hearing me beg like that?”

You try to respond, but his fingers thrust in deep again, and your words fade into a gasp.

Then he pulls out again. And again.

Each time leaves you more frenzied, more desperate. He’s punishing you, and you’re loving every second of it.

“Don’t think. Just feel,” he whispers in your ear—the same words he used that first night, when he took his time, coaxing you gently toward your orgasm, savoring every moment it took to unravel you.

“Yes…keep going,” you pant.

It turns him on, how easily you come undone for him. You feel it in the way he holds you, attuned to every flinch, every hitch in your breath—chasing each reaction like a reward. Every touch spurs him on, to find what else will make you scream out his name.

“God, you’re so fucking wet. Why is that?” he teases.

“It’s you,” you breathe. “It’s always you.”

“You like it when I make you feel good?”

You nod, too consumed by pleasure to form words. He doesn’t let up—keeps dragging it out, keeping you teetering right on the edge, only to pull you back again and again, until it’s almost unbearable.

“Let me come. Please.”

He chuckles low, smug. “Since you asked so nicely…”

No more teasing. His rhythm shifts, fingers plunging faster, deeper—giving you exactly what you begged for.

“I’m close!”

“I know. I can feel it.”

Amazing, how that one night was enough for him to familiarize himself with how your body worked—which he’s happy to take full advantage of.

Finally, everything in you snaps. Your climax crashes over you in waves. You cry out hoarsely, clawing at the sheets as your body shudders.

You’ve barely caught your breath when he leans in your ear.

“You want me inside?”

In an instant, your whole body tenses again with need.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Please.”

“Mm-mm,” he tuts. “I don’t think you’re ready for me yet.”

He pulls away and your core clenches at the emptiness. He stretches out lazily on the mattress, a hand reaching for you.

“I want you to sit on my face.”

You slow-blink. “What?” It’s not that you didn’t hear. It was more of a knee-jerk reaction than anything.

“I know you heard me. C’mere.” He grabs your hand, pulling you toward him, sending another wave of arousal through you. You climb over him, thighs shaking. Slowly, you lower yourself onto his mouth.

The groan he lets out when his tongue finds your clit is diabolical.

“Jihoon—fuck—” You gasp, your body trembling from the pleasure. Within moments, you’re reaching for the headboard, steadying yourself.

He grips your legs tighter as he licks and sucks greedily. You rock your hips in slow, deliberate drags against his relentless mouth. Desperate for friction, moaning his name over and over.

His lips wrap around your clit again, and he sucks deeply. Your thighs tighten around his head.

“Oh my god—don’t stop…”

He doesn’t stop. He keeps at it until your release tears through you again. It’s a slower build than the first, but so much more intense. It shatters to pieces on a whole different level.

Legs shaking, you slide off him, collapsing at his side.

“Holy shit,” you choke out breathlessly.

“I could do that all day.” He wipes his mouth, still covered in your arousal, his cock painfully hard. He catches you staring at it.

“I’d very much like to return the favor.”

“You can repay me by coming all over my dick,” his voice strains. “I need to be inside you.”

When you nod, he reaches toward the nightstand, and grabs a foil packet.

“Lay back.”

You do as you’re told. He looms over you, settling between your thighs, one arm braced beside your head. His face hovers just above yours, and brushes his lips over your temple.

“So beautiful,” he whispers.

Warmth blooms in your chest. The kiss that follows is deep and slow. Reverent, even. His tongue brushing yours, gentle and coaxing.

He nudges your thighs open, then pushes into you—inch by inch, taking his time. You gasp, arching into him. Every thrust hitting you just right, combined with each slide of his lips makes you fall deeper.

“I missed this,” he groans, hooking your leg around his waist to get in deeper. “You ever touch yourself?”

Laughing softly, your cheeks flush. “What do you think?” You roll your hips to meet his thrusts.

He smirks, then pulls out. “This is better though.” And slams back hard into you. “Right?”

“Ah! Yes.”

He picks up the pace, each thrust turning rougher, more desperate. Your bodies crash together in a frenzy—kissing through gasps and moans, keen on chasing that final, blinding rush of pleasure.

“You feel so good. I’m gonna come so hard for you.”

You keep your eyes on him, cradling his jaw, your thumb brushing across his cheek. “Look at me,” you whisper.

And he does—eyes locking with yours, dark and desperate, like he’s hanging on by a thread.

“Come for me.”

Your words undo him. Within moments, he groans your name, hips stuttering as your walls tighten around him. You both cry out, clinging to each other as you unravel together.

For a while, you just lay there quietly—bodies spent, sweat-slicked. The only sound is your shared, uneven breaths and the steady thrum of your hearts still racing.

***********************

The sheets are a mess. Pillows kicked halfway off the bed. Your clothes dangle from the edge in the midst of the chaos. Traces of your post-sex haze still linger in the room, and neither of you is in any hurry to move.

You're lying on your stomach, cheek pressed into the pillow, fighting to keep your eyes open.

Jihoon lies beside you, one arm tucked under his head, the other lazily stroking your bare spine. He’s got a smug, Cheshire-cat grin plastered on his face.

“So… dating still seem like a good idea to you?”

You hum into the pillow, cracking one eye open. “I don’t know if I can seriously commit to someone who can’t even manage to fully undress when we fuck,” you say dryly.

His laugh bursts from his belly, bouncing off his bedroom walls.

“Seriously, what is this?” You gesture at his shirt, still clinging to one shoulder like it gave up halfway through.

“What? I was lost in the moment,” he says between laughs. “And you pushed me to the brink!”

“Oh, so now it’s my fault?”

“You just had to stay and put the fucking chicken wings away!”

You look at him wryly. A beat of quiet stretches between you before it’s broken by soft, easy laughter, your bodies still buzzing with the aftermath.

You sigh, rolling onto your side. “You know you’ve officially ruined casual sex for me, right?”

He scoffs, grinning. “Oh, 100%. You’re done for. Spoiled for life. There’s no turning back after this.”

“Hmm…” You prop yourself up on one elbow, pretending to think. “Guess you’d better stick around, then.”

He brings his face closer, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder. “Yeah,” he says. “I plan to.”

Your heart aches in the best way. His lips find yours, and you surrender to the moment. He eases you down, arms drawing you close until your bodies meld again.

Whatever this is, it feels right—like the pull of gravity. And that’s not just a feeling. It’s science.

Main SVT Fic Masterlist

Thank you for reading!

Interaction/feedback is appreciated but *not* required. But just in case you feel comfortable enough to comment or just say hello, my inbox 📩 is open 💜💎

#jihoon x reader #jihoon fanfic #jihoon smut #woozi smut #seventeen x reader #seventeen fic #seventeen fanfiction #lee jihoon #svt imagines #svt x reader #svt fanfic #seventeen smut

507 notes · View notes

monkebearness · 2 months ago

Text

He, She, & Her [Pt. 2.5.1]

Kim ChaeYeon (tripleS) x Male Reader (ft. Lee JiWoo)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 2.5.2

Tags: smut, some fluff, poly relationship, blowjob, titjob, creampie

Word count: 5k

a/n: writing the third chapter is much harder than I thought, so I decided to just write a shorter “mini chapter” in the meantime.

“Fuuuuuuuck—” Jiwoo’s pitch reaches sky high, feeling the taste of heaven as she sucks on each of the sweaty mounds of her girlfriend while still keeping up with the pace and rhythm of their cunts smacking together. “Mmmm...Mom…mmmy! I misssed—you—”

Only a couple of days have passed since Chaeyeon returned from her business trip to Jeju, Honggi has been hearing the unadulterated carnal rejoices and howls of his two girlfriends from their bedroom. Even from the living room, not even the clacking of his own laptop's keyboard can deafen the noise of their moans breaking through their walls. However, it’s not that Honggi is bothered by their passionate and unbridled moments.

In fact, he cannot be happier that they all have reunited. Jiwoo and Chaeyeon have been together way before they met him. Since she came back, he and Chaeyeon have had their own fair share of makeouts, although he agreed to have the latter spend a lot more time with the woman he’s been fooling around with over the past weekend. For most people, Monday tends to be the worst day of the week for almost anyone who works and studies.

“Are you sure you don’t want to join us?” was the first question she asked him earlier. “We haven’t even started yet… I’m sure you wanna have a little moment to unwind.”

For Honggi, this Tuesday evening has become an exception to that experience. It’s only been two hours since he arrived at their apartment, but he should’ve said otherwise. At least, his own primal urges wanted him to say otherwise.

“No, no! It’s fine, you two have fun, babe. You deserved it… You might’ve flown to Jeju, but you rarely got the time to relax and have fun there.”

“Actually, we’ve gone on some team activities, so it wasn’t all work the whole time.”

He’s just too much of a disciplined gentleman or a reasonable idiot, or both to give into the temptation of feeling her once more. Feeling both of them at the same moment.

“Yeah, we’ve seen your updates… Even the company’s…” He leaned closer to her. “But I doubt they’re the same kind of fun as the one we’ve had here.”

“Oh, wow…” She bites her lower lip. “I really thought you wanted me to spend more time with Jiwoo.”

He could’ve put on his headphones and listened to some of the latest K-pop comebacks, and he would’ve most likely made more significant progress to his sheet within the past half an hour. But, he’s already made his choice.

“I still do…” he tries to assure his girlfriend, slowly fixing her hair.

“What you’re doing right now… Makes me wanna have both of you, Honggi-yah.”

Too bad for Honggi, he’s also got deadlines to commit to before the weekend. And the continuous intermissions of smacking and groaning from their room in the past hour are not helping with his concentration to accomplish his sheet. Fortunately for him—their noises would subside. The couple exit the mint room, driving him to play it cool, while his member remains hot and hard at the sight of their now partially nude bodies, wearing their shirts and panties.

“Bet you got hard listening to us from the room…” Jiwoo teases—if the smirk on her face isn’t obvious enough. “You should’ve joined, you know? Hehe, you missed your chance.”

Honggi scoffs at her, yet a sense of annoyance prickles through him. “I ought to do…”

“Do what?” she raises her tone, her smile widening. She’s doing this on purpose, he can tell from her looks.

Realizing her teasing getting to him, Honggi places his laptop beside him. “Nothing…”

Jiwoo leans down with her hands latching on the shoulder of the couch and inches closer before shamelessly smacking her lips with Honggi’s with eyes closed shut, humming into their kiss.

His mind almost goes blank while his senses take over. The taste of sweat, lip balm, and perhaps milk, unless his own imagination just deceived him. She basically just gave him a glimpse of what they did inside—and her surprise did not help with his erection, which returned while his lust drove him to wrap his hands around her body, leaving his laptop to the side. That is until Jiwoo herself breaks their steaming moment, pulling away with a smirk on her face, almost running out of breath, yet still satisfied by her own mischief.

“What was that?” Slowly opening his eyes, he chuckles in disbelief, instinctively scratching his hair.

“Geunyang…” She raises both her shoulders. “Just wanna give you a taste of unnie…”

“Oh…” And with that, she succeeded.

“And checking up on your little junior.”

Out of embarrassment, covers his boner with a blanket. “Yah… I’m working right now.”

If he only wasn't stranded on a heavy workload tonight, Honggi would have most likely spent no time to pull Jiwoo into the couch with him under the drive of his lust. Hell, he would’ve even joined earlier, but all these thoughts are nothing but his fruits of regret.

Sure, he’s done it with her as well as one would with a fuck buddy or casual girlfriend, but her boldness clashing in with his work mindset only makes him unsure on how to react, whether to entertain her or dismiss her, which he definitely does not want to.

Regardless, not everyone gets to be in a poly relationship. Even he himself is not sure if that’s the term he should be using, because, this is a whole new thing for Honggi in his mid-twenties, experiencing most of the good aspects, and hopefully more than bad.

“Hwaiting,” she shoots back with a giggle, playfully raising a fist in the air while she walks to the kitchen shamelessly, with her underwear dangling for him to stare at.

“Don’t disturb, Honggi,” Chaeyeon joins. “He’s close to finishing the statistics report. Distract him and it’ll get us fired. You wouldn’t want that for us, do you, Jiwoo-yah?”

“All right, all right, I’ll stop. Mianhae, oppa…” She gives him soft pats on his shoulder.

“It’s fine…” Honggi assures both women while moving his laptop mouse. “Jiwoo’s always been a jokester. Nothing new there, so don’t worry about anything, Chae.”

“Aww…” Chaeyeon puts her palms on her chest at his remark, while Jiwoo lets out a chuckle while gulping down her glass of water. “You too really have softened at each other during my trip, haven’t you?”

“Hmm…” Jiwoo places her glass on the counter with a wider smile. “I don’t know about him, unnie… But I’d say he got much, much harder.” She looks at him with a quick wink.

Chaeyeon’s eyes widen and her mouth gapes at her girlfriend’s quip, Honggi muffles his laughter through his knuckle. “That’s, uhh, that’s one way of putting it.”

= = =

The next day has passed. Over lunch, employees of the broadcasting station make the time to enable their caffeine addictions and refill their hunger after four hours. Honggi feels utmost consolation surges through his heavier exhales, realizing he had gotten the approval of his supervisors. “Ratings are indeed looking good... Great job, Honggi-ssi!”

While exiting his office with his colleagues, Honggi receives a text from Chaeyeon. He did not stay at her place last night simply because he didn’t pack up any extra clothes, hence reading her message on time makes him yearn to meet her even more, since he has been itching to check out how she’s been doing at the other office.

“Hey,” he greets her with a warm smile, although concern arises on his thoughts, seeing the woman’s simper. “How’s your morning?”

She scratches the back of her hair. “Could’ve been better, to be honest…”

He already knows, having read her somewhat blank and forced expression. His mind is washed with regret, wishing he should've stayed long enough at their place. Maybe they would've played a long game of Minecraft on her server, took a late night snack, or just watched the latest hockey match with Jiwoo while he sits on the cuck chair, as he calls it. After all, they're in a committed relationship now, so not everything has to be about sex. Thankfully, they're both mature enough to confide in each other, especially during their lowest points.

“Ever since our team has reached out to additional partners,” she continues. “There’s a demand for new proposals from the execs on what our next programs should be… Like, it’s three times more than last time, you know?”

“That’s true,” he nods, slowly rubbing his fingers on her palms. It’s always been a subtle way for him to comfort her in this situation. “We’re back to hell week, aren’t we?”

“Exactly…” She slowly looks down on the floor, grumbling. “And well, I didn’t expect that overseeing a lot of them would be just as difficult, if having to come up with one myself wasn’t hard enough.”

He feels for her struggle. Even when they’re on the same level, they worked their asses five to six times a week, pitching ideas and executing projects for their station. He may not always hear such complaints from her, her face evokes signs of doubt and perhaps, defeat. It’s as if Chaeyeon’s role and tasks haven’t changed much at first glance despite being promoted to being a leader of her own team. Nevertheless, he wants to show his support and presence to her, reminding her that nothing has to change for the worse just because they’re not always together every morning.

He places his palms on the left side of her face, warming up her cold demeanor. He adds his comfort with a peck on each of her cheeks, making Chaeyeon coo while looking down in shyness. “Yah… Babe…”

“Chae… Just because we’re together, that doesn’t mean I can’t help you out like any other colleague. Your position may be much higher now but we’re still in the same department, aren’t we? You shouldn’t forget, it’s okay to ask for help at times…”

“You’re right…” Chaeyeon leans her head on her beloved’s chest, finding comfort in the soft yet tender surface of his chest, catching his latest berries-flavored perfume—which she bought for him from Jeju—and his calming heartbeat. “Gomawo, babe.”

He wraps his arms around his beloved, nuzzling his nose on her hair as his nose whiffs the alluring scent of her brand new organic shampoo. “Anything for you, Peachae…”

They close their distance, passionately touching lips. The woman, savoring the rising heat between their mouths, closes their distance with such insurmountable yearning.

“Fuck—” Honggi takes a breather, chuckling alongside his lover. “That was… Wow…”

“I know,” Chaeyeon giggles. “And, umm, you know… I may need some help for now.”

“Sure, babe,” he complies, still a little lightheaded as he is gullible to her advances. “What may I be of assistance?”

He sees her smile of innocence widen into a suggestive grin. She trails her fingers on the edge of his blazer until they reach his crotch. “I just need a little moment… To unwind.”

Without any other response aside from “Follow me,” she walks and takes him into the emergency exit stairs of the upper floor. They’ve never been adventurous at work since all their nights of releases take place at each other's places, but Honggi has always been open-minded enough to follow her lead and explore each other… Elsewhere. Reaching a blind spot from any active camera, Chaeyeon pins Honggi on the white wall, latching her lips on his neck. The man lets out soft groans, closing his eyes to savor her dripping lips.

“Are you sure you wanna do this here?” And now that they’re here, his professional mind and burning libido comes clashing right in front of his lover. “You don’t want somewhere else more private?” he asks, almost paralyzed by his own standing cock.

Looking into her captivating eyes, his girlfriend nods while maintaining her gaze at him.

“I know you said you didn’t want to join Jiwoo and me last night, but—”

“That’s not what I meant…”

“It’s okay, babe. I know you were stuck at work, and it paid off… I just remember the stuff you’ve been doing.”

His head tilts to the side. “Did that make you jealous?”

“Of Jiwoo?” Her tone comes off as defensive. “No, no, I’m not jealous of anyone. I’m probably the happiest, finding out you did it together and all that.”

Still, he believes her. “But I’m guessing there’s a but…” he infers. So he listens on.

Chaeyeon chuckles without a sound, although her face still radiates with hesitation. “You two have been a little more adventurous.” She doesn’t know whether to feel more embarrassed or bold, considering that she’s feeling both. “At least, compared to us back then… That's, uh, kinda what I was jealous of, Honggi.”

There’s a heap of relief and intrigue flowing through him. “Oh…” He suppresses a smirk.

“And if you didn’t notice before…” She takes a step closer to him. “I realized that I've been used to being the dominant one…” And another. “Both with you and Jiwoo…”

He's got a hunch of what she's implying. “Now, you—”

“I want to feel those things, too, baby..." she coos. “I want you to take the lead this time.”

His smirk finally arises from his lips. This will be a little milestone in their relationship. “Well… Your pleasure is mine to fulfill, Mommy.”

Hunger pulls their lips back together like a primitive magnet, exchanging saliva and howling in-between while their fingers climb and tug onto the fabric of their blouse.

Until… She stops right as she reaches his bulge, much to his confusion. The woman rests on his forehead, catching up to her breath. “Mianhae, oppa…”

“Hey, hey… It's okay,” he huffs. “It’s not that weird to take a breather.”

“That, and I just thought of something that can help us speed things up, you know?”

“Well, you don't have to worry that much. We still got less than thirty minutes.”

“Yeah…” She lowers her voice. “But that's not what I mean by speeding things up.”

The woman slowly kneels on the smooth, cold floor, bending closer to his erect member. “It must’ve been dying to get out of these pants, hasn’t it?” Chaeyeon slowly tightens her fingers around his scrotum, making the man bite his lower lip. “Well… It’s time to let the big bull out.”

Honggi can only muffle a groan out of anticipation while he hears her unzip his pants.

“Just relax…” she whispers. “Just give me a moment… Then you… can fuck my face.”

With her mouth, the woman finally envelops his cock. A familiar yet irresistible process. It has only been a month, but she already misses this cock. Maybe even from the day she met him at the airport Monday morning. Even she was conflicted by her lust, having had many opportunities to pull Honggi him to join her and Jiwoo, the same way he would’ve pulled Jiwoo on the couch last night. But since she has this man all to herself, she shuts down any desire towards both her partners as the final half of his member reaches her tonsil and inches deeper into her throat.

Despite feeling the chills crawl up his spine, Honggi pulls her head in a little deeper and pulls her out the following second, allowing her to start her work on his cock by bobbing her head in and out. The view down there makes it more luscious for him as he catches a glimpse of Chaeyeon’s throbbing cleavage every time he looks down, bouncing along her head with his balls smacking her chin every back and forth.

“Oooooooohhh~~Fuuuuuck, baby… I’m gonna fu—” he gasps. Chaeyeon leans down his scrotum, opening her mouth wide enough to take both nuts inside. Her last-second trick incites a reaction from him, adding another groan from Honggi, while more and more of his seed drips down her face. Although still panting, the man feels the weight of his love tugging on his hands, immediately prompting him to help her get back on her feet.

“Oh, God… You, you… Wow,” Honggi wheezes, laughing with her in astonishment since she just made him speechless. In his heart and mind, Chaeyeon’s never failed to deliver and please and, eventually, he’ll have to live up to her expectations the next chance he gets. For now, his lightheadedness drives him to pepper kisses across her collarbone.

“I’m glad you liked it, Daddy,” she giggles, before holding his hand. “But that’s not all…”

= = =

They’re now inside the restroom, thanks to Chaeyeon’s direction. Locked shut without disturbance from anyone else, they found themselves locking lips and dancing tongues once again, now inside the leftmost stall. Aside from the gratification of exploring each other's mouths, they only smell each other's sweat and perfume, thanks to the room's premier ventilation, instead of catching the filth of piss and crap usually found in this area. In fact, that is a little too clean from the lowermost floors, but he's not complaining.

“I never knew they had a restroom like this in the building,” he chuckles.

“People rarely go here… So thankfully, this place should be ours to claim this time.”

“Really?” he raises an eyebrow, as is the left side of his lips. “You sure you haven’t done it here before me?”

“No… But I saw a few folks coming in and out of here every once in a while. It caught on, but no one reported anything about it.”

They first dated a year ago, but more and more surprises from her still turns him on.

“I thought—”she continues. “This would be the perfect time to take someone I’m with here… and find out what the fuss is all about.”

He thought he had taken the lead, yet she’s been the one guiding him in this sexcapade.

“We could’ve stayed outside the stall,” he suggests. “We have all the room for ourselves.”

“But a king needs his throne,” she retorts. “Even if it’s a makeshift and unexpected one.”

He shakes his head in embarrassment. “It’s fine, Chae. And I’m not a king, but you’re definitely the qu—”

She places her index finger on his lips. “Uh-uh… Not this time, Daddy. You’re leading this time, remember?”

Even though such a remark still confuses Honggi, this newer side of Kim Chaeyeon is going to drive him insane the longer he wonders about how far she's willing to go with him, just as how he assumes how wilder she must've been with Jiwoo long before they met. How crazier would it be if he learns more of it alongside both women? Having both their presence will probably melt his mind, while his cock might even explode due to his uncontrollable libido.

Before he could've done a move to lead his woman, she pulled him closer, resting her head on his chest, still savoring his heartbeat for a second time. “You really worked so hard yesterday. I guess your report this morning knocked it out of the park, didn’t it?”

“It did…”

“And not to mention the time you fought for me and Jiwoo-yah.” Recalling his fight at the bar, he knows he’ll do it again, if he has too. But considering how stunned he feels at her soothing influence and gratitude, he lets her slowly push him into the corner behind the now closed toilet bowl. “And because of all that, you should just buckle up… Relax… And let me help you—”

As if having two girlfriends weren’t enough, having one of them to be your coworker is on another level… The thrilling persistent thought of it is revitalizing the man while he watches Chaeyeon's seductive tease of a show with his erection itching out of his pants.

From bottom to top, Chaeyeon unbuttons her blouse with a grin. “Loosen up for a bit.”

And she unbuckles her bra from the front, making him gulp in surprise. In their year of relationship, Honggi hasn’t seen Chaeyeon wear a front-end bra before, considering he has only seen her naked at work through certain texts and pictures—either he or Jiwoo had seen. Salivating down his mouth, his eyes widened with her luscious mounds and nipples exposed. “Holy…” The woman takes his right hand and places it on her left tit.

“Eat up, oppa.” That term is something that has always triggered his own psyche. Their eleven-month age gap was never a bother, since they’re the same age, seeing each other as equals with no need for honorifics. Yet, at every moment she mouths that term—that needless yet arousing word—it drives his desire to feel her body tenfold. It drives him to dominate her in some shape or form. Spreading his own saliva all over her soft and pale mounds, taking his time and turns to kiss and nuzzle on each of her motherly knockers, allows Chaeyeon to relish with moans and giggles, unable to react with only one. From playful peppers of kisses, hunger takes over Honggi, forcing him to open his mouth inches wider, similar to how Chaeyeon had always taken his girth and balls earlier.

Honggi can’t help but exhale a chortle. “I've finally earned them, haven’t I?”

“You’ve always earned them, Daddy,” she retorts right as she softly pushes him to sit on the cover. “And so will this.” She kneels on the floor, much to her boyfriend’s confusion.

He tries to stop her from placing her left knee. “Chae, don’t you think the floor’s dirty—”

But she soothes him with another kiss. “Gwenchana. I’m already dirtier than you think.”

There’s no doubt in his mind about her willingness to go bolder, be bolder than last. Chaeyeon inches her chest closer, sliding the crevice of her breasts between his now slobbered manhood. There’s still traces of his semen left from both her astounding blowjob and his decent mouthfuck.

Who cares who’s taking the lead? Chaeyeon knows what she’s doing, he calms himself internally. Fuck, she’s the best. Yet, she's only getting better and better.

With both hands, she holds each of her mounds and begins sliding them up and down between his shaft. A rock hard, throbbing hotdog between two fresh and smooth buns, squeezing him tighter and tighter as if it couldn’t breathe. “You–like it?” she asks while increasing the speed of her movement, making Honggi feel and imagine like he is going in and out of a second cunt, or getting sucked on and off by the gap of her jugs while her lips leave some peppers of kisses on his moist, squirting tip.

“Sooooo~~fucking—goooooo~~” he wails, keeping his open palms on both sides of the stall. He finds it odd, yet exhilarating to feel both tension and invigoration at the same time. This unorthodox massage is something he hasn’t ever felt in his years of dating. Experiencing it with this stunning woman only emphasizes just how grateful he feels.

“I’m… glad,” she chuckles, keeping her eyes up Honggi's while his head looks up into the ceiling in venereal ecstasy. Within a few seconds, his eyes roll backwards as this moment takes him to heaven, a state neither of them are strangers to back at home. Even a day or night of hell grants him a trip to paradise, whenever he gets a moment with Chaeyeon.

“I'm chch—” he stutters, his body slowly shivering out of overstimulation. Despite this, only he knows the limits of his own body, sensing the fluid building up. “Cclo—ooose!”

“Let it out, Daddy,” she cheers. “Like you—ngghhhaaalways—have—beefore!”

He jizzes all over her face for a second time, with several splatters latching onto her breasts like a warm glue, a substance that she can’t get enough off.

Honggi helps Chaeyeon up, leveling with her once again, while his left hand reaches the woman's right ass cheek, giving it a slow and gentle, massage-like pinch, like a dough. Perhaps, now’s the time for him to prove his initiative over her however he can.

“I wonder what's that naughty hand up to,” she muses, keeping herself from squealing with pleasure.

It's time to take the lead. “Now, just hold on… And let me return the favor, Mommy.”

His dampened lips crash against hers, inevitably whiffing the bleachy scent and sticky texture of his seed on her smooth face. Within moments, they devour each other's face whole in a battle for dominance, although the strength possesses Honggi with his new determination to take the lead now—considering Chaeyeon’s nonstop and exceptional services to reward him of today’s success.

His conscience alerts him for a second, compelling him to ask her, “Can I?” as his right hand wraps around her waist, starting to shiver in excitement towards their closeness.

Chaeyeon nods as soon as she itches to take her panties off of her now unzipped pants urgently, to which Honggi assists and places on the coat hanger above her, dangling as he catches the remains of her dried juices. She must have gotten her own fair share of satisfaction when she sucked him off, much to his relief that she's also having fun as much as he did.

“Don’t go easy… On me,” the woman huffs with a giggle, anticipating with what Honggi has always known as her usual fuck me eyes. Following her command, he aligns his rod with her entrance, being able to do it with ease thanks to her flawless coordination. Her folds remain as tight as he last entered her, only about a month ago, yet plunging inside her once more triggers a deep giggle that he can’t hold in while his lover keeps moaning the more his cock crosses her walls, revisiting her through the loosening and tightening sensation around him. “Mmmmmngggghhhhh,” is the only first response Chaeyeon can grumble with her muffled lips, putting the trust of her balance by holding her arms onto Honggi tight until his tip makes it just below her cervix. “Always so big for mmmmm…”

He trails right hand down on her ass before lifting her left leg, raising it onto his waist. As their genitals finally make contact, the man speeds up his thrusts, slowly deepening his cock inside her each time he slides within her canal. He maintains his hold of her leg as his poundings intensify, shaking the sturdy door behind Chaeyeon like an earthquake gradually increasing its magnitude. They keep up this pace with his thumping abandon, expressing their glee through huffs and moans amidst their staminas decreasing. They pound against each other like machines, only programmed to repeat the same sets.

In the tenth minute of their carnal fusion, their lips part for the nth time; the woman's breath running thin with the peak of her climax. Despite their tight and enclosed space, Honggi takes delight in his partners’ tits still jiggling against his chest as Chaeyeon’s eyes roll to the back the longer her lover's cock keeps ramming her in and out.

“Imma—cumming, Daddy—” she warns him as her pitch raises without restraint, arching her back and slightly pushing Honggi for a little more space.

“I'm—grrrhhh—close, tooo… Momm…ahh!” he catches up, feeling his throbbing shaft like a rolling boil, its cover no longer able to hold in the water vapor from getting out, until he can finally release—

“Inside!” she begs with a tumultuous volume, squeezing her fingers. “Safe to—hnggghh!”

With four more thrusts and a primal grunt at the top of his lungs, Honggi’s seed bursts deep inside Chaeyeon’s womb. Her head throws back, leaning and howling into the ceiling as she loses her voice out of ethereal pleasure, embracing her lover’s semen gushing on the bottom of her cervix with her arms still wrapping around his shoulders. They steady their breathing, slowly huffing and puffing in front of each other's mouths without much rush. A panting Honggi cautiously lowers his lover’s left leg on the floor.

The two dress and clean up, not long after a final makeout session. Honggi leaves the stall first, leaving Chaeyeon inside for a few more minutes to give her own space. Even with her limited breath, she teases him for being too classy, something which he doesn't deny. Chaeyeon deserves everything good. Pleasuring her now was the least I could do.

“So, do you wanna have lunch or..?” he brings up, right as he wears his jacket, inserting his arms on each hole.

“Oh, I would love to, but I set up a team lunch in five minutes,” she answers, buttoning her blouse. “Would be nice to discuss some of the proposals with my team through a brainstorming session, like you said… You can come along with us if you want.”

“I think you guys and girls have fun on your own... Plus, I wouldn't wanna disturb your whole synergy or somehow steal all your ideas for my own team’s sake,” Honggi shoots back with a sarcastic tone.

“All right, all right,” she chuckles, shaking her head. “But you still should know that you're always welcome to tag along with us some other time, babe.”

He gives the disheveled bangs on his hair a little fix to the side while he walks to her. “That, I wouldn't mind. I’ll be seeing you at the lobby by six, then?”

He receives a peck from her. “No need, Honggi-yah… I’ll pay you a visit later. Right outside your office. Hmm?”

Those butterflies still remain in his stomach just hearing those kinds of simple remarks and reminders from this woman. “I love you,” he just mutters instead of answering her, holding her hands right as she parts from him with some reluctance.

Chaeyeon steals another, much longer kiss from Honggi. “Love you too, babe…” With a sheepish smile, she quickens her pace and walks away from him as a tease; he can only chortle at her silly yet adorable movement.

“Hwaiting!” he adds, raising his fist in the air. She mirrors his cheerful gesture with a wider smile before walking to the nearby escalator, joining the queue of other COSMO employees on their way to lunch.

As she leaves for the third floor, Honggi wastes no time to give her a little wave, before going on his way to the cafeteria before his tummy alerts him of his primal necessities after their thrilling “intermission.”

In this moment of enthusiasm, another thought pops in his mind. Perhaps, he ought to text Jiwoo and give her a little tease about what she missed, that is if Chaeyeon has yet to spill the tea first about their little adventure.

If he’s lucky enough, maybe he can even demonstrate it to her after work. Chaeyeon may definitely be pleased with that. = = =

it may not be as good as the previous ones, but I still hope you liked this one. there will be one more mini chapter of this before the third one. In the meantime, I'll be writing shorter one-shots next time (as in 1k-3k fics, hopefully), if I'm not updating any of my series yet. and yeah, that's it for now. thanks for the read & have a nice day!

#kpop au #male reader #kpop fluff #male reader fluff #male reader smut #kpop smut #triples smut #triples fluff #kim chaeyeon smut #chaeyeon smut

307 notes · View notes

revelxing · 26 days ago

Text

♫𓂃⊹˚𝄞.🎧 the playlist of our lives

in celebration of my hitting 100+ followers! want tl;dr? scroll to the bottom and look at the section above the tags! (i do recommend you read the lore...b/c i like it ehe)

you didn't think much of the slogan as you first stepped into the gallery. sure, the museum had been advertised as the place to find your perfect song, but you didn't really trust that. who would? life was so full of ups and downs and changes that no one truly believed in the selling point of the museum.

at first, the museum had opened to silence. no one had come the first day, or the next.

but on the third day, a curious wanderer stumbled upon the pristine white building, and left with their own perfect song. word spread, and that was how you found yourself walking into the building, waiting in the long line, then finally entering the selection room.

you were given a quick questionnaire to fill out, and then you sat down in a white, plushy chair, soft and comfortable. blinking rapidly, your eyes soon fell shut as you let out a wide yawn. quickly, you fell asleep.

when you woke up, the title and artist of a song hovered before you. already, the song had begun to play in the room, and your eyes widened.

it was absolutely perfect. you couldn't believe your ears.

they really weren't kidding, huh?

whether you've just started here on tumblr or you've been making moodboards since 1966, we all share one thing in common; a love for music!

for this event, i invite you to make a moodboard inspired by a song that you love, one that means a lot to you. it can be from any artist, and does not have to be kpop! there are no limitations on what song, what type of moodboard, or what type of content (obviously, follow tumblr's rules and guidelines though).

if you're not sure if a song works, shoot me an ask!

steps to join:

comment below "joining!" and your answer to this question: what is your favorite song? (this does not have to be the song that you do for your moodboard!)

reblog this post, and tag at least one person

start working on your moodboard! feel free to change the song you've chosen at any time.

at least 90% of the moodboard must be made by you. using other people's locs, dividers, etc. is fine, just give credit. if your moodboard copies someone else's or is heavily heavily inspired, you will be disqualified.

please add a link to the song somewhere on your moodboard, tag it with #♫𓂃⊹˚𝄞.🎧 playlist of our lives, and @ me! i will use that tag to find & reblog posts, so any with no tag will not be seen.

the deadline for this event will be september 20th. please let me know if you need any extensions!

all posts will be reblogged on @ourlifeplaylist.

prizes:

fair warning beforehand: i'm going to be making these prizes during school and they'll most likely be really really slow (by slow i mean they could be three-five months late), i apologize beforehand for the delay T-T

all reblogs will happen on @revelstation!

first place: custom header & possible pictures that match for your blog theme, two moodboards, and thirty reblogs on three posts of your choice

second place: custom header, two moodboards, and twenty reblogs on two posts of your choice

third place: a set of custom dividers, one moodboard, and fifteen reblogs on two posts of your choice

honorable mentions (~2): a set of custom dividers, and ten reblogs on a post of your choice

but obviously you are all amazing if you enter so when you enter i'll reblog one post of your choosing three times! (just comment the post link in your moodboard, i'll take that as a sign :D)

custom headers/moodboards/dividers can be used without credit, you are free to modify them and claim as your own! i hope that sweetens the prizes a little bit

i know this event is pretty broad, so here's some stuff that maybe can help you?

perhaps try to make a moodboard around how the song makes you feel. bonus points if you incorporate parts of the song, the music video, or the aesthetic into the moodboard! if you're struggling, it might be easier to do songs with music videos as well (so title tracks).

need help? just ask/dm me! thank you for reading and good luck to everyone who participates! you've got this :))

tl;dr: make a moodboard inspired by your favorite song, kpop or not. winning moodboards will remind people of the song in some way while also being cohesive and telling a story! before you submit, make sure:

that there is a link to the song you chose somewhere in the moodboard

that you tag it with #♫𓂃⊹˚𝄞.🎧 playlist of our lives

you @ me (@revelxing)

comment a post's link in the comments if you want me to reblog the post on @revelstation three times. all participating moodboards will be reblogged on @ourlifeplaylist.

tags: (apologies if you did not want to be tagged! and apologies if you weren't tagged i did this pretty quickly)

@fairytopea @suupersonic @mothselle @bambinettea @youuthh

@byuvly @soulari @swhore @lucidve @cwrcent

@dolliseu @y-vna @baekry @n-americano @haobae

@saintlysl @dolliryu @heavenurl @awwriri @y-urios

@y-nwes @florescita @muerdida @caramiuu @sunoovamp

@luvkiira @chaeryeos @sugarish @tzulipss @atsubie

@luhvletters @awwriri @i-haerin @yvanillewe @maokisses

@hourlyhoon @angelicjoy8 @studiogyu @haonian @linohrts & more

214 notes · View notes

vegaseatsass · 1 month ago

Text

It is really so necessary to watch every Revenged Love episode at least twice I SWEAR

Here are some things that were possibly apparent to others but which I only processed on my rewatch of episode 11:

- Chengyu and Xiaoshuai told Suowei Wang Shuo's plane was landing at the EXACT moment of Chi Cheng's arbitrary "make him fuck me or else" deadline so Suowei was miserably counting down the seconds to his abandonment in perfect synchronicity to Chi Cheng walking in ready to fuck

- Chi Cheng's dad calling at 12am at night was 1000000000000% arranged by Guo Fucking Chengyu, oh my god, he set them up and then he knocked them down, or cockblocked them down, down to the very MINUTE!!!, what an absolute bitch

- This way he gets the glory for "helping" Xiaoshuai but by preventing them from actually fucking in the key moment, leaves Xiaoshuai open and vulnerable to come running to him for protection.

- Any thought that he might have been "helping" Chi Cheng by giving Suowei an extra extra jealousy push has deserted my mind (though... in a way... on a deeper level. hm) because they were literally about to have sex and Chi Cheng's dad called on cue in the middle of the night. Chengyu was just fucking around. At most getting some targeted slutshaming in before Chi Cheng actually gets to have the thing he wants. Making sure to get that Chengyu special sauce into the mix before Chi Cheng can just eat his cookie

- Chi Cheng's approval for Jiang Xiaoshuai after Wu Suowei claims him reads not just as smugness that it all worked out in his favor but as genuine appreciation for Jiang Xiaoshuai's scheming. This man LOVES a mind game. Hope they can all fuck about it one day <3

- Li Gang bringing Chi Cheng to the gay club for "company business" and making sure to alert Suowei is an absolutely top tier hilarious plot development, not only because Li Gang is now joining the mind game festivities, but also because he on his own hit upon the identical mind game tactic that Chengyu and Xiaoshuai used, down to Chengyu bringing Suowei to the club for "company business". All 5 (yes we are now at FIVE, thank you Gangzi ) manipulators share one fucking brain cell. I noticed this in ep9 as well, that Chi Cheng, Wu Suowei AND Guo Chengyu independently come up with the exact same plan for recovering the snakes, and thus are at the same place at the same time.

This is also why I'm sure that Chi Senior's call was instigated by Chengyu btw. "Company business" getting brought in in the middle of gay foreplay or a gay bar is a mind game tactic not a true part of the job. Chi Cheng and Wu Suowei, please stop believing your company will be run through gay bars or in your bedroom in the middle of the night. IT'S A TRICK

#revenged love #revenged love spoilers #how on earth to keep track of all the schemes #when they're all just cross-scheming in every direction about the same exact things #why don't you work together on trying to get each other to all fuck instead of against each other #but no keep doing it this way it's funnier #dear diary

169 notes · View notes

ixloom819 · 4 months ago

Text

Showdown (P3)

Here’s the next part of the Yan!Sylus series! Please look at past posts for trigger warnings :)

The next few weeks have felt like hell for you, more than usual.

You wanted to stay in ignorance. You wanted to pretend that murder wasn’t happening outside the walls of the base, murder that wasn’t brought to pass by your information.

But you needed to make sure Sylus kept his word. You needed to hold him accountable. And maybe it was a way to keep yourself accountable too, to make clear to you your sins. Sylus protested at first, but you two shared the same weakness: you couldn’t say no to the other for long.

It didn’t take long for Xavier to confront Sylus. He had approached the base, clad in the visage of Lumiere. You had watched the scene through the camera feed. Sylus tried to persuade you from it, but it was the only way you could be sure what happened. You didn’t dare leave it up to your imagination.

Xavier demanded to know what happened that day. You couldn’t decide whether it was kindness or cruelty that led Sylus to tell Xavier the truth.

But to his credit, Sylus didn’t taunt him like he could have, given the knowledge you had given him. He did offer him mercy: a chance to walk away and live the rest of his life the way MC would have wanted him to.

But you both had known he wouldn’t take that offer. A man with an unfixable deadline doesn’t fear death, and Xavier didn’t run from this fight.

It was one thing to see the love interests fight against Wanderers with MC. It was another thing to see two different love interests fighting against each other with the intention to kill.

There were some things that Xavier did that you hadn’t known about and you did feel a spike of anxiety when he seemed to get an upper hand on Sylus.

But Sylus was stronger now than he was in game. What he didn’t know from you, he was able to improvise on the spot. Watching him in a fight helped you realize how Sylus ruled the N109 Zone.

At the end, Sylus was victorious, Xavier on the ground and unable to get up. You had watched the video with bated breath. Would Sylus break his word? Would the video cut out, leaving Xavier’s fate unknown to you?

But no. Sylus had pulled out his phone and minutes later, Luke and Kieran had come with a stretcher, loading Xavier on it and carting him away.

Sylus explained to you that they had flown Xavier back to Linkon to receive medical attention. He even showed other video footage and records of the helicopter flight and medical bills.

At that moment, your heart swelled for him. Sylus truly was going against his violent nature to appease you, even if it might make problems later. How could you doubt that love, no matter how twisted it may be?

Caleb’s elimination was more subtle. Sylus had contacts and important figureheads under his influence within the Farspace Fleet (of course he did). Not only that, but Onychinus helped provide weapons, both by legal and illegal matters. It wasn’t difficult to get the higher ups in the Fleet to dismiss Caleb’s concerns and demands for action.

Sylus would get reports regarding Caleb; incident reports about his increased aggression, unauthorized use of surveillance equipment, and his increasing insistence to reopen the case on Onychinus. Though you could only see it through an official filter, the conflict seemed to grow and climax-

Until it stopped. According to the reports, Caleb went from being incredibly unstable to the perfect soldier, doing every mission effectively and not diverting his attention anywhere else.

That scared you more than the previous reports. An outwardly hostile Caleb could be taken into account. But a Caleb where everything seemed normal when it shouldn’t be? That spoke danger to you, something that seemed like it would hit you when you least expected it.

It didn’t help your paranoia that Rafayel didn’t seem to be very active either. There’d be sightings of him, sometimes very near the base, but they wouldn’t last long, and he’d be gone before anyone got to him. You knew he wasn’t going to let this go - the only exception to Rafayel’s hatred for humanity was MC after all. So that meant he was either playing a long game, or he was much better at going undetected than he’d have you believe.

You had a constant creeping feeling, like there were eyes on you. It wasn’t hard imagining Caleb watching you through whatever spyware he used to keep track of MC. Every flickering shadow caught your eye and took the form of a silhouette, making you tense up each time. It got to the point where you avoided the windows and all but clung to Sylus when he wasn’t busy dealing with security threats or regular business.

You considered this place your new home, the safest place for you in this world. Yet even that didn’t feel safe now.

Sylus easily caught on to your fears and was always there to reassure you. He’d spend any time he could afford in your company. He’d constantly reassure you of the base’s security and any progress he and the twins had made. He even joined you in some activities, like making treats and cuddling during a movie.

It had been hard imagining things going back to the way they were when Sylus had told you that he had killed MC. Such a thing should be unforgivable, especially for the one he had waited lifetimes to be with again. Yet, when he looked at you with such tenderness and love, when everything he did was for the purpose of protecting you, when he went against his violent nature and what he thought would best eliminate the problem for your peace of mind? You found it nigh impossible to hold a grudge against him, to avoid melting into his embrace.

Somehow amid all the chaos, you found yourself loving him more than ever.

There was nothing to signify anything happening today. Sylus and you were on your way to the kitchen, hand in hand, to get a little snack after he’d been on his computer for a few hours. It was a brief moment when nothing weighed on your mind.

That’s when you felt it. The base rattled a bit. A second later, you heard something. Was that an explosion?

Sylus was instantly on high alert, head turned towards the sound. He looked back at you, and you could see the conflict in his eyes. You had the same going through your mind. You knew he needed to go there, that whatever caused the explosion needed to be dealt with. But you were also scared and didn’t want him to leave you.

Finally, he placed a kiss on the top of your head. “Go to our bedroom,” he said quietly, “I’ll be back soon.”

Swallowing your fears, you did your best to put on a brave face and nodded.

He hadn’t even made it ten steps before you felt a foreign body against you, quick as the wind, and something thin and sharp pressed against your throat. Your body froze, your breath hitched.

“C’mon, don’t do that…” a familiar voice drawled. Your heart quickened. Rafayel?!

Sylus instantly whirled around. You saw his eye widen, taking in the scene behind him, before they narrowed, resembling smoldering embers ready to set the ground ablaze.

“You’ll miss all the fun,” Rafayel finished, pressing the blade a bit harder against your throat. If his tone was anything to go off of, you’d say he was smiling. You tried to move away from it, but he kept you in place with his body.

“I suggest,” Sylus said slowly, “that you let her go. Now.” His voice seemed calm and controlled, yet you could hear the tension in it. It was the voice of the calm before the storm, a great force pressed against the barrier, ready to burst.

Rafayel hummed as if considering it. “No, I don’t think I will.” The playful tilt drained from his voice. “I’ve been watching you for a while. I’ve seen how much you care about this girl. You took my heart.” He pressed the blade further into your throat. “I think it’s only fair if I take yours.”

You felt a trickle of blood run down your neck.

You had thought a lot about what might happen if you died here. Maybe you’d go back to your own life, finding out this whole thing was a coma dream. Maybe you’d be brought to a different world. Maybe you’d go to whatever afterlife existed. Maybe you’d simply stop existing.

But in this moment, you couldn’t find yourself caring about any of that. You just knew that you were about to die, and you didn’t want to.

You were terrified.

You had to do something, anything, that would stop him.

Think, think-

“So you do remember!” you said loudly, far too loudly for the tension in the room.

Four eyes looked at you with utter confusion. It made you want to falter, to stop. But you couldn’t.

“Do you know what time it is?” you continued, hoping your voice didn’t betray your fear. “It’s been eight hundred years.” How did that stupid line go?! “Jellyfish are… walking naked, sea turtles are climbing trees, and sharks are eating grass for free. And now finally, finally you remember.”

Sylus was understandably looking at you like you had lost your mind. But if the growing tension in his body was anything to go by, Rafayel recognized your words. He pressed the knife harder against your throat.

“How do you know that?” he growled deeply.

You swallowed, which was hard with the knife against your windpipe. “…Because I was there. I can’t explain it in a way that makes sense, but I was there at the hospital. With her.”

The shift in his body should’ve told you to stop talking. But you had to keep going, had to get it all out. “I saw all your moments together. I know your past with her. I know that she was your heart and the one you’ve loved for centuries.”

Doing your best to ignore the knife, you turned your head upwards to meet Rafayel’s gaze. He was wearing his assassin’s outfit, so only his gorgeous pink-blue eyes were visible.

“I know how much you loved her,” you told him, trying to convey all your sincerity into your face and voice, “and I’m so sorry. I’m sorry because… I’m the reason she’s dead.”

You heard Sylus inhale sharply. “Don’t,” he said warningly.

Rafayel’s eyes narrowed, searching your face. “What do you mean?” he demanded.

You stood a steadying breath. “I’m… not supposed to be here. But I am. And I ended up being very selfish. I… took Sylus’ love that he had for her. If it wasn’t for me, he’d be happy with her. He also loved her in another life, and he would’ve been fine with being whatever she needed him to be as long as he could be by her side. I came and changed that.

“And that wasn’t even enough for me. I couldn’t… accept him while I believed there was another source of happiness… of love for him. So… he killed her. And I ended up taking your love too.”

The air was still, as if the fabric of the universe was taking in your confession.

“…Why tell me this?” Rafayel finally spoke. “Do you want me to kill you?”

Why were you smiling at that? “No,” you responded truthfully. “Even after knowing what I caused, I’m still selfish enough to want to live.” C’mon. “And… I think MC would want that too.”

Rafayel’s sharp breath was a warning. But you pressed on. “I got to know her for a little bit. Not super well, but enough to know she’s a kind individual. She wouldn’t want you killing me to avenge her. That’s just not how she works. So please… just set down the knife, and we can all walk out of here, okay?” Please.

A beat. Another.

“Do you really think I’d just let you go?” Rafayel spoke in a low tone, waves of pain carefully hidden. “If what you said is true, I have even more reason to kill you. You tell me you’re responsible for her death, then dare to say she wouldn’t want this? You dare beg for mercy?”

His eyes were slits of unforgiveness. “Choke on your own blood. On your arrogance.”

His hand pushed down into your neck.

Another force pushed back.

Confusion, then distress flickered in his eyes. He pushed against the force, but it was stronger. Red tendrils of energy pushed his hand away from your throat, giving you an opening to run away from him.

Sylus walked forward, eyes locked on Rafayel with his hand outstretched. “Good work, darling,” he said, walking past you. “Now turn around and cover your ears.”

Part of you wondered if you deserved to. You had purposely stalled for time so Sylus could save you. You had traded your life for Rafayel’s. Shouldn’t you face the consequences of your actions?

But you never lied in your words to Rafayel. You were indeed selfish. So you kept your back to them and closed your eyes. You pushed your antitragus into your ear canal and you hummed.

Not a melody that would distract you or sooth you, but a singular note. One who vibrates in your head and blocks out any noise from the outside world. Your entire focus was maintaining that note, not giving yourself room to wander and imagine what was happening behind you-

Something tapped your shoulder. You jumped a bit and whirled around to face it, your nerves a mess.

It was Sylus. His face showed impassiveness, but it was a practiced look, one that he put on when he didn’t want to show how bothered he was.

His wings were outstretched, blocking the view of the hallway behind him. Was that done on purpose?

His eyes flicked to your neck. His eyebrows narrowed a sliver, his gaze clouding a bit. “We should get that patched up,” he said in a purposefully calm manner.

Your first instinct was to brush off his concern. It didn’t hurt much and it didn’t feel deep. But you didn’t have much knowledge about wounds, so perhaps it was more serious than you thought.

Not only that, but it was a sign of what almost happened, what reality may have manifested if one of you had acted differently. Maybe he needed it treated more than you did.

So you nodded and let him guide you through the base. He only diverted his attention from you for a moment to order a cleanup where you had come from.

As you walked, you waited for the grief and guilt you felt when you heard of MC’s death. Yet, you reached the medical wing and you still felt nothing as the onsite doctor patched you up. Had you already become desensitized to death?

Maybe it was because you hadn’t gotten to know him. Sylus, Luke, Kieran… you knew them as game characters at first, but then you grew to love them as people. Even with the little time you had with MC you found her to be very kind and, while you were envious of her place with Sylus, you couldn’t bring yourself to hate her.

But you hadn’t gotten that chance with Rafayel. All you had of him in this world was the shadow of the knife you still felt on your neck, and pink-blue orbs of pain and hatred. Other than being your attempted killer, Rafayel was just a love interest in a dating sim. Maybe that separation made the loss mean less to you.

You hadn’t realized the doctor had left until Sylus reached out and gently held your hand. You snapped back to reality to find you were alone together. “Hey,” he spoke softly. “Are you alright?”

You took a moment to assess yourself, to make sure you would be truthful when you spoke. “…Yeah, I think so,” you responded. “I am now anyway.”

Sylus nodded and fell into a contemplative silence. You could tell he had something on his mind, but you didn’t want to push him. It had been a hard day for him too. So you waited for him to gather his thoughts.

“…Did you mean what you said back there?”

You hadn’t expected that question, though you probably should have.

You had the opportunity to backtrack. You could say that you were just saying whatever popped in your head to buy time and try to dissuade Rafayel. You had that out and he probably wouldn’t push it further.

“…Sometimes,” you admit. “It’s hard not to, knowing what your life would be like with her… without me…”

Silence, as both of you took in your words.

“…My last life with her was… wonderful,” Sylus finally spoke. “It was rough, messy, and tragic, but beautiful in its own way. And it gave me a chance to live another life. I won’t pretend it wasn’t great when it happened.

“And maybe my life with Miss Hunter would be as wonderful as you saw it in your world. Maybe I could have grown to love her despite our rough start and found a special happiness with her.

“But this is a new life for me, and that means I get the chance to make new choices. And this is a life where I got to meet and know you. And in this life, I choose you.” His grip on your hand tightened.

“You loved me despite what I’ve done. You were willing to back away for my happiness. You constantly gave love and attention, but never asked for anything in return. Even now, when you’ve been struggling with what I’d done, you never got mad at me or tried to run away.

“I choose what I do with this life and I choose to love you. You never stole anything. I freely give it to you.”

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes. How couldn’t they with such sweet, sincere words? “Sylus…”

He put his hand behind your head and pulled it forward so he could kiss your forehead. “I love you, my treasure.”

Little author’s note: this was not how I originally planned this post to go. I was going to write three peats detailing each of the love interests, where Xavier died in battle and Caleb got so unstable that Ever wiped him completely with the Toring chip. This didn’t end up happening because I can’t write fighting scenes to save my life (as you could probably tell) and I wasn’t confident enough in the hypothetical inner machinations of the Farspace Fleet/Ever to write Caleb’s part properly, so I went with this. I changed Xavier’s fate because I figured it’d be better for Sylus’ character to do his best to keep his promise, and Caleb’s ending stayed the same but hopefully I made it a more subtle presentation. The reader and Sylus aren’t going to know what happened to Caleb so they’ll still be wary of him, but I’m not planning on him being a threat anymore. I hope you’ve been enjoying the series!

#love and deepspace #lads #lads sylus #love and deepspace sylus #sylus #sylus lads #sylus x non mc reader #yandere sylus #l&ds sylus #lnds sylus #sylus love and deepspace #sylus x reader

349 notes · View notes

abby-howard · 7 months ago

Note

You mentioned deadlifting to prevent wrist and back pain/injury when drawing👀 I was wondering if you could share your workout routine if you haven’t already?

Definitely!! I love talkin about it haha. And I'll preface that this is just what I do, but if you want a professional's advice, I've heard good things about the book Draw Stronger by Kriota Willberg.

Tony and I usually work out 5/6 days a week, three days of lifting and two or three days of cardio, with at least one rest day a week. I always make sure to do a cardio warm up before lifting, between 15-30 minutes of either the stationary bike or rowing machine. That's what I have available, you can also run or do jump rope or whatever gets you goin'! Sometimes when it's a just-cardio day we go for long walks and talk about work. Good stuff gets done on those walks 👍

Our lifting routine is arm day, leg day, shoulder day, and we usually do 5x5 sets of everything-- so five sets of five reps per workout.

I sprinkle in farmer's walks really often, which are the best for wrist strength!! Especially if deadlifts are too intimidating (deadlifts are super good for your grip strength and back, but can be a bit scary because it's usually a high weight.) You just hold a weight in one hand, pretty much the highest weight you can hold while keeping your shoulders level, and walk in figure 8's (for balance) until your arm gives out. Then switch arms. Any time my hand starts to feel iffy, I do more farmer's walks and it helps!

More specifics under the cut:

On arm days we do mostly bench press and bent-over dumbbell rows, sometimes with abs worked in (I like to do windshield wipers or whatever it's called, where I hold the bar like I'm doing a bench press then bring my legs up on either side until my abs give out.)

For leg days, we do barbell squat and deadlifts. It's also fun to do the slam balls as part of leg day >:] Where you pick up a heavy ball and throw it down and scoop it up in a squatlike motion. It's a fun one!

There's ALSO a time-efficient leg workout I do when we're on deadlines where you do three minutes of wall sits in total, and can take as many breaks as you need, but for every break you do ten bodyweight squats. It usually leaves me feeling like jello.

Shoulder days are focused on lat pull-downs for me and pull-ups for Tony (I can only do pull-ups with a counterweight ToT), then shoulder press (where you sit up and lift a weight over your head.) It's good to pair opposite motions like pushing/pulling! I think we also tend to do bicep curls on these days? They're a grab-bag of whatever extra stuff we want to do.

This schedule is not super rigorous, but is enough that I push myself to do something almost every day while usually not being so exhausted that it cuts into my work. It's the kind of thing that I can keep up for the rest of my life, which is what I'm interested in! Maintaining a routine to protect my joints and mobility for as long as I can ✌️

I used to see working out and the gym in general as something I was punishing myself with, and that meant it was a miserable part of my day and working myself up to it was a mentally exhausting task. But Tony has been really helpful in shifting the way I view working out as something more like regular maintenance, and of course it helps that I found something I could work towards getting better at, which is strength training!

So while I recommend that artists work in some arm strength exercises, I do feel it's about finding something that feels like a part of your routine rather than something you dread doing every day.

#workouts #fitness #long post!

399 notes · View notes

santaasi · 5 months ago

Text

hazel & honey

pairing: james potter x shy!reader

summary: in a café where coffee meets quiet longing, a year of stolen glances and ink-scrawled notes brews into something more — until james potter finally decides to take his shot.

warnings: just pure fluff, no use of y/n, english isn’t my first language

word count: 2.5k

a/n: it's kinda a part two of raison d'être but you don't need to read it if you don't want to.

ᯓ★ now playing…

zayn - there you are

SPRING ARRIVES NOT ALL AT ONCE BUT IN WHISPERS — SLOWLY, GENTLY, YET UNDENIABLY.

The coffee shop mirrors the change. Heavy coats and thick woolen scarves have vanished, replaced by light jackets, bare wrists, and the crisp air slipping through open windows. The scent of cinnamon and spiced tea fades into something fresher — lavender, citrus, and the delicate sweetness of flowers blooming just beyond the door, carried in by the breeze.

And James Potter, of course, remains the one constant.

James Potter has become a part of your routine, a familiar presence threaded through your days like the changing seasons, turning the ordinary into something bright, something electric. Something that makes your heart stutter in ways you wish it wouldn’t.

It’s been a year now. A year of stolen glances over the espresso machine, of ridiculous drink experiments, of moments tucked between steaming cups and shared laughter. A year of James leaning across the counter, all bright-eyed and insufferably charming, turning the simplest exchange — How’s your day been? — into something that lingers longer than it should.

There was the time he nearly knocked over a display case trying to reenact a new play move with a ball for you. The day he walked in soaked to the bone, dripping rain onto the floor, grinning as you handed him a steaming cup without a word. The evening he showed up five minutes before closing, breathless, just to tell you he had an excellent idea for a new drink (it was, to no one’s surprise, absolutely terrible).

Somewhere between all those moments, without meaning to, he became something to you. And you don’t know what to do with that.

Even now, even after a year, you’re still shy around him in ways you can’t quite help. Still caught off guard by the way he looks at you sometimes, still too quick to drop your gaze when his fingers brush against yours, still hesitant when his laughter sends warmth curling through your ribs.

THIS MORNING, HE STUMBLES INTO THE CAFÉ LOOKING AS IF HE BARELY SURVIVED THE NIGHT. His glasses are askew, his hair a complete mess — more unruly than usual, which is saying something. His hoodie is slouching off one shoulder, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, and when he reaches the counter, he doesn’t so much stand as he does slump against it.

"Hit me with your best shot, love," he sighs.

You blink, momentarily caught up in the sight of him — tired, disheveled, undeniably James. Then, with practiced ease, you reach for the espresso beans. "That bad?"

He groans, rubbing a hand over his face. "I woke up late. Nearly missed the assignment deadline. Almost got run over by a cyclist. And Sirius won’t stop texting me in all caps about something, but I refuse to open it. At this point, my only remaining tragedy is falling into the Thames."

You laugh softly, the sound curling like steam in the air. "Devastating. But at least you made it here." A pause, a flicker of something fond curling in your chest. "Which means I get to experiment."

Because, somehow, that has become your thing.

It started months ago — one late evening, when James had wandered in, restless and curious, and told you to surprise him. You had. And then you did it again. And again. And now, it’s a ritual. No repeats, no hints. Just pure trust in whatever concoction you place in front of him.

He rates each one on a ten-point scale (so far, his highest is an 11/10 for a caramel-vanilla macchiato, which you swore was nothing special), and every single time, he leaves a receipt scrawled with some ridiculous note.

"You’re a caffeine genius."

"I would die for this drink."

"Marry me?" — that one had been a joke. Probably.

He doesn’t know you keep them. All of them. Pressed carefully in a box beneath your bed, where his words — his messy, absurd, wonderful words — are yours alone to hold.

And maybe, just maybe, you don’t mind that James Potter keeps showing up. Maybe, just maybe, you don’t mind at all.

Today's drink — a honey-lavender latte — is something soft, something delicate, something meant to dispel the thundercloud hovering over James Potter’s head. The scent of warm milk and golden honey mingles with the floral whisper of lavender, wrapping the moment in something almost tender. You slide the cup across the counter, watching as his fingers curl around the warmth.

James takes a sip, his lashes fluttering shut as he exhales a slow, blissful sigh. For a moment, the weight of his sleepless night, the stress of looming deadlines, and whatever catastrophe Sirius is surely texting about — all of it seems to melt away.

"I have ascended," he murmurs.

You snort. "That good, huh?"

He nods solemnly. "Sweetheart, if I fail this semester, I want you to know — it’s entirely your fault."

"Oh?" You arch a brow, already moving to wipe down the counter.

"Absolutely. I can't concentrate when I'm too busy thinking about your drinks."

You roll your eyes, fighting back a smile. "Right. Not because of poor time management?"

"Not at all." His tone is unwavering, as if this is a hill he’s willing to die on.

You shake your head and turn to the next customer, but James doesn’t move. He lingers, fingers tapping absently against the countertop, the rhythmic sound cutting through the soft hum of the café. When you finally glance back up, he's looking at you.

And not just looking.

It’s that expression — the one that makes your stomach flip, the one that sends warmth curling up your spine like steam from an untouched cup. That gaze, dark and steady, laced with something dangerous. Something unreadable.

Something that makes your heart pound far faster than it should.

Damn James Potter.

You clear your throat, forcing yourself to focus on the register. "What?" you ask, trying to sound unimpressed, ignoring the way your pulse betrays you.

He only smiles, slow and knowing. "Nothing," he says lightly. "Just waiting for my receipt."

Your lips twitch despite yourself. Biting back a blush, you tear the slip of paper from the machine and hand it over, along with the pen. He takes his time, scrawling something with that familiar lazy confidence before sliding it back across the counter.

You glance down.

"9.5/10. But still not as sweet as you."

Heat rushes to your cheeks, so fast and so overwhelming that you don’t even try to fight it. A smile tugs at your lips, helpless, inevitable.

James winks.

And then he’s gone, the bell above the door chiming softly in his wake, the scent of honey and lavender lingering behind him like a secret.

AND SO IT GOES, DAY AFTER DAY.

James keeps showing up — sometimes sleep-rumpled, his glasses slipping down his nose as he yawns into his hoodie, sometimes fresh from a workout, windblown and flushed, damp curls clinging to his forehead. He drapes a windbreaker over his shoulders like a careless afterthought, all easy grins and warm eyes, always irritatingly, effortlessly charming.

And you?

You keep making him new drinks. Coconut cold brew on the first truly warm afternoon of spring, strawberry matcha latte when the scent of fresh berries lingers in the air, cappuccino with sweet maple cream on a drizzly morning when the world feels a little too gray. Each one is a surprise, a silent challenge, a reason to watch the way his face lights up with the first sip.

And James — James keeps leaving you notes.

"10/10. I’m thinking about changing my major to yours, just to see you more often." "9/10. Would’ve been a 10, but you didn’t smile at me enough today." "11/10. Maybe I’m in love. Who can tell?"

Marlene loses her mind every time she sees them. She waves them in your face, eyes wide with exasperation. "This is flirting," she huffs. "He’s flirting with you. You see that, right?"

Of course you see.

And worse — you feel it.

In the way your pulse trips over itself whenever his fingers brush against yours as he takes his drink. In the way your body gives you away before your mind can stop it, warmth pooling low in your stomach, a restless kind of anticipation curling in your chest.

But it’s James Potter.

James, who flirts with everyone. Who can make anyone feel like they’re the only person in the room.

So you tuck it away, tell yourself it’s nothing, tell yourself he’s just a regular customer. A boy with an easy smile and a penchant for ridiculous notes, who leaves you generous tips and lifts your mood on long shifts.

Nothing more than that.

And certainly nothing that should set your heart racing the way it does.

IT’S LATE, THE CAFÉ WINDING DOWN INTO THE KIND OF QUIET THAT FEELS ALMOST SACRED. The last traces of coffee and warm pastries linger in the air, mingling with something softer—the scent of wildflowers cradled in your hands, delicate and trembling.

You’re just about to lock up when the bell above the door chimes.

James Potter steps inside.

And, oh.

He looks different tonight. Too different. Not the usual whirlwind of hoodies and windblown curls, not the usual sleep-rumpled charm that makes you roll your eyes but secretly warms your chest. No — this James is something else entirely. His hoodie is gone, replaced by a loose button-down, the sleeves rolled up in a way that does unfair things to his forearms. The soft light catches in his hair, bringing out hints of copper, and his shirt stretches over his shoulders just right.

You grip the cloth in your hands a little tighter, pulse stuttering as you immediately drop your gaze to the counter, pretending to be far too occupied with wiping away an invisible stain.

It doesn’t help.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he greets, slipping into his usual seat at the counter, voice warm, rich — like the first sip of coffee on a slow morning.

Your fingers twitch around the cloth. Your throat feels inexplicably dry.

“You’re here late,” you manage, setting the rag aside and washing your hands, focusing very intently on the way the water runs over your skin. Anything to avoid looking at him for too long.

“Yeah,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Urgent matters. But now I’m here, and– ” A pause. A breath. And then, a smile, slower than usual, softer. “I needed my daily dose of that magic you put in your drinks.”

You swallow, biting your lip to keep from smiling too much. He always says things like this, always flirts so effortlessly, and yet it still gets to you every single time. It’s unfair.

You shake your head, trying to school your expression into something unimpressed, something unaffected, already reaching for the coffee machine when–

James catches your wrist.

Oh.

Your breath snags.

His hand is warm. Big. The kind of warm that seeps into your skin, lingers in your bones. His fingers graze over your palm with something almost absentminded, a slow, lazy touch, but your body reacts like it’s something more — like it means something.

Your heart trips over itself.

You’re suddenly hyperaware of everything — the quiet hum of the café, the way his thumb barely brushes your wrist, the way your knees feel a little unsteady. You blink at him, wide-eyed, trying desperately to ignore the heat creeping up your neck.

James doesn’t let go.

He’s still smirking, of course he’s still smirking, but–

But there’s something else there, something just a little hesitant, a little nervous. And that does something to you, something warm and uncertain and dangerous.

You open your mouth, not entirely sure what you’re about to say, only to close it again when you realize your voice might betray you.

James tilts his head slightly, his grip just a fraction tighter. His smirk deepens, but his eyes are unbearably gentle.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “Breathe, sweetheart.”

And, well — you’re trying.

You really are.

"Actually," James says, voice unusually careful, "I didn’t come for coffee today."

You blink. "No?"

He shakes his head, then — hesitates.

And that’s new.

James Potter doesn’t hesitate. He’s all easy grins and reckless confidence, the kind of person who leaps before looking, who never second-guesses himself. But now — now his fingers twitch slightly where they’re still wrapped around yours, his gaze dropping to the point of contact. He takes a breath, deep and steady, as if trying to gather his thoughts.

"I was wondering," he begins, adjusting his glasses, "if you'd like to… I don’t know. Maybe we could go have a coffee somewhere else. With me. Like… on a date."

There’s a short circuit in your brain.

A date.

You must be dreaming. That’s the only explanation. Why would James Potter — James Potter — ask you out? You’re just the barista who makes his coffee, the girl behind the counter. Sure, there’s been harmless flirting, an entire year of ridiculous notes and lingering glances, but this?

James watches your expression shift, and something fond flickers across his face. He leans forward slightly, as if letting you in on some great secret.

"Yeah, you know," he teases. "A date. It’s when two people meet and do something romantic, and ideally– " his smirk deepens, " –one of them kisses the other at the end."

Heat flares up your neck. "James."

His grin is positively wicked. "Yes, my love?"

And, oh — he knows.

He already knows your answer, sees it written across your face in the way your fingers curl slightly against his, in the way your breath hitches, in the way you haven’t let go.

The air between you is thick with something golden, something trembling on the edge of possibility. Outside, the sky is painted in soft pastels, the scent of fresh flowers drifting in through the open door. Everything feels warm and new, like the first breath of summer. Or maybe — maybe — it’s just him.

Still, you keep him waiting. Just for a second.

"Only if you choose the coffee this time," you say, tilting your chin up slightly, feigning nonchalance even as your pulse pounds in your ears.

James’ answering smile is dazzling. He squeezes your hand, eyes shining with something you can’t name yet — but, oh, you want to.

"Agreed."

The golden light floods the café, the smell of coffee and wildflowers wrapping around you both like a promise. And when you look at James Potter, grinning like an idiot, you realize–

There is no maybe anymore.

Now, everything is for sure.

And you’re definitely glad you switched shifts with Marlene that day a year back.

thankx for reading <з

it was the most spontaneous decision to write a part two for raison d'être, but i went to this café with my friend and just couldn't stop thinking about james and barista!reader. so here we are.

you’re always welcome to share your thoughts in the comments or my inbox :3

– your santi 🪐

masterlist

#– santi 🪐#james potter x reader #james potter x you #james potter x y/n #james potter x fem!reader #james potter fluff #james potter fic

255 notes · View notes

levanterhaze · 3 months ago

Text

SUPERNATURAL, BANGCHAN

♡ ― 󠀬󠀬producer!bangchan x f!reader praise kink, unprotected sex, rough sex, possessiveness, creampie, mention of anxiety, slightly toxic relationship, phone sex, dirty talk, fingering, thigh riding, overstimulation, masturbation (both receiving), angst and a bit of fluff bc why not?

♡ synopsis ― You left Bangchan to protect your heart. He waited, hoping you'd come back. A silent month, one crowded room, and the gravity between you never left. Some loves don’t vanish—they haunt, they ache, and if you’re lucky, they bloom again.

[14.2k words ]♡― guys, here is part two as promised! thank you to everyone who read and commented. it means a lot to me!

This love's possessin' me, but I don't mind at all It's like supernatural It's takin' over me, don't wanna fight the fall It's like supernatural

You slipped out of the party minutes later, leaving Jisung fretting behind you, calling your name. But you couldn’t bear the thought of going downstairs — of seeing Bangchan again and pretending like none of it had touched you.

Your pride stung where he'd cut it, even if you knew, deep down, that you’d both been guilty of the same cruelty. He had only mirrored what you once did over the phone — pulling away before you could pull him closer.

But the truth was, you were tired.

Exhausted from the push and pull, the games neither of you wanted to admit you were playing. Tired of waiting for promises that dissolved before they could ever reach you.

Somewhere along the way, you had slipped through each other's fingers. The little celebrations that once mattered — anniversaries, tiny milestones only the two of you would remember — faded into afterthoughts, swallowed up by meetings and deadlines.

You have tried. God, you had tried with everything you had to keep the threads together.

But love cannot survive on good intentions alone.

Bangchan's world demanded everything from him, and he had given it willingly. Again and again, you watched him choose the studio over your shared bed. Choose the endless hours of perfecting someone else's music over the simple, stubborn love you tried to offer him.

You had lain awake more nights than you could count, the glow of your phone painting the darkness, waiting for a message that came too late or not at all.

You understood — you always had — that his dreams were colossal and heavy. You had never wanted to be the weight that slowed him down.

But there is a difference between understanding and acceptance. And you could no longer bear being the afterthought, the thing he returned to only when the work had drained him dry.

If Bangchan had decided to chase his future with everything he had, you would let him. You would not beg for space in a life where you were already disappearing.

Even if it cost you more than you knew how to bear.

It all started to crumble the night you waited for him, heart full and hands shaking with excitement.

You had spent hours getting ready for your birthday — slipping into the dress you knew he liked, the soft blue one that matched the earrings he once said made your eyes look brighter. You dabbed your favorite perfume behind your ears, the one he used to bury his face in when he hugged you after a long day.

You didn’t want anything extravagant. No parties. No gifts.

Just him.

Just a few quiet hours where life didn’t pull him in a thousand different directions. You understood how hard he worked — the pressure of his dreams weighing on his back — but you thought, for tonight at least, you could be his priority.

So you waited. First by the window, tapping your nails against the glass. Then on the couch, your phone cooling in your hand as the minutes blurred into hours.

When the clock struck midnight, your chest tightened around the truth you didn’t want to accept.

Three hours later, the door finally opened. Bangchan stumbled in with messy hair, a hoarse voice full of apologies.

He kissed your forehead too many times. He promised he'd make it up to you. He swore it would never happen again.

But it had already happened. And the ache had already rooted itself deep in your chest, in a place where no amount of love could reach.

You loved him. God, you loved him enough to burn.

But you had learned, slowly and painfully, that loving yourself had to come first. And sometimes — no matter how deep the love ran — it wasn’t enough to patch over everything that had cracked between you. Leaving him wasn't like slamming a door. It was like tearing your own ribs apart with your bare hands.

And it felt even worse because he didn’t let you go easily. He held you in shaking arms, his face wet with tears you had never seen him cry before. He pleaded, whispered over and over that you were his everything, that he could change, that he would do better.

It would have been easier if he had yelled. If he had turned cold. But instead, he broke down in front of you, raw and unguarded — and you hated yourself for every second you had to pull away from him.

You felt like the villain in a story where he had always played the hero.

And that was what made it so much worse. Because loving someone isn’t the same as being able to stay. And breaking his heart didn’t mean yours survived it either.

There were nights when you cried until your pillow was soaked, your chest aching from the memories you couldn't shut off. Nights when you scrolled through the photos — snapshots of sunlit trips, blurry pictures taken in bed, stolen kisses in crowded streets — and asked yourself if any of it had even been real.

Because sometimes the happiness felt like a story someone else had lived, like you had imagined it all just to make the ending hurt less.

Either way, it didn’t matter anymore. You weren’t talking to each other.

After the party, after the final look he gave you in that mirror, you knew you couldn’t keep playing these small, cruel games. No matter how good it felt for a fleeting second, it wasn’t real — not anymore.

Now you were trying to build a different kind of peace. And today, that peace looked like Jisung sprawled on your living room floor, laptop open, working on a song, while you pretended to study.

You both sat there in a comfortable kind of silence, the kind that only existed between people who had seen each other at their worst and stayed anyway.

The TV murmured quietly in the background, a forgotten drama flickering across the screen, while the smell of greasy food filled the air — fried chicken, fries, and way too many dipping sauces.

You were lying on your stomach, highlighter in hand, pretending to read an article for class. But your eyes were burning from exhaustion and your head throbbed dully.

Eventually, you gave up the charade and turned to Jisung, nudging his foot with yours. “What are you writing?” you asked, grateful for any distraction.

He glanced over his shoulder, cheeks puffed out like a hamster from the mouthful of chicken he had just stuffed in. He swallowed dramatically and narrowed his eyes at you, suspiciously.

“Are you sure you wanna know?” he asked, voice teasing but edged with something more playful.

You squinted at him, smiling despite yourself. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well,” Jisung began, eyes flicking down to the crumpled sheet in his hand, “a while ago Chan gave me these lyrics and the melody to analyze. Said he wanted a second opinion, maybe even help shaping it into a full song.”

You nodded slowly, your body still relaxed on the mattress.

“I didn’t get around to it at the time,” he continued, “had other projects on my plate. But now that he’s—” Jisung hesitated for a second, his gaze shifting slightly. “Now that he’s not doing too well, he asked me to finally take a look.”

You sat up like the air had been pulled from the room. The reaction was so fast, so sharp, that Jisung jumped slightly, his eyes widening.

You were on your knees in a heartbeat, sitting back on your heels. “Wait, wait—what do you mean he’s not doing well? Is he sick?”

Jisung sighed, the sound low and reluctant. He rubbed the back of his neck, like he regretted saying anything.

“Yeah,” he admitted, quietly. “Been a couple weeks now. Nothing serious—I think. He didn’t give me details, and he sure as hell won’t slow down. Stay locked in that damn studio like it's the only thing keeping him alive.”

Your chest tightened. Of course he wouldn’t slow down. Of course Bangchan would keep pushing himself until his body couldn’t anymore. He was relentless like that — stubborn, reckless, and always carrying more than he let anyone see.

You knew that about him. You loved that about him, even when it hurt.

And now, despite everything, your worry comes back too easily, too naturally. Like your heart still had a thread tied to his and it tugged the moment his name slipped into fragile territory.

“Can I see it?” you asked, your eyes fixed on the sheet in Jisung’s hand.

He hesitated. Looked at the paper, then at you. “If he finds out I showed you this…”

“He won’t,” you said, voice low but firm, a quiet promise wrapped in a smile. “I won’t say a word.”

Jisung held your gaze for a moment. Then he exhaled, defeated by your determination, and handed over the paper. You took it carefully, like it might burn your skin. Your fingers hovered for a second before you unfolded the page.

And then, with a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, you read the first line.

I hate to admit

I still miss you

How could I forget?

Even though you promised

Don't go anywhere, stay by my side

No point in saying it, it's already too late

You, who I've always dreamed of

Have suddenly changed, what happened?

Maybe you could come back

What are you saying? You said that last time too

In my eyes, it's already over

You're the one who made it crumble, yeah

I can't give up on you

His handwriting. Familiar loops and jagged lines, words crossed out with hesitation, tiny question marks hanging at the ends of uncertain phrases, as if he was second-guessing every syllable. As if every thought of you had been too fragile to capture cleanly the first time.

It hit you like a wave. A tight ache blooming quietly in your chest, the kind of sorrow that made your throat burn. You had to look away from the paper or you were sure you'd cry. Right there, in front of Jisung.

Did he feel just as lost? Did he miss you the way you missed him — in the quiet, in the ordinary? Did he ever consider walking away for good, the same way you’d tried to convince yourself to?

Even after Jisung left, those questions clung to you like static. You didn’t know if this was a mistake, if it would only make things worse. But you moved anyway. On instinct. On hope. You made vegetable soup with meat, pineapple juice on the side — and carried it with shaking hands, straight to the studio.

The hour didn’t matter, even though it was well past nine. You weren’t thinking about time. You were only thinking of him. Of whether he was sleeping enough, eating anything at all, or just burning himself out like always.

The security guards let you in without question. They’d known you for years, smiled as if nothing had changed. As if you were still his. Still his girlfriend. You didn’t have the heart to correct them.

Bangchan heard the knock, confused — no messages, no scheduled work. Still, he stood, the silence of the studio wrapping around him as he walked to the door.

And there you were.

Small, uncertain, standing just beyond the threshold with your shoulders drawn in like you’d stepped out of a storm and hadn’t shaken it off yet. And God — his heart. It stumbled inside his chest at the sight of you.

“Hi?” Your voice was soft, uncertain — like you were trying not to break something delicate.

Bangchan looked at you. Your cheeks were flushed from the cold, eyes bright with something between nerves and quiet resolve.

“Hi.”

“I… um, I heard you weren’t feeling well.” You held up the bag in your hand, a little awkwardly, like a peace offering. It was oddly endearing — so much so that he had to fight the small, instinctive smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Oh. So, now you care?”

The words slipped out before he could stop them. Sharper than he intended. But the look on your face — the way your expression flickered — made his chest tighten.

“Don’t say that,” you whispered. “I’ve always cared.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” He didn’t mean to sound bitter, but the weight in his voice betrayed him.

He wanted to ask why you were here. Why you’d come. But maybe he didn’t want to hear the answer. Maybe it would hurt worse than silence.

“Look,” you said, voice gentler now, as you pressed the bag against his chest. “There’s soup. With protein, so you don’t end up passing out in the middle of a session. And ibuprofen. Just… take it, okay?”

He accepted the bag, but his eyes never left yours.

“I should probably go,” you said quietly.

But before you could step away, his hand reached for your wrist. Not to trap — just to anchor.

“Don’t.” His voice cracked. “Stay. I’m sorry. I was being an ass.”

You glanced around, feigning indifference. “Do you actually want me to stay?”

“Yes.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Do you want me to beg?”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real bite in it. “No.”

He stepped aside.

“Come in.”

Crossing the threshold felt strange — like walking back into a dream you’d convinced yourself you were done with. The studio has always been complicated for you. You loved it because he did, and hated it for the same reason. This room had given him so much — and taken just as much from the two of you.

But tonight, you were here. And maybe, that meant something still could be salvaged.

Bangchan sank into the familiar leather chair, the one worn from years of long nights and endless sessions. He pulled the bag onto his lap, peeking inside, and for a moment — a brief, genuine moment — a soft smile broke across his face.

“Thank you, princess,” he murmured.

“You're welcome,” you replied quietly, easing down onto the sofa behind him.

For a split second, it felt like nothing had changed — you, sitting there, him at his desk — the comfortable rhythm of old times. But the truth sat heavy between you: everything had changed.

“How did you even know?” he asked, swiveling slightly to catch your eye.

“Jisung,” you said, flashing him a guilty, sideways smile. “Don’t be mad at him.”

Bangchan huffed a quiet laugh through his nose, shaking his head.

"You don't have to worry about me," he said. "It's just a cold. Maybe some inflammation. It'll pass."

You crossed your arms, unimpressed. Of course he hadn’t bothered seeing a doctor — you could already see it in the stubborn set of his jaw, the tired sag of his shoulders.

"How long have you been here without a break?" you pressed.

The silence that followed was answer enough. You whined, exasperated, the way you always did when he pushed himself too far. “Ugh. You're so annoying.”

He chuckled at your familiar pout, the sound low and warm, settling somewhere deep in his chest.

“Please,” you said, softening. “You need to rest.”

“Angel," he said, voice low with apology, "I have to finish this song tonight.”

You looked at him then — really looked at him. The dark circles under his eyes, the weary way he held himself upright. Your nose was a little red from the cold outside, your eyes so full of quiet concern it almost undid him.

“You're exhausted, Chan.”

And he was. God, he was. But the need to prove something — maybe to himself — weighed heavier than his own body tonight.

He just didn't know how to stop.

"Why don’t you sit your pretty ass on the couch and wait for me? I swear I won’t take long.” His tone was soft, coaxing — the kind that tried to make a command sound like a favor.

You crossed your arms, unimpressed. It wasn’t like you had much choice, and you hated how easily he knew that. “Still an idiot. And still annoying,” you muttered, curling into yourself and hugging your knees.

Bangchan just laughed under his breath, swiveling his chair back toward the mixing table like your barbs were little more than background noise.

And so you stayed, quiet but close, letting the silence between you stretch and settle — familiar, almost comforting — like all the times before when you watched him lose himself in the only world he never shut you out of.

The hours slipped by quietly, marked only by the soft hum of the computer and the occasional sound of Bangchan sipping soup or juice. His eyes remained fixed on the screen, fingers dancing over the keyboard with quiet urgency. There were still a few final touches to make before the track could be sent off — his name attached to it, his reputation carried in each beat.

By the time he leaned back in his chair and exhaled, the clock had already passed two in the morning.

“Okay,” he whispered to no one in particular, voice low and worn. “I’m done.”

When he turned around, he found you fast asleep on the sofa — curled into yourself like a child, your hand resting gently against your cheek. Your breathing was soft and steady, strands of hair falling into your face, your expression calm in a way he hadn't seen in a long time.

A smile formed slowly on his lips, unguarded and aching. You looked so peaceful. So heartbreakingly beautiful. His chest tightened with the weight of everything he hadn’t said — the apologies, the longing, the love that still clung to him like a second skin.

He didn’t want to wake you. He didn’t even want to breathe too loud, afraid the moment might break. But it was late. You needed to go home.

Still, he moved gently, as if cradling something fragile. Slipping one arm beneath your knees and the other behind your back, he lifted you with the kind of care that said everything he couldn’t.

You stirred in his arms, your voice a soft murmur, your lashes fluttering.

“Shh,” he whispered quickly, brushing your hair away from your face. “No, no, don’t wake up. Keep sleeping. I’ll take you home.”

You were so deeply asleep you didn’t even stir — not when he lifted you, not when the night air kissed your skin. Instead, your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck, your face tucking into the crook of his shoulder. The warmth of you, the familiar weight against his chest, sent a quiet ache blooming in Bangchan’s ribs. He inhaled slowly, letting the scent of your hair — something soft and sweet — tug at memories he thought he'd locked away.

He held you a little tighter.

At the car, he draped his jacket around your shoulders before setting you down gently in the passenger seat. His apartment wasn’t far, just a short drive through sleepy streets — yet it felt like a quiet journey through another life. The one where you still belonged to each other.

You didn’t wake, not even when he parked, not even as he carried you up. He laughed under his breath — not mockingly, but in awe of how completely you trusted him, even now. As if no time had passed at all.

Inside, he flicked off the main lights, leaving only the soft glow of the neons — pinks, purples, pale blues — washing the room in a kind of nostalgia. The colors felt like you. The bed, too, still seemed shaped by your absence. He laid you down on what had always been your side, your body curling instinctively into the space as if it remembered more than you’d admit.

You shifted once, a sigh leaving your lips, but didn’t wake.

Bangchan stepped into the shower, letting the heat roll over his tired limbs, trying to shake the heaviness that hadn’t left him in weeks. But it was still there — behind his eyes, in his chest, in the quiet hum of the apartment with you just a few feet away.

When he returned to the bedroom, towel-drying his hair, he moved quietly. Slipping beneath the sheets, he faced you in the low light, watching the calm rhythm of your breathing.

He brushed a few strands from your face and let his thumb trace the curve of your cheek, slow and reverent.

He still loved you. He always had.

And maybe in another life, or maybe even this one, you’d open your eyes and feel it — before the distance between you grew too wide to cross.

You woke to a tangle of soft murmurs, distant and blurred like echoes from a dream. For a second, you weren’t sure if you were still asleep. The world around you was bathed in gentle pink and violet hues, as if reality had melted into something more delicate, more unreal.

But then your heart flipped. Because you knew this place.

The room was unmistakable. The spacious bed you used to share. The neon glow that painted the walls. Even the scent — a mixture of warm cotton and something that was just… him. Wrapped around you like a memory.

You turned your head, slowly, careful not to stir too much. And there he was.

Bangchan, lying on his side, brows drawn as if in thought even in sleep. His lips were a tight line, the muscles in his jaw tense. He didn’t look peaceful — not entirely. Something unsettled pulled at the corners of his expression.

You shifted slightly beneath the covers, your hand moving toward him almost on instinct. But you paused halfway when his breathing hitched, deeper, more erratic. For a moment you thought he might wake.

A few unruly curls had fallen across his forehead, and without thinking, you reached out. Just a featherlight touch, as if you were afraid your fingers would break the moment.

You smiled quietly. Tenderly.

“Sometimes I can’t believe you happened,” you whispered to no one in particular — maybe to the moment, maybe to him.

But then you noticed the sound. Not distant anymore. It was him.

His breath came in broken murmurs, the edge of a whimper slipping past his lips. A quiet sound of discomfort, like he was wrestling with something in his sleep.

“Chan?” you whispered, inching closer. But he didn’t stir.

His body tensed under the covers, caught in some invisible turmoil, and your heart clenched.

He wasn’t just dreaming. He was hurting.

Gently, you laid your palm against his forehead, then slid it down to the curve of his neck. The heat radiating from his skin confirmed what you’d already feared — he was burning up.

Your heart sank as your hand moved to his cheek, and you stroked it with quiet tenderness, the pads of your fingers slow, as if the gentleness could soothe him.

“You’re burning up, stupid” you whispered, concern thick in your voice.

You reached for his arm through the blanket and gave it a soft shake. “Chan, wake up.”

He murmured something unintelligible, but just as always, he stirred easily — even in sleep, he was attuned to the slightest sound, the smallest touch. His eyes fluttered open after a few sluggish blinks, and instinctively, his hand found your arm.

“Are you all right?” His voice was hoarse, raw at the edges.

But your worry was for him. “You’re not well. You’re shaking with fever.”

He groaned softly and rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling, as if even gravity had become too heavy. “Did you take the ibuprofen I gave you?” you asked, your voice gentle but firm.

He didn’t answer right away. Just offered a sheepish smile, eyes darting sideways in guilt — and that was enough.

“Unbelievable.”

But still, your hand never left his.

You sighed again, this time louder, pushing yourself up from the mattress.

“You can’t just ignore it, Chan. Come on, I’ll get you some water and a fresh dose of ibuprofen. We’ll bring the fever down.”

But as you tried to leave the bed, his fingers tightened around your wrist — not hard, just enough to make you pause.

“Don’t go,” he murmured, voice gravelly from sleep and fever. His eyes were half-lidded, but you could see the truth in them.

He wasn’t just asking you to stay for comfort. He needed you in that moment, in the way people only need the things they’ve missed too long and too deeply.

“Chan—” you began, your voice caught between soft protest and something that ached..

“I feel better when you’re here.” His thumb brushed against the inside of your wrist like a secret. “Just… stay a little longer. Please.”

You gulped. Your body was already leaning toward him, traitorous in its longing. But your brain pushed back, reminding you that no amount of shared silence or pink neon light could fix everything.

“You need medicine. Fluids. Not—” Your words faltered as he looked at you.

“Not me?” he finished quietly.

Your lips parted, but nothing came out. Because it wasn’t true. You wanted to stay.

“I’ll go get you the meds,” you said at last, trying to sound stronger than you felt.

But he sat up, slower this time, fighting the weight of his fever. His hand reached for yours again, warmer now with the heat pulsing from him. “Just five minutes. I swear. Lie down with me.”

You stared at him for a moment, watching his chest rise and fall too quickly, his eyes already beginning to gloss again from the fever. He was too sick to argue. And you were too tired to fight the part of you that still loved him.

“Five minutes,” you whispered, crawling back under the sheets.

The moment you did, he exhaled like he’d been holding his breath. His arms slipped around your waist, and he buried his face in the crook of your neck. The heat of his skin against yours made you shiver.

You didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

And yet, your heart screamed every word you weren’t ready to say.

You stayed like that for a while — tangled in silence, in warmth, in everything neither of you had figured out how to say. His breath was uneven against your neck, arms wrapped firmly around your waist like he was afraid you’d slip away if he let go.

“Are you comfortable?” you asked quietly, not without a trace of concern. “You’re burning up.”

He hummed low in his throat, voice rough. “Yeah. I don’t care.”

You shifted slightly to look at him, only to find his eyes half-lidded, watching you through lashes heavy with fever. His expression was soft in a way that made your chest tighten.

“You should,” you murmured. “You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“Maybe I haven’t.” His voice broke a little on the last word. “But you’re here now.”

That silence again — the kind that makes you feel like you’re standing too close to something that still hurts. You swallowed.

“Why didn’t you call me?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

His thumb rubbed the inside of your wrist, slow, almost absent. “Didn’t think I was allowed to anymore.”

Your breath caught. “Channie…”

He looked at you then — really looked. And the playfulness that usually sat at the corners of his mouth was gone, replaced by something rawer, quieter.

“You still care,” he said, more of a realization than a question.

“I do,” you admitted. “I always do.”

He didn’t speak. Just rested his forehead against yours, breathing you in like that alone could steady him.

“You’re still running hot,” you said, breaking the moment before it swallowed you both whole. “You need to eat something, drink more water. Take the stupid ibuprofen.”

He didn’t argue. Didn’t tease. Just nodded and closed his eyes again.

“I missed this,” he said after a beat, voice hoarse. “You. Us. Even when it hurt.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, your hand finding the back of his neck, holding him close like maybe that would stop the ache.

“Don’t say things like that unless you mean them,” you whispered.

“I meant every word.”

And somehow, that made it worse.

Eventually, he took the ibuprofen — reluctantly, like it pained him more than the fever — washing it down with the last of the juice. You watched with your arms folded, waiting for a sarcastic remark, but it never came. He just blinked, slowly, eyes a little unfocused, then reached for you.

“Come here,” he murmured, quieter now. His voice had lost its edge. Softer. Like he didn’t want to scare you away.

You hesitated.

But he didn’t push, didn’t coax — he just pulled. A gentle tug, like muscle memory. And that’s what made you give in. You let yourself be drawn back into his space, your spine pressing to his chest beneath the weight of the blankets.

He was too warm — but not just from the fever. It was everything: his arm around your waist, the steady drag of his breath against your neck, the weight of him folding around you like you were something fragile. The way he held you made your throat close up.

“Just for a bit,” he said into your hair, almost a plea. “Let me hold you.”

Your heart answered before your voice did. You stayed.

The silence that followed was thick — not awkward, not even heavy. Just full. Of everything unsaid, of old comforts and too-recent wounds. His hand found your arm, trailing lightly down it, fingertips like memory. Your skin prickled under his touch. Your pulse quickened. It didn’t feel like nerves. It felt like recognition.

You shifted — trying to make space to think, to breathe — and that’s when you felt him.

Hard.

Your body stilled. His breath caught.

“Shit,” he muttered, the word nearly inaudible. He pulled back a fraction, like he was suddenly aware of himself. “I’m sorry. I didn’t— It’s not—”

“It’s okay,” you said, too quickly, and not quite steadily.

But it wasn’t. Not when you could still feel him against you. Not when your pulse wouldn’t settle. Not when your whole body was remembering what it meant to be wanted like that, by him.

And you hadn’t moved. Not an inch.

He swallowed hard behind you. “You do something to me,” he whispered, like it was a secret he’d been choking on. “Even now. Especially now.”

You turned your face slightly, not enough to look at him, but enough for him to feel the shift. The silence pulsed.

“Chan.”

“I’ll behave,” he said, his forehead lowering to your shoulder. “But don’t ask me to lie. Don’t ask me to pretend I still don't want you.”

You turned in his arms slowly, like the moment might break if you moved too fast. His breath brushed your cheek, warm and shaky, and when your eyes met his—half-lidded, glassy, filled with something raw—it hit you just how long you’d both been holding this in.

You lifted your hand, tracing your finger across his bottom lip, and he froze like he didn’t dare breathe. Like he didn’t want to risk waking up from this.

Then you kissed him.

Not desperate. Not rushed. Just full—of longing, of memory, of everything you’d both left unsaid. Your mouths moved together like you’d done it a hundred times before, and still, it felt brand new. His hands slid to your hips, tentative at first, then gripping like he was afraid you’d vanish. You melted into him, fingers curling in his hair, tasting every soft sound he gave you.

When you finally pulled back, both of you panting, your forehead rested gently against his. Your palm brushed his cheek, still warm, still flushed.

“How are you feeling?” you whispered.

His answer was breathless. “Never felt better.”

But his body told the truth—tense, trembling, undeniably hard against you. The heat between you was unmistakable, alive. And when your hand drifted down, slowly, his eyes widened in disbelief. You didn’t rush. Just rested your palm over him, gentle, steady.

His breath hitched. Then he caught your wrist.

“You shouldn’t,” he murmured, voice rough and low. His fingers around your wrist weren’t firm—they were trembling. “Not if you don’t mean it.”

You looked at him. Steady. Sure.

“I want to,” you said, soft but clear, like a vow.

The moment stretched—charged, delicate. His grip loosened, and his gaze held yours like he was afraid he’d fall in if he blinked.

You leaned in, your voice brushing his skin: “Let me take care of you.” A beat. “Let me make you feel good”.

Your hand slipped beneath the waistband of his sweats, fingers searching until you found him—already hard, warm, and slick at the tip with need. He sucked in a sharp breath and caught your wrist, his grip tight but trembling.

Whatever resolve he had left shattered right then. His hand fell away.

You touched him through the soft cotton of his boxers, slow and measured, feeling him twitch beneath your palm. His hips shifted, desperate to stay still, desperate not to beg. You bit your lip, gaze dropping as you peeled the last barrier away and took him into your hand—hot, veiny, heavy against your skin, damp with arousal.

Bangchan’s head fell back, a low grunt breaking from his chest, raw and guttural. His fingers dug into your waist like he was grounding himself, trying not to lose control.

You swiped your thumb along the red tip, catching the silky there and spreading it in slow circles. He made a sound—part moan, part exhale—and you could feel the tension melting in him with every careful stroke.

You licked your fingers, then wrapped it around the length of him, slowly beginning to move. The way he responded—every breath, every quiet curse—felt like a kind of worship.

And through it all, the tenderness didn’t fade. If anything, it burned hotter—wanting him, yes, but wanting to take care of him, to give him something he couldn’t ask for out loud.

“Kiss me,” you whispered, your hand still rubbed around his cock, your breath warm against his cheek.

He obeyed, almost clumsily, lips crashing into yours like he was falling—into you, into the moment. His moans slipped into your mouth, whiny and broken, like he couldn’t hold them back anymore. It was messy, aching, raw—his body snaking beside you as you pumped him slowly, then deeper, faster, your fingers glossy with pre-cum and saliva.

He gasped against your lips, hips jerking into your hand, chasing every glide like he was starved. “Don’t stop,” he begged, breathless, his voice cracking. “Please, please, don’t stop.”

His eyes rolled back, lashes fluttering, head tipping into the pillow. Every sound he made—those ruined, wet moans—tore something loose inside your mind, branding you with the image of him surrendering beneath your touch.

You leaned in and kissed the edge of his jaw, then nipped at his ear gently. “You’re so close,” you murmured, fingers tightening around him, gliding up and down his thick, veiny length.

Bangchan shuddered, thighs tensing as his whole body arched. His whines turned frantic, throat tight with euphoria as he writhed beneath your hand. His muscles went rigid—then he let out a broken groan, panting through clenched teeth as he came hard, spilling hot into his stomach.

You held him through it, working him through the tremors, his pleasure loud and ragged in the quiet room.

When his eyes finally opened, they were glassy and dazed, but burning with hunger. Like he still couldn’t believe you were real.

He grabs your waist, dragging you into his lap like he needs to feel your weight, your warmth, your heartbeat pressed to his. His hands tremble slightly against your hips, not from weakness, but restraint—like he’s holding back everything he doesn’t know how to say.

You feel it instantly. The shift. The want. The plea.

He leans in, lips brushing your jaw, your cheek, but not quite your mouth. Not yet. You press a hand to his chest, stopping him.

“Chan,” you whisper, “we shouldn’t. Not like this. You need to rest, not—”

He lets out a low, frustrated sound in his throat, somewhere between a groan and a growl. “Fuck, you drive me insane,” he says, voice low and raw. “You say you want me, then you pull away like you're scared of it.”

You try to explain, to steady your breath, to ease the heat that's already caught between you. “I’m not pulling away. I just… I want to be careful.”

He exhales harshly, eyes flicking up to meet yours. There's nothing careful in his gaze—only fire and ache.

“Please,” he says, almost broken. “Please don’t do this to me. I’m losing my fucking mind without you.”

You can feel every word of it in the way he holds you—desperate, reverent, like you’re the only thing tethering him to himself.

“I don’t care if it’s messy,” he breathes. “I don’t care if I’m not healed yet. I just— I need you. All of you.”

“I think we should sleep now.” Your voice barely carried, but it hung between you like a thread — fragile, teasing, unsure.

Bangchan let out a low laugh, the kind that curled through your spine and settled in your stomach.

“Are you trying to be funny now, angel?”

You gave a subtle shrug, your smile too soft to be convincing. Your hand rose to his neck, thumb gliding along the edge of his jaw before you pressed your palm to his forehead. He leaned into your touch without thinking — the heat of him still there, but dulled, no longer consuming.

“You look better,” you whispered.

He caught your wrist gently, lips tilting into a slow smile. “You just touch me like that and expect me not to feel better?”

Your cheeks flushed before you could stop it. He leaned in and kissed your cheek, then didn’t stop. His lips trailed lower, grazing the line of your jaw, then pausing just beneath your ear.

The way he moved wasn’t hurried. He kissed like he was trying to memorize you. Like he didn’t know if he’d be allowed to do it again.

His breath skimmed your skin between kisses, his mouth hot and slow. When you shifted slightly, your thigh brushed his, and his hand slid around your waist, pulling you closer with a quiet, shaky inhale.

You felt the tension low in your belly — the ache, the pull, the way his body seemed to mold against yours without trying. Not when he kissed you like this — like your skin was a secret only he knew how to read.

Bangchan kissed your cheek with quiet reverence, then let his lips trail lower, slower — across your jaw, down to the soft skin just below your ear. His mouth was warm and open, tongue brushing in gentle flicks that sent a sharp wave of heat spiraling through you.

“I want you,” he murmured, voice husky against your skin. You felt his breath — hot and uneven — just before his tongue slid along the edge of your neck, tasting the salt of your skin. You gasped, one hand gripping his shoulder, the other lost somewhere in the curls at the nape of his neck.

“Do you want me, princess?” he asked, mouth barely lifting from your skin. “Tell me.”

You shivered, a sound escaping you before you could hold it back. He smiled against your throat, almost like he knew exactly how broken you were — and how much more you still had to give.

“Use your pretty mouth,” he coaxed, dragging his lips up to your ear. “I’ll only touch you if you want me too.”

You didn’t hesitate this time. “I want you,” you breathed, the words tumbling out, raw and honest. “So bad.”

He groaned, low and deep, his hand sliding over your waist, fingers digging in just enough to make your breath hitch.

“Yeah?” he whispered. “Show me, then. Show me how much.”

You moved against him without thinking, your body searching for friction, for contact, for the relief only he could give. The fabric between you felt unbearable — too thick, too wrong — and the need coiled tighter in your belly.

“Fuck,” he breathed, eyes on your face, your lips, the heat in your gaze.

Your chest heaved with raw need, every breath ragged. The ache between your legs was unbearable—you needed him inside you, desperately, hungrily. It had been too long since you felt his weight, his heat, the way he filled every inch of you.

Bangchan watched, completely spellbound, as you stepped back and hiked your dress up with trembling hands. There was something so dirty and sensual in the way you undressed just for him—slow, teasing, knowing exactly what it did to him. Your bare tits bounced free, flushed and heavy with arousal, your nipples already hard from anticipation. Your breaths came in short, needy pants.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away. Every curve of your body was seared into his memory, but seeing it again like this made his cock throb—aching to be buried inside you. One brush of his fingers over your skin and goosebumps erupted like fire under ice.

“Holy shit” he growled, then latched onto your breast, lips hot and wet. You leaned back against his thigh, your spine arching to offer him more, to beg without words.

His teeth grazed your skin, then bit—not too hard, but enough to make you cry out. He sucked and licked like he was starved for the taste of you, like your body was something he’d been craving for years. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging hard, and he groaned into your chest before thrusting into you in one smooth, brutal stroke.

His left hand found your nipple again, pinching it between his fingers, twisting, making you tremble. You moaned—low, broken, filthy—as pleasure ripped through you like lightning.

Your hips started grinding faster, the soaked fabric of your panties dragging against the rough texture of his pants. Bangchan muttered under his breath, lifting his hips just enough to shove them down, desperate to feel her heat.

When you dropped down onto his bare thigh—firm, warm, and thick—your body jolted with a violent shiver, your cunt clenching at the contact.

“Is that it, princess?” he rasped against your neck. “You wanna fuck yourself on my thigh like a filthy little thing, huh?”

You bit your lip hard, breath hitching, arousal dripping at the thought alone.

You didn’t even realize how soaked you were until his fingers shoved your panties to the side, letting your swollen clit and wet folds drag directly against his skin. You gasped—loud and unrestrained—as the friction hit you right where you needed it.

“Fuck…” Bangchan breathed, staring down at the way your pussy slid so easily against his thigh, already shining with your soak. His hand grabbed a firm hold of your ass, guiding your movements with a grip that left no room for teasing.

You held on to his shoulders, trying to anchor yourself, but your hips had a mind of their own. You were grinding like you needed it to breathe, chasing the edge shamelessly.

Soft, desperate moans spilled from your lips—raw little cries that only made him harder. His fingers dug into your waist as he watched, jaw clenched, cock twitching in his briefs again. He had just come, but he was ready to lose it all over again just from watching you fuck yourself against him like that.

“Feel that? Your creamy little pussy grinding on my thigh like it needs me to fuck it?” His voice was dark, sinful, hands gripping your waist so tight it made you whimper.

You nodded, biting down on your bottom lip so hard it almost hurt, but the pleasure tearing through your body drowned out everything else.

You were soaking him—slick dripping down his skin, loud and obscene every time your clit dragged across his thigh. The sound alone could’ve made him come again.

“You hear that?” he groaned. “You’re soaked, baby. Can’t even control how messy you get.”

He pressed your hips down harder, locking you in place as you rolled your cunt right over the thickest part of his leg. The friction hit perfectly—white-hot, unbearable. Your body jolted, tits bouncing with every frantic grind. Bangchan leaned in, mouth greedy, sucking your nipples like they were his to ruin.

“Oh, god” you whimpered, voice cracking as your thighs began to tremble.

It was too much and not enough, the pressure in your core burning bright and fast until it snapped. You came hard—hips jerking, abs tightening, a helpless cry tearing from your throat as you soaked his skin even more.

Bangchan caught your mouth with his, swallowing your sounds like they belonged to him. He kissed you through it—deep, hungry, proud.

“Look at you,” he murmured against your lips, smiling like the devil. “Fucked yourself raw on me. Goddamn, angel. You made a mess of me.”

Bangchan flipped you onto your back in one swift motion, his body hovering over yours, eyes dark with hunger. “You want to be filled with my cock, baby?”

“God, yes—please,” you breathed, barely able to speak through the sensitive ache between your thighs.

He tugged your panties down and tossed them aside, spreading your legs wide until you were completely open for him. His cock, hard and throbbing, pressed against your clit, the head rubbing slow, teasing circles that made your whole body tense and shudder.

You purred, soft and wicked, back arching at the torturous friction. Bangchan let out a low, matching groan, eyes locked on your face like he was memorizing every twitch, every gasp.

He slid the tip between your folds, dragging back and forth, never slipping in—just gliding along your dripping heat, slick coating him so well he cursed under his breath. You bit your lip, panting, hands gripping the sheets like you could ground yourself somehow.

Then he pushed in—slow, so fucking slow you could feel every inch stretching you, filling you, your mouth falling open with a silent cry.

“Fuck,” he hissed, staring down at your trembling, spread-open body. “Look at you… already wrecked and dripping, and I haven’t even fucked you properly yet.” His voice dropped lower, filthier. “You love when I drag it out, feel every fucking inch, make that needy little pussy beg for it, don’t you?”

You nodded desperately, words caught in your throat as he stayed deep, barely moving. His voice dropped lower, intimate and commanding.

“Tell me how much you love it, baby. You like when I fuck you like this? Slow and deep?”

“Yes—fuck, yes,” you cried out, trying to lift your hips for more, but he pinned them down with a firm grip.

“Stay right there. Let me give it to you, princess.”

Then he snapped his hips forward—hard. You gasped, legs flying up as he grabbed them and pushed them against your stomach, folding you in half. The new angle had you seeing stars, his cock driving so deep your toes curled and your mind went blank.

He pounded into you, relentless, calling you his good girl, his perfect princess taking all of him so well. You could barely hold on—moaning, twitching, begging.

“Please,” you whined. “Please come inside me—I want it. Fill me up, Chan…”

That broke him.

“Fuck, are you insane?” he groaned, voice wild. “Want me to stretch you out and stuff you full, huh, princess?”

“Yes, I need it, please…”

“You’re mine,” he growled, thrusting harder. “My filthy, perfect girl. You’re gonna take all of it.”

Bangchan’s thrusts grew punishing—deep, fast, each one slamming into you so hard you could barely catch your breath. He angled his hips just right, and it felt like he was reaching places no one ever had, like he was buried so deep inside you he might never leave.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, voice low and broken. “I can feel your pussy squeezing me. You’re gonna make me lose it.”

Your whole body was on fire—nerve endings lit up, overstimulated, your moans spilling out without a hint of shame as he fucked into you with bruising force. The way he stretched you, thick and deep, had your toes curling, your thighs trembling, your nails clawing desperate red lines down his shoulders.

“I’m close,” you choked out, voice cracking as your body tightened around him, walls clenching with every brutal thrust. “Fuck, Chan, I’m gonna cum—fuck, I can’t hold it…” Your eyes rolled back, mouth falling open as the pressure inside you coiled so tight it was ready to snap.

And then you did—hard.

Your body seized beneath him, hips jerking, your thighs trembling violently as the orgasm ripped through you like a wave crashing, dragging a helpless, high-pitched moan from your throat. You could feel him deep inside, still fucking you through it, chasing his own release.

He grunted, his rhythm faltering for a split second before he cursed and shoved deep one last time, cock twitching as he spilled inside you. You both gasped at the same time—it was obscene, messy, perfect. You felt the heat of it fill you, dripping out almost immediately as he slowly pulled out, watching with a fucked-out smirk as his cum started leaking from your swollen folds.

“Look at that,” he murmured, running the head of his cock over your pussy, dragging it through the slick mess he’d made. “Took all of it like a good girl. You’re perfect.”

You moaned at the overstimulation, your body twitching, but still so hungry for his touch. He leaned down and kissed you—deep, messy, all tongue and teeth, like he still hadn’t had enough. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer, your lips moving together with a kind of desperation that made your head spin.

After a moment, he pulled back and smiled, a soft contrast to how wrecked you both looked. Without a word, he scooped you up into his arms and carried you into the bathroom. The warmth of the water washed over you as he held you under the stream, his hands gentle now, so different from the way he’d just been claiming you minutes ago. He washed your skin carefully, massaging your hips, your thighs, kissing your shoulder while whispering quiet praises into your ear.

When you were both clean, he dried you off with a towel, helping you into one of his oversized shirts. You didn’t bother with anything else. He liked you like that—bare and soft under his clothes.

Back in a now clean bed, he pulled the covers over both of you, wrapping you in his arms. You lay on your side, his body pressed to yours, warm and solid. He nestled his face into the crook of your neck, breathing you in before trailing soft kisses along the curve of your nape.

“I love you,” he whispered, voice rough with honesty. “So fucking much.”

Your heart clenched. You reached for his hand beneath the sheets, lacing your fingers through his.

“I love you too,” you murmured, and he smiled against your skin, holding you tighter like he never wanted to let go.

You woke up feeling suspiciously rested — the kind of sleep that made you question if you were dead. Stretching lazily, you reached out, only to be met with cold sheets. Of course he’d vanish and leave the bed like some seductive ghost.

Still groggy, you padded out into the hallway. The murmur of quiet conversation led you to the living room, where Jisung was slouched on the sofa, scrolling his phone, and Bangchan sat across from him, half-curled in an armchair with a mug of coffee, looking far too put together for this early.

You paused. They both looked up. Blinked. Then silence.

“…Morning?” Jisung said, squinting like you were a glitch in the matrix. “What the hell…”

You just raised an eyebrow. Bangchan didn’t even flinch. He glanced at you, then reached out, dragging his fingers down your arm like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Morning,” he said, soft but smug.

You leaned down and kissed the top of his head, still half-asleep. “Hey.”

“Okay, no. What the fuck is going on?” Jisung asked, tossing his phone aside like it offended him. “Are we just pretending this isn’t weird now?”

“What do you think happened, genius?” you said, resting your hands on the back of Chan’s chair.

Chan, unbothered, tilted his head toward the coffee table. “Brought you coffee.”

Then, as if Jisung wasn’t still having a mild crisis across the room, he pulled you down for a kiss — slow, the kind that ignored all forms of social etiquette.

You smiled against his mouth. “You’re really not gonna explain anything to him, huh?”

“Let him suffer a little,” he murmured.

Then you mumbled a quick thanks and made your way to the kitchen, the coffee already saving your life with each sip.

“You know,” Jisung called out, “it’s kinda nice having you two back. I felt like an orphan. Like… my parents split up and never explained why.”

You gave him a look over your mug. “You’re a grown ass man.”

Bangchan laughed under his breath, clearly enjoying the chaos.

“Hey,” Jisung pointed at you with faux seriousness, “some respect for your kid. I’ve been rooting for this relationship since day one.”

“Appreciate it, bro” Chan said.

You moved back into the living room, the warmth of the coffee grounding you. “Okay, but what are you even doing here this early?”

“First of all, it’s almost noon,” he said, raising his brows. You mirrored his expression behind your cup, mocking him wordlessly.

“Second,” he continued, undeterred, “I couldn’t wait to show this to my guy.”

He held out an envelope like he was about to hand over state secrets. You took it, eyes narrowing slightly. Inside was a glossy invitation. Formal, all-gold serif fonts. A music industry awards event. You scanned the details and caught it near the bottom: 3RACHA nominated for Producer of the Year.

You looked up. Jisung looked like he might actually combust from pride. Your eyes widened before a squeal slipped out. Without thinking, you launched yourself into Chan’s lap, arms around his neck in a tight hug.

“This is huge! Obviously you’re gonna win. No doubt.”

Bangchan laughed, cupping your face to pull you into a kiss—deep and warm, with just a hint of coffee on his tongue. Jisung immediately groaned.

“Oh my god, gross.”

You pulled back, laughing against Chan’s mouth.

“Guess that’s my cue,” Jisung muttered, grabbing his phone. “You two are disgusting.”

You turned to Chan with an exaggerated pout. “Did you hear that, baby? Our son is ashamed of our love.”

Bangchan dropped his head, laughing quietly while Jisung yelled on his way out, “Bye, perverts!”

The door slammed shut. Quiet settled back in. Chan's fingers traced lazy circles over your thigh as he looked up at you, soft and affectionate.

“Sorry I didn’t wake you,” he murmured. “You looked so beautiful. Couldn’t do it.”

You shrugged and curled a little closer. “It’s okay. I slept like the dead.”

One of his brows lifted, teasing. “Wonder why that is.”

You barely had time to roll your eyes before he leaned in again, pressing kisses to your cheek, then your neck, his mouth trailing heat as he bit back a grin.

“Off me, you pervert!” you shouted, using Jisung’s words against him as you slipped off his lap and darted down the hall. Chan laughed, chasing the sound of your footsteps with a low, mock-threatening growl.

Things with Bangchan were better—easier, even—but you still felt like you were tiptoeing through it all. Like if you moved too fast, said the wrong thing, it might all slip through your fingers again.

You texted often, saw each other almost every day. But calling it anything still felt too fragile, like naming it might jinx it. Still, your heart was his. You just had to be careful with it this time.

It was a typical workday, and you had a shoot lined up for a sneaker campaign. You walked into the building feeling good, excited, even. But as you spotted Mingi across the room and smiled, ready to greet him, he walked right past you without a glance. Like you were invisible.

You stood there for a second, blinking. That... was weird.

The vibe had been off for a few days, and you still didn’t know why. Up until recently, Mingi had been friendly—like the start of a solid friendship. Then, out of nowhere, he started treating you like you barely existed.

Later at lunch, you sat poking half-heartedly at your salad while Soyeon was glued to her phone. You’d been trying to ignore the tension, but now it was buzzing in your head like static. You needed to say something, ask someone, before it drove you crazy.

“Haven’t you noticed Mingi acting kind of weird lately?” you asked, cutting through the quiet.

Soyeon didn’t look up from her phone. She just glanced over the top of it and shook her head. “Not really.”

You sighed, pushing a cucumber around your plate. “He’s been cold. Like, actively ignoring me. Did I do something? Say something?”

That finally got her attention. She set her phone down and took a slow sip of her iced tea, like she was trying to decide whether to tell you something or let it go.

“Might be because of that night,” she said casually.

Your brows pulled together. “What night?”

She mirrored your confused look. “Wait… you seriously don’t remember? Girl, you were gone. The drinks knocked you straight out.”

You blinked. “Okay, and…?”

Soyeon leaned back in her chair like she was settling in for a gossip drop. “Some guy showed up, hot, dark hair, built. I’ve seen him with you before, right? He and Mingi got into it. I couldn’t hear much, but it was definitely a thing.”

Your stomach dropped. You didn’t even have to ask. Of course it was Chan. Suddenly, all those unanswered questions clicked into place—how he found you at the bar that night, why Mingi’s been acting weird.

“They argued?” you asked quietly.

“Yup,” she said, biting into her sandwich. “Next thing I saw, mystery guy scooped you up and walked out like some drama scene.”

You sat there, stunned. Bangchan had actually gotten into it with Mingi. At work. Over you.

Your appetite vanished. You pushed your salad aside, jaw tight. You were going to talk to Mingi, clear the air. And then? Bangchan and you were going to have a very real conversation.

Later that day, once the shoot had wrapped and most of the crew had cleared out, you finally caught Mingi alone.

He was quietly packing away some gear when you approached, trying not to overthink every step.

“Need a hand?” you asked, voice casual.

He looked up, a little startled, but shook his head with a polite smile. “I’m good, thanks.”

You nodded, stepping back a bit, watching him work as you tried to line up your words without making it weird. Eventually, you just went for it.

“Mingi... did I do something wrong?”

He paused, hands hovering over the camera case. You pushed through the awkward lump in your throat.

“It’s just—lately you’ve been distant. Like I pissed you off and you’re not saying it.”

Mingi sighed and gently zipped up the bag, his jaw tight like this was a conversation he really didn’t want to have. Still, he turned to face you.

“Look, you’re great. Seriously,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “In any other situation, I’d probably try to ask you out.”

That wasn’t the answer you expected.

“But I’m not trying to get caught in the middle of anything,” he added carefully. “I don’t do drama.”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

He didn’t say it outright, but the weight behind his words said enough. This wasn’t about you alone. It was about Bangchan. And whatever happened that night.

“Your boyfriend made himself pretty clear the other night,” Mingi said, biting the inside of his cheek, eyebrows lifting just slightly. “I didn’t want to step on any toes.”

“God, no—Mingi, you didn’t do anything wrong.” You sighed, rubbing your forehead. “I’m sorry. I honestly don’t even know what to say.”

He didn’t respond right away. Just studied you for a second, your furrowed brow, your tight-lipped frustration.

“I liked being friends with you,” you added. “Can we... just go back to that?”

His mouth tugged into a half-smile. “If you’re cool with it, then yeah. No weirdness here.”

“I’m cool with it. Promise.”

You forced a smile, but your chest was already buzzing with heat. As soon as you saw Bangchan, he was going to have a lot of explaining to do—because what he did? Way out of line.

Bangchan opened the door with that familiar, easy smile and leaned in like he always did, ready to kiss you. But you turned your face away.

His smile faltered mid-movement. He blinked, pulling back, his hand still hovering near your waist like he didn’t know what to do with it now. "What’s wrong?"

You didn’t answer. Just brushed past him, walked into the living room like it was muscle memory. You sank into the edge of the sofa, but didn’t relax. You sat like a loaded gun. Rigid, coiled, ready.

He didn’t sit. Just stood there, watching you. Waiting. Slowly lowering into silence.

You looked up at him. “What happened at the bar that night?”

Bangchan flinched like he’d been slapped. His lips parted, but no words came out.

You cocked your head slightly, voice quieter now, more dangerous. “Mingi told me you confronted him. That you made it clear he shouldn’t even try talking to me.”

He let out a breath, raking a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean to scare him off. I just—he was all over you. And I—”

“You had no right.” You cut him off. Flat. Final. “He’s my coworker. My friend. And you showed up like a jealous asshole trying to mark your territory.”

Bangchan gulped. He wasn’t trying to defend himself anymore, just bracing. “I thought I lost you. I thought he was taking you from me.”

Your laugh was short, bitter. “You didn’t lose me. You were the one who let me go. And now what? You think you get to control who I talk to? Who I laugh with?”

He stepped forward, but you held up a hand.

“Don’t.”

His whole body was tense, as if holding back an impulse to drop to his knees and beg. “I was scared,” he said, voice rough. “That night, I saw you across the bar and it felt like someone had ripped my fucking heart out. I panicked. I acted stupid. I know I did. But please don’t let that be the thing that breaks us again.”

“You don’t get to pull the ‘please don’t leave me’ card every time you mess up,” you snapped, and your voice cracked, finally, under the weight of how tired you were. “I’ve been walking on glass since we started talking again. Scared of saying the wrong thing, pushing too hard, needing too much. And now this?”

He crouched in front of you, not touching, just looking up like you were something slipping through his fingers. “You’re not too much. You never were. I’m just… not enough sometimes. And I know that.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you blinked them back. “I need space.”

His expression shattered. “Wait… No, no. What do you mean? Space how?”

You stood up, gently backing away from him. “I mean I need to think. About us. About all of it.”

Bangchan stood too, like standing would somehow fix it. “So that’s it? After everything?”

“I’m just… pausing. I need to breathe. To figure out what I want, not just what I’m scared to lose.”

His chest rose and fell quickly. Panic was setting in—real panic. “Can I at least text you? Call you?”

You shook your head. “No. Please don’t.”

He looked like you’d just gutted him. “I don’t know what to do without you.”

You gave him a sad smile. “You’re gonna have to learn.”

And then you walked out, not looking back. Not because you didn’t want to, but because if you did, you might not leave at all.

You kept herself busy. Too busy.

Long hours at the agency. Back-to-back shoots, endless edits, meetings that bled into late evenings and left you blinking at your screen, unsure if the headache was from the laptop glare or the ache behind your ribs. When people asked how you were, you smiled. When they didn’t, you drank.

Sometimes alone. Sometimes with friends. Usually with Soyeon, who knew better than to press too hard and kept the conversations light—clothes, gossip, what filter to use on their latest group selfie. But there were moments, in between the wine and the forced laughter, when your mind slipped.

You’d imagine Bangchan's hands curled around a mic cable. His worn-out hoodie with the sleeves rolled up. The soft rasp of his voice when he said your name like it meant something only to him.

And then you'd down another drink. Or change the subject. Or pretend it didn’t matter as much as it did.

Bangchan was unraveling. Quietly. Efficiently.

He lived in the studio now—figuratively, maybe literally, depending on who you asked. Jisung made a joke about it once and Bangchan didn’t even smile, just said “We’ve got work to finish,” and turned back to his screen.

Jisung stopped joking after that.

Changbin picked up on the shift too—the way Chan would bark about small things, like a slightly off-beat snare or a mic being in the wrong place. The way he’d edit the same track five different ways and then scrap it completely. The way he started bringing energy drinks in like they were oxygen and forgot to eat until someone put food in front of him.

At first, they figured it was just pressure. The nomination. The workload. The usual.

But then the silence started to stretch.

Bangchan didn’t talk about you—not directly. He didn’t need to. Your absence was stitched into every part of him, like fraying thread in a sweater worn too thin. He worked like he was trying to sweat you out of his system. Like if he pushed hard enough, stayed busy enough, maybe the memory of you saying “I need time” would stop replaying in his head like a loop he couldn’t mute.

But it never stopped.

He still checked his phone. Never texted. Just… looked. Stared at your name in his contacts like it might light up on its own.

Jisung saw it once. Chan zoning out at the screen, thumb hovering like he wanted to send something but couldn’t.

“You alright?” Jisung asked carefully.

Chan didn’t look up. “Fine.”

But the next beat he dragged into the session was minor key, dark and thick and heavy.

Changbin eventually pulled him aside. “You need to go home. Sleep. Talk to someone. Do something.”

Bangchan just stared at him. Hollow. “She asked me not to.”

Changbin didn’t push again after that.

He didn’t even turn the engine off.

He parked a little up the street, where the shadows of the trees fell just right to keep him out of sight. Not that it would matter, he wasn’t planning to get out. He wasn’t even sure why he came.

Maybe it was just to see her. Maybe that made him pathetic.

But after another sleepless night and another day of making everyone around him uncomfortable with his clipped tone and cold silences, he needed something that felt real. Even if it was just a glimpse. Even if it was through a windshield.

He watched you say goodbye to your coworkers—Mingi, Soyeon, a couple of others he vaguely recognized. They were laughing. Easy, flushed with wine and the comfort of good company.

You looked radiant. Happy. Effortlessly out of reach.

Bangchan’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. Something coiled in his chest, sharp and bitter and so heavy it made his breath catch. You looked like yourself again. Like the version of you he used to know before everything cracked between you.

And maybe that should’ve made him smile. But it didn’t. It only made the emptiness settle deeper in his ribs.

He didn’t move when you waved to your friends, didn’t blink when you turned toward your building. But then—you paused.

Squinted. Tilted your head the slightest bit in his direction. His heart stopped.

You stood there, on the edge of the sidewalk, wine-warm and unsure, eyes narrowing toward where he sat frozen in the driver’s seat. For a second, it looked like you were about to walk over.

But you didn’t.

You shook your head, rubbed your temples, and let out a little laugh that he couldn’t hear but imagined anyway. You disappeared inside without looking back.

Bangchan stayed in the car long after the door shut behind her.

He didn’t cry. He was past that. Or beneath it. Or maybe too tired to bother.

He just sat there, the engine humming quietly beneath him, the ghost of her silhouette burned into his vision.

You looked happy. And he was the one who used to make her happy.

You were already warm from the wine when you got home, shoes in hand, face still flushed from laughter. It had been a good night, objectively. Mingi had been surprisingly chill again. Soyeon made you snort rosé through your nose at one point. For a little while, you felt light.

But as you stood in the hallway, keys halfway to the lock, a chill crept up your spine.

You could’ve sworn you saw his car.

Same make. Same dark silhouette, headlights off, parked just a little too neatly. For a moment, your heart lurched in that old, familiar way—like it remembered him better than your head wanted to.

You waited. Squinted. Tilted your head like an idiot trying to identify a ghost.

Nothing happened. The car didn’t move. The window didn’t roll down.

So you shook it off. Laugh at yourself. You were buzzed and nostalgic and clearly imagining things.

But the seed had been planted.

By the time you were curled up in bed, makeup wiped away, the silence began to crawl in through the cracks in the walls.

What if it really was him? What if he came just to see you? What if he’s out there right now, alone, breaking apart the same way you are?

And then, like someone twisted a faucet inside your chest, the tears came. Quiet at first. Just a couple that rolled down into your pillow, inconvenient and warm. But they didn’t stop. You pressed your face against the sheets and sobbed.

Because you missed him. You missed him.

The dumb way he talked in an aussie accent when he was trying to cheer you up. The feel of his palm between your shoulder blades when you fell asleep on his chest. The stupid nicknames. The way he looked at you like the whole world lived in your smile.

And you hated that. You hated that you still loved him this much.

Because he had shown up at that bar, and he had warned Mingi off, like you were some prize he owned, not a person he was trying to rebuild something with. That wasn’t love. That was possession. Fear. Ego. You didn’t want to be someone’s territory. You wanted to be safe. Trusted. Chosen, not guarded like a secret.

And the worst part, you weren’t sure which side of him would win. The one that cherished you... or the one that couldn't handle not being in control.

You turned to your side, curling up tighter, like it might hold you together.

“I just want to be okay again,” you whispered into the dark. But it came out cracked. Like a lie.

You wiped your face with the sleeve of an old hoodie—his hoodie. You hadn’t realized you were wearing it until now. That hurt all over again.

You missed him. But you didn’t know if missing him was enough.

A month had passed, but you were still caught in that exhausting loop of should I just fix this? and what if he hasn’t changed?

You missed Bangchan—God, you missed him—but that wasn’t the whole story. Missing someone didn’t erase what they did. It didn’t unmake the silence, the possessiveness, the night you cried yourself to sleep wondering if you were loving someone who might ruin you without meaning to.

Jisung had been relentless for the past week, pushing you to attend the upcoming awards event. It was a big night—the kind that could define careers. “Come for me,” he said. “Not for him. Just support your idiot best friend, yeah?”

And how could you say no to him? He’d stuck by you through every raw, unraveling piece of this mess.

So you agreed.

But the moment your heels touched the red carpet, your heart was already in your throat.

You wore black. Not just any black—but a gown that said you belonged here. Strapless, with a structured sweetheart neckline that framed your collarbones and bare shoulders like sculpture. The fabric clung and then flowed, draped in all the right places—sharp on one leg, dramatic on the other, a mix of precision and softness that echoed how you felt inside. Every step made the asymmetrical hem trail behind you like a whispered warning: Don’t look back.

The flash of cameras hit your skin. Strangers turned their heads. And still, all you could think was: he’s here.

When Jisung, Changbin, and Bangchan finally stepped onto the carpet, the world tilted for a second. They looked like they belonged on a movie poster—black and silver in complementary cuts, all sharp edges and polished confidence.

Chan hadn’t seen you yet.

So you slipped through the entrance, breath tight in your chest, weaving between gowns and tuxedos, careful not to turn around.

You took your seat at the guest table tucked just behind the main section, where the nominees were seated. Jisung’s name was on the front table—he’d be right there with Bangchan and the rest of 3RACHA.

You folded your hands in your lap. Your fingers were shaking slightly. You told yourself it was just adrenaline. That this was just an event. That you were just here for a friend.

But deep down, you knew better. You didn’t come for closure. You came because some part of you still wanted to see him.

The lights dimmed. A soft hush fell over the room, broken only by the gentle clink of glasses and the subtle rustle of gowns. You sat still, almost too still, your heart pounding like a drumline beneath your dress. The night was moving forward, speech by speech, category by category—and your eyes kept drifting to the front table. To him.

Bangchan hadn’t turned around yet.

But Jisung had. He’d spotted you the moment you entered and had given you the faintest nod—a silent thank you across the space.

Then it happened.

The presenter stepped up to the podium, smiling wide under the stage lights. “This year’s award for Producer of the Year goes to…”

A beat. The whole room held its breath.

“3RACHA!”

The explosion of cheers and applause hit like a wave. Jisung was already out of his seat, arms thrown around Changbin, and Bangchan—Bangchan just sat there for a second. Stunned. Eyes wide. Until Jisung grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet.

You clapped, too. Mechanical at first, then more sincere as it sank in. They’d done it. He had done it. You felt pride swell inside your chest—unexpectedly warm, unexpectedly painful.

As they climbed the stage, the lights caught him in full. Bangchan looked beautiful. Exhausted, but beautiful. His black suit shimmered slightly at the edges, crisp and tailored, collar loosened just enough to show that sliver of skin at his throat you always used to kiss when he couldn’t sleep.

Jisung stepped up first, hands trembling just enough to notice, his voice soft at the edges. “I don’t think any of us really expected this—maybe we hoped. But it was just long nights, too many near-burnouts, and holding each other up when we were ready to quit. That’s what got us here.”

The room laughed. He softened. “No, but really… this means everything to us. Years of work. Mistakes. Growing. I think the only reason we survived it was because we stuck together. We kept choosing the music… and each other.”

He looked over at Bangchan then, gave him the space.

Chan stepped forward slowly. The crowd quieted again.

He gripped the microphone, cleared his throat, and then searched for his voice. But it wasn’t the crowd he was searching for.

It was you. His eyes found you instantly—and didn’t move.

“I’ve… made a lot of mistakes,” he started, quiet, voice low and raw. “But somehow, I’m standing here. Not because I deserve it, but because I have two people who never gave up on me.” His hand hovered slightly toward Jisung and Changbin without looking away from you. “They pulled me through when I couldn’t find my way out.”

You blinked, and a tear slid down your cheek. He saw it.

Chan’s voice cracked slightly. “And there’s someone else… someone who changed everything for me. Who reminded me why I do this in the first place. If I could thank her by name, I would. But all I’ll say is—if she’s listening… Thank you. And I’m proud of you. And I’m sorry.”

It was too much.

You stood and slipped out quietly, heart in your throat. The claps behind you blurred. The lights blurred. Everything felt like it was breaking at the seams.

In the bathroom, you braced your hands on the marble sink, staring down at your reflection. Your makeup was a mess—eyes glossy, mascara starting to smudge. You didn’t even care how expensive the setting spray was.

You tried fixing your eyeliner with trembling hands. Took a shaky breath. Another. Then the door creaked open behind you.

You caught his reflection in the mirror before you heard his voice.

“Hey.”

Your heart dropped.

He looked unsure—no longer the man onstage. His jacket was undone now, his hair a little out of place, like he’d run a hand through it too many times. His chest rose and fell too fast. Like he’d sprinted just to catch you before you disappeared again.

You turned, slowly, mascara wand still in hand. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I know,” he said, stepping in anyway. “But I had to. I needed to see you. I couldn’t let you walk away again without saying something.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything.” Your voice wavered, and it made you angry. “I came here for Jisung. I wasn’t ready to see you.”

“But you did.” He stepped closer. “And you cried. I saw you.”

“Because you’re still in my life, even when I don’t want you to be,” you snapped, voice thick. “Because I can’t hear your voice without remembering everything we didn’t fix.”

He swallowed hard. “I know I messed up. I was scared. I handled it wrong. I got possessive, and jealous, and angry—and I didn’t trust you when I should have.”

You stared at him, broken open. “I just wanted to feel safe with you. That’s all I ever wanted.”

“I know.” His voice was quiet now, trembling. “And I broke that. I know I did. But I’ve been trying—every day, I’ve been trying to be someone who could earn you back. I just don’t know if I ever can.”

The silence sat between you like a fourth person.

“I don’t know either,” you whispered.

He looked down, pain flashing across his face.

“I still love you,” he said. “That hasn’t changed.”

You shook your head, tears spilling again. The bathroom air was too still.

Bangchan took one slow step closer, like any sudden movement might scare you off again. You didn’t move. Couldn’t. The weight of everything, the silence, the months, the unsaid things—held you there like gravity.

His hand lifted, hesitant at first, before it brushed against your cheek. Gentle. Reverent. Like he was scared you might disappear.

“I don’t want to lose you again,” he said, voice cracking. “I swear… I’ll be better. Softer. Honest. Whatever you need—I’ll be it. Just… give me one more chance.”

Your bottom lip trembled. You tried to breathe, but the ache in your chest swelled too fast, too full. You’d wanted this—needed this—but the fear was still clawing at you.

And yet… the second his thumb wiped the tear that slipped down your cheek, you folded into it. Into him.

Your arms found his chest, and the moment you buried your face there, your voice came out small, desperate. “Please, please, keep your promise.”

“I will,” he whispered instantly, hands cradling your back like something sacred. “I will.”

“I love you so much,” you mumbled into the fabric of his shirt. “I tried to stop but I… I couldn’t. I missed you every damn night.”

“I know, princess” he said, forehead pressing to yours now. “Me too. Every single one.”

Your lips found his in the middle of a sob—wet, messy, trembling. He kissed you back like he was drowning in it. Like he hadn’t felt anything real in weeks.

And it wasn’t a fairytale kiss.

It was too full of ache and history and months of unspoken things.

But it was yours.

He held you tight, hands in your hair, mouth never leaving yours for too long. The tears didn’t stop—neither of yours—but neither of you cared anymore. Not when you were here. Finally.

You pulled back just enough to look at him. Really look.

His eyes were glassy, rimmed in red. That careful composure he always kept was gone, and what was left was just a man—tired, scared, but still loving you with everything he had.

So you kissed his forehead. Then his cheek. And then curled into him again as he leaned against the wall, arms wrapped around your waist, holding you like he was terrified the world might steal you back.

And then…

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

The bathroom door swung open with a bang.

Jisung stood there, dumbfounded and scandalized. “This is a public bathroom at an awards show!”

Bangchan didn’t even flinch. He just laughed, eyes never leaving yours. “Sorry.”

You giggled, hiding your face in his chest, flushed from crying and kissing and now being caught mid-reunion.

Jisung made a dramatic gagging sound and backed out, hands in the air. “I’m telling everyone you’re a menace.”

Chan snorted. “Do your worst.”

Still grinning, still wiping your cheeks, you laced your fingers with his.

Bangchan didn’t say a word. He just squeezed your hand and took off running, tugging you behind him down the narrow corridor and into the night.

The cold air kissed your cheeks, the slap of your shoes against pavement echoing in the quiet, but none of it mattered. You were laughing—giddy, breathless—and he kept looking over his shoulder to make sure you were still with him, like he couldn’t believe it was true.

He pulled you around the corner, then another, past a delivery truck, past two people smoking near the dumpsters, until finally he stopped—behind the venue, tucked between brick and ivy and nothing but stars overhead. No photographers. No guests. No half-heard conversations.

Just you.

He turned, chest rising and falling like he’d been holding something in for weeks. Maybe he had.

“You’re really here,” he said, almost in awe.

“I’m really here,” you echoed, just as stunned.

You took a step closer. So did he.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, softer now. “For hurting you. For letting fear get loud enough to ruin the good things. I should’ve never made you feel like love had rules. Like I could stake a claim on you. That’s not love. That’s fear. I’m done with fear.”

You reached up, fingers brushing over his jaw. He leaned into it like a man starved.

“I just want to build this with you,” he whispered. “For real. No possessiveness. No games. Just you and me figuring it out. Even if it’s messy. Even if we trip.”

“And we will,” you murmured, hand resting over his chest now. “We’ll probably mess it up again. Say the wrong thing. Forget to listen. But—”

“But we’ll stay,” he finished. “That’s what matters. We stay.”

The space between you vanished. This kiss wasn’t wild. It wasn’t perfect. But it was full. Full of intention, of breathless hope, of a thousand unsaid things. You kissed him like you meant every word you hadn’t said yet.

When you pulled back, your forehead against his, you were smiling through your tears.

“I don’t want easy,” you whispered.

He let out a soft laugh, his hand cradling the back of your head.

“Good,” he said. “Because I want all of it. The stubbornness. The long nights. The weird little routines we’ll make up. I want the morning coffees and the three a.m. fights. I want to learn how to love you better every day.”

You stood there, wrapped up in each other, the world paused just long enough to breathe.

And then he held your face again, gaze steady. “This is real. We’ll make it work.”

You nodded, the weight in your chest shifting—not disappearing, but changing. Becoming something lighter. Something shared.

And in that quiet, in that tucked-away sliver of night, two people made a silent promise: Not perfect. But real.

And that was enough to begin again.

(taglist) — @diary-of-a-lazy-woman @hwangjoanna

257 notes · View notes

wcnderlnds · 4 months ago

Text

to the moon [2] | choi seung-hyun (t.o.p)

・❥・ summary: bumping into seunghyun unexpectedly yet again leads to a night under the stars. ・❥・word count: 1.5k ・❥・warnings: none ・❥・ authors note: this kinda sucks and i didn’t proofread bc im tired but hopefully you enjoy 😭 im sorry part two took so long.

PART ONE

Why aren’t astronauts hungry when they get to space? They had a big launch.

The flash of your screen lighting up caught your attention, making you pause the words you were typing up on your computer. An almost giddy feeling filled you, knowing immediately who the text was from. Work could wait; this was more important. You slid your finger across the screen to unlock your phone, grinning like a cheshire cat when you read the text. The giggle that burst from your lips should’ve been embarrassing but you didn’t care. You loved corny jokes – you’d especially come to love corny space jokes from Seunghyun.

It had only been a week since you had met him in the bar but he had made sure to text you every single day. It had first started out with just one or two texts but it got to the middle of the week and you found yourselves texting each other almost all day long. He’d tell you some space facts, some corny jokes and tell you what was going on with his space mission. He always seemed so passionate about it. The way he talked about stars and space was so endearing.

Quickly, your fingers tapped along the screen typing up a reply. Knowing Seunghyun, if he wasn’t busy, he’d reply straight away. You’d done enough work for the day – it was mostly catching up with assignments you’d set yourself. Being an author meant that you could at least pick and choose when you worked. As long as you met your publisher’s deadline then you were fine.

Shutting your laptop, you leaned back on the couch, stretching your arms above your head. You could really go for some chocolate ice cream right now. But, you remembered that you’d ran out last week when you had a breakdown over your latest novel, deciding to stuff your face with ice cream to eat away your feelings.

It seemed like a visit to the grocery store was in order.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Being at the grocery store at 9pm on an evening felt weird. The aisles were mostly empty, only a few cashiers on the registers eagerly waiting for their shifts to end. The buzz of the refrigerators filled your ears as you walked down the frozen food aisle. There were only a couple of other people in the store. Most of them probably needing some last minute items like you or on their way to get their drinks for the weekend. It was a Friday night after all.

Reaching the freezer where your favourite ice cream was, you pulled it up but just as you were about to grab a tub – the last one, actually – another hot shot out too, brushing against yours to grab it.

“Hey,” you huffed. With blazing eyes you turned to give the person a telling off before you saw who it was. “Seunghyun?”

“Y/N?” His face lit up instantly. “Fan of the chocolate ice cream, too, huh?”

“Yep and I’m sorry but this is mine.”

“Says who? We both grabbed it at the same time.”

“Yeah, but I opened the freezer door so by default, I was first.”

“That's how it works?” His lips turned up in a smirk, both your hands still holding the tub.

“Yeah, so, let go of it,” you tried to sound stern but it wasn’t hard to notice the small giggle you were holding back.

“Alright, you little ice cream goblin, how about we share?” Seunghyun suggested. “We can go outside right now and dig in. Only catch is you have to hang out with me to do it.”

“Oh no, how will I ever survive?” You sarcastically rolled your eyes. Truth was, you were elated to spend time with him. Through all the days you’d been texting, you’d wanted to ask him if he wanted to hang out but could never get the guts to do it. He was busy, you hadn’t wanted to interrupt that but by the way he was smiling, fingers twitching against yours, he seemed just as eager.

“You’re a brat,” he laughed. Before you could even react, he snatched the ice cream from you, running to the cashier with you chasing after him.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Before you had met Seunghyun, you hadn’t appreciated just how beautiful the stars were but now as you sat here on the hood of your car with him beside you sharing the chocolate ice cream he’d bought, you couldn’t help but marvel at their beauty. They way they dazzled in the night sky, how some seemed to shine brighter than others. You’d have to ask the space nerd why that happened. Space had never interested you before but now you found your thoughts constantly drifting to wonder what actually went on in the universe. What other secrets did the stars hold?

You dug the plastic spoon into the half eaten tub of ice cream, savouring the flavour as you put it into your mouth. Seunghyun beside you had momentarily gone quiet after a rant about Star Trek. The second you had told him you’d never watched it, he launched into telling you all the lore. You had just sat there, listening, nodding when needed. Seeing his little face light up as he spoke about these characters made your heart beat a little faster. That all too familiar feeling of butterflies threatening to come to life in the pit of your stomach.

“So, I have to admit something,” you said once you’d swallowed down the ice cream. “I googled you.”

Seunghyun stiffened. “What? Why?”

“I saw an article about the DearMoon project and it said you were a Korean celebrity which you never told me by the way so… I got curious,” you glanced sideways at him, noticing how he had visibly tensed, his hand clutching at the spoon in his hand.

“Oh.” That was all he said. The way he refused to look at you made your heart ache. In Seunghyun’s mind, he thought now that you knew who he was and his past, you wouldn’t want anything to do with him. His mind was his biggest enemy, always telling him he wasn’t good enough. He couldn’t be further from the truth.

Carefully, as if you were approaching a scared animal, you placed your hand on top of his that was resting on the hood. Your voice was soft as you spoke. “It doesn’t matter to me. It doesn’t change anything. Your past is your past and, from what I saw, you were treated incredibly unfairly anyway. I don’t care about any of it. To me, you’re that nerd from the bar who texts me awful space jokes everyday.”

Seunghyun let out a breath he didn’t even realise he’d been holding. His body relaxing at your soothing words. Well, almost. Maybe he was panicking inside a little bit at the fact your were basically holding his hand but that was a problem for future Seunghyun to deal with. “Thank you.”

“Now, show me another one of those constellations,” you smiled at him, giving his hand a soft squeeze but not letting go. Not just yet. The contact was nice. You leaned back against the window of your car, Seunghyun following suit. He raised his free hand, finger pointing out one of the constellations.

“See those three star in a row? That’s Orion’s belt,” his eyes gazed up at the night sky to admire the beauty of the stars. It was calming. Especially being here with you.

“Oh yeah, I see it,” you said, raising your own hand to trace the stars with your own finger. “That’s pretty cool.”

The ice cream had been forgotten about as Seunghyun pointed out another constellation, telling you all about it. You listened intently, hands still joined. It wasn’t until his phone started buzzing that both of you were brought out of your stargazing haze. He frowned as he looked at the text telling him they needed him at the training complex. With a heavy sigh, he jumped off the hood, holding his hand out to help you down.

“I gotta go.”

“I know.”

The silence settled between you. It was evident to anyone that neither of you wanted to leave each other. Seunghyun was stalling, trying to soak up as much time with you as he could. You were about to open your mouth to speak when he beat you to it. “Hey, a couple of us are going to check out that fair in town so… if you want to come… with me, that’d be cool.”

“Yeah, I’d love to.” You rushed the words out. It should’ve been embarrassing how eager you sounded but the radiant smile on Seunghyun’s made it impossible to.

“Cool, cool. Meet you there at 7 tomorrow night?”

“Yeah, I’ll see you then.”

Seunghyun said his goodbye and left you alone with your thoughts. At first his had just been a friendship but now, you could see the small fragments of something else seeping through the cracks. It was just a matter if you wanted to lose yourself in those feelings or keep it strictly friendly.

Regardless, you couldn’t help but be excited to see Seunghyun again tomorrow. Maybe you’d have to come prepared with some corny space jokes of your own just for him.

taglist (ask to be added!): @ldydeath @infinetlyforgotten @justsisse @sherrayyyyy @loveesiren @aizshallnotbefound @gdinthehouseee @berfgrimm @fleabagspurplewife @flymetothexmoon @gemzyy @bettelaboure @breakmeoff

#choi seunghyun x reader #t.o.p x reader #choi seunghyun #bigbang x reader #t.o.p #my fics

152 notes · View notes

titan-god-helios · 1 year ago

Text

hello all !!!

i'm happy to announce that i'll be doing commissions for palestine in the same way that lots of other creators have !! you donate the minimum amount detailed below to a palestinian fundraiser (either individual or an organisation like unrwa) for the type of art you want, provide proof of donation to me, and i'll draw for you !!

please note that the art will be limited to bust shots of characters, as i am pricing it lower than i would a regular commission to ensure as many people as possible are able to donate for some art.

if you aren't able to donate the minimum amounts i've listed under my art after the "keep reading", you're free to donate however much you want, still providing proof of donation to me, and i can doodle something for you (same detail as the little guy in the image above).

if you can't donate, please reblog this post !!! it would help lots :3

WHAT I WILL DRAW: - furries - artistic nudity (nothing sexual however. i am a minor. keep that in mind please) - slight gore - fanart - pretty much anything apart from what i won't draw tbh

WHAT I WON'T DRAW: - mecha - backgrounds beyond geometric shapes and colours - sexual nsfw or very gory art - guns (unless provided with a reference of what you want) - actual animals

please note that i reserve all rights to post and share any art i make, although commissioners of that art will not be named if i post the piece.

again, note that the donations must be made and proved before i start work on the art. for pieces where i keep some of the proceeds (explained below the keep reading), half of the overall payment must be given upfront before i start work.

for pieces with lineart and colours i will send progress pictures of the sketches to you for approval, or to make any changes necessary, before i move forward with the piece.

i will not accept any commissions with a deadline of less than a month (for bigger pieces with either lineart, colours and shading or more than one character, i will need at least a period of 2 months due to schoolwork and other commitments of mine taking up time), i will accept a maximum of 5 commissions per month, and i reserve the right to refuse commissions if i am not comfortable with completing them.

rough sketch - £10

lineart - £15

lineart and flat colours - £25

---

if you want a piece with more detail or that is full body, i will be keeping part of the proceeds, but will still donate half of the overall payment to a palestinian fundraiser, which i will provide proof of for you. my prices for these are:

rough sketch (same quality as the sketches above, albeit full body and/or with two characters) - £20

lineart (again with full body and/or two characters) - £30

lineart and flat colours (full body and/or two characters) - £50

lineart, coloured WITH shading (full body, one character (examples below) - £70

please note that for every character added after what is specified above, £15 will be added to the base price.

i'll have my commission slot status in my bio !!

have a lovely day, free palestine !!!!!

419 notes · View notes

3hks · 5 months ago

Text

How to BEGIN Writing Your Story

Generally, the biggest problem I find in the whole writing community, especially new writers, is that they just CAN'T actually start writing.

I'm a huge victim of that too, but I have found several ways that at least get me motivated to write, and that's what I'll be sharing today!

1. Remember that you don't have forever

One of my problems is delaying myself from writing my book because I feel like I have all the time in the world.

The truth is, I don't. No one does. If you ever feel too relaxed about starting your story, remember that you don't have forever. If you don't start writing, there's going to be a point where you never will.

Something that helps me is to have a deadline, especially for my shorter works. Actually, I follow the deadlines for writing competitions submissions, regardless of whether or not I'll participate in it.

2. Don't get too caught up with planning

If you're writing a longer story, there's no problem in planning--it's arguably the right thing to do--but don't get overly caught up in it. It's far too easy to lose motivation, and before you know it, you've dropped planning and haven't even began writing.

There are some ways to combat this: outline things quickly to get a sense of the plot, plan a bit first, then write, and repeat, or just begin drafting and rectify and mistakes in a later draft. However, if you're the type who NEEDS to intricately plan everything out, then go ahead! My only suggestion is to finish it as fast as you can; it can be messy but get it done fast.

Time and motivation are your biggest enemies and closest friends.

3. Don't think too far

When writing a book you know will be long, beginning to write can seem like a daunting task because once you start, you have so much to get through.

Break it up into smaller pieces and focus on accomplishing those pieces one by one. Set realistic goals. Don't get ahead of yourself--we all move one step at a time.

4. Remind yourself that IT IS POSSIBLE

People have completely finished writing stories with hundreds of thousands of words before, and many of them have started where you are too! You can do it if you try!

5. Remind yourself of your goals

When you initially wanted to write this story, why did you want to? When you lose sight of where this book is headed or you feel like your motivation is draining, tell yourself why you're doing this, tell yourself that your story will impact people, but you have to get it out there first.

Visualize your success.

6. Find people to work with

If you enjoy socializing with others, find a community of other writers or a partner that you can connect with and will encourage you to continue writing.

Sometimes, it's easier to begin when other people are telling us to.

Of course, this advice is not applicable to everyone--I don't even follow it--but it's something that could be helpful to you!

7. Get rid of distractions

I'm sure people have told you this a million and one times, but get rid of distractions. Trust me, your productivity will SKYROCKET when you're not scrolling every five minutes.

Instead, utilize these distractions as rewards to motivate yourself! Did you write two hundred words today? Take a break and go on your phone!

8. Remember that this just the first draft

Your first draft doesn't have to be perfect. Honestly, it never will. Don't be so concerned about the quality of your first draft, just move forward so you have something to work with.

You can fix all the mistakes later, but you need to first be willing to make mistakes so you have something to correct.

Don't reread the paragraph you wrote a minute ago over and over, don't stress about pacing or balance, you can always work on that in your next draft.

***

Having the motivation to begin writing is always the hardest part, but it's not impossible! Don't be too hard on yourself; you won't write anything you can't fix!

Just get out there, pick up a pen or open a doc, and start writing!

Happy writing~

3hks <3

#writeblr #writing #writerscommunity #creative writing #writing inspo #writing tips #writing advice #writers on tumblr #how to start writing #how to begin writing #finding the motivation to write #how to find the motivation to write #how to find the motivation to begin writing #how to begin writing your story

162 notes · View notes

3igbootyl0ver · 9 months ago

Text

A New Face (Pt.4) | Home

pairing: Tara Carpenter x Reader

summary: after eight months, you and Tara are closer than ever. Her playful texts pull you away from a project, and you spend the night cuddling, reassuring her you're not going anywhere.

word count: 981

a/n: hi guys this is literally so short bc I didn't want to ruin it + I'm already working on another part for who hurt you. this can read as a oneshot by itself hence the extra title; anyways I hope u guys like it, any feedback is appreciated and I'm proud of myself for figuring out how to do this collage thing below xoxo

Pt.1 | Pt.2 | Pt.3

It’s been 8 months since you and Tara went on your first date and started dating; since then, you’ve shared countless memories, learned more about each other than you ever expected, and your bond only has deepened, making you both excited to see what the future holds together. There’s been a mix of growth, fun and intimate moments; and although there’s a few challenges, there’s always playfulness and banter in the relationship.

Tonight, you’re focused on finishing your project, eager to submit it at least a day before the deadline so you won’t have to rush and send in poor quality work. But then, a ping on your phone distracts you.

Tara <3

can you come over? i miss you and I’m bored

Sent at 11.45pm

You

sorry babe, I can’t. i have a project due in a few days

Sent at 11.47pm

Tara <3

guess i’ll just sit in bed..alone,cold

all by myself

w nobody to cuddle with. allll alone

You

oh shut up I’m putting my shoes on

Sent at 11.55pm

This usual banter happens often. Honestly, you didn’t mind how clingy Tara is, you knew what the younger Carpenter has been through. She decided to let you know about her past after a month of dating, with what happened to her and the core four a year ago; and you comforted her with cuddles and kisses with soft whispers for being brave and having to go through all of that.

It’s almost midnight, but the way Tara’s playful messages cut through the tranquil night, it’s hard not to smile. You know her well enough to recognize when she’s pretending to be dramatic—and when she’s genuinely feeling a little lonely or vulnerable.The little banter between the two of you has become a ritual, a comfort. But beneath it all, there’s that deep understanding of each other’s lives, pasts, and fears. You know Tara’s history, and you know she’s been through a lot. You could never understand how anyone would willingly put her in harms way. A single glance from her could make you melt into a puddle, as if the weight of the world disappeared in the softness of her eyes, leaving you both grounded and utterly undone at the same time.

You know that when you get to her place, all the tension in your body will melt away. As you head out, a small part of you can’t help but reflect on how far you’ve both come in just eight months—how much you’ve both grown together. Every little moment, where you can simply drop everything and be there for each other, makes all the difference.

Tara’s got a special place in your heart, and tonight, it’s all about making her feel seen, heard, and loved. For so long, the idea of "home" felt like a distant concept, something that belonged to a life you couldn’t fully reclaim after your parents passed. You thought you’d never feel settled again, that kind of deep connection, the feeling of being truly seen and understood. But with Tara, it’s different. It’s effortless, the way she makes you feel both grounded and free. Her presence fills spaces in your heart you didn’t know were empty.

As you may your way to her place, a soft smile tugs at the corner of your lips. It’s funny how simply being with her, in her space, cuddling under the blankets, or sharing small moments of laughter, feels more like home than anything else ever has. When you knock on her door, she’s already standing there, as if she already felt your presence from a block away; wrapped in a blanket, her hair falling messily around her face, and that familiar twinkle of mischief in her eyes. “You’re late,” she teases, her voice a soft mixture of playfulness and a hint of relief. Ever since you both got together, Tara’s been more anxious, fearing that Ghostface might pop out and take you from her. She’s expressed her concerns to you, and you’ve made sure to constantly remind her that you aren’t going anywhere. “I’m not going anywhere, Tara— you’re stuck with me, no matter what.” Besides, you don’t mind constantly texting her and sending pictures of whatever you’re up to.

“Lay with me? Please?” You fold almost instantly, allowing her to pull you into her bedroom while making sure to keep quiet, since Sam is asleep. Just as you settle onto her bed beside her, Tara does her little grabby hands and you pull her against you, her legs over yours and hugged your torso, resting her head and smiling into your shoulder, inhaling your scent as she had always associated you with safety. You smiled fondly, caressing her thigh with your hand before leaning forward to place a kiss on her forehead. Tara’s eyes fluttered at the gesture, and you can feel your heart soar at how adorable she is.

“I love you, so, so much. Did you know that?” You whispered close to her forehead. The warmth of your whisper sent a gentle shiver down her spine. “I know, but I don’t mind hearing you say it again, and again..” You chuckled softly at her statement.

“I don’t mind it either, because I’ll keep saying it; every day if I have to” You smiled softly, the words lingering between you.

Before you could say more, she pressed her lips to yours, soft and gentle—the familiar taste of cherry from her lip balm making you sigh in content. The kiss was warm, comforting, like coming home. When she pulled back, her eyes fluttered open, a shy smile tugging at her corner of her lips. “I love you more,” she whispered, her breath mingling with yours.

It was safe to say that you didn’t manage to finish your project anytime soon. But with Tara in your arms, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

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

a/n: i hope this is enough for ya'll bc i literally couldn't figure out a way to continue without it being too draggy and boring. fyi 'who hurt you' pt 2 should be coming out in 2 days hopefully idk AND idk how this taglist thing works so lmk if you'd be interested in it

taglist: @bella423

#jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter #jenna ortega x y #scream

285 notes · View notes

soulemnity · 8 months ago

Note

Hi!!! I was reading your latest ASL comic and i was wondering how Luffy would react when Ace said they were going to fight Whitebeard, and Ace was defeated

I imagine Luffy protecting Ace from the big old man, like "leave my brother alone, you bully!"

And more importantly, when Ace is isolated from his crew, what would happen to Luffy? Would Ace become part of the WB crew with Luffy there?

Sorry for the amount of questions but i really love ASL with little Luffy, and I have been reading a lot of fan fics like this. YOUR ART IS SO CUTE, THANKS YOU FOR SHARING!!

THANKYU SO MYCH, IM HAPPY U LIKE IT !!!!!

the comic is actually sorta the start of the split custody variant of babylu me and @immortal-raine made !!! when sabo and ace split off (cuz i wanted sabo to still be a rev), their plan is to pass luffy between them every two or so months because 1) it’s fun for him and 2) at least he’s not alone at dawn

before ace challenges whitebeard, he orders sabo to take him for an extra two months. he doesnt elaborate on what he’s gonna do, but sabo knows better than that, so he makes ace lower it to a month and a half and if he isnt back by then, he’s going off to find him and taking luffy with so you better be smart if you don’t want that kind of worry on your conscience, ace

n e ways the deadline passes, ace very obviously did not return, so sabo, fueled by worry and frustration because he’s making luffy sad damn it, sneaks off to find him. luffy’s so distressed by his missed time with ace that he actually listens to what sabo tells him to do and stays hidden

ace is very obviously still in his assassination phase when they show up. sabo, who is mortified that he managed to get himself stuck on an emperor’s ship, without his crew, drags him off to hide

luffy cries a little. ace cries a little because he made luffy cry and also he really missed his brothers. luffy’s stuck to his hip

for a while after sabo decides to stick by ace’s side to make sure he stays safe, luffy is surprisingly dismissive towards anyone other than his brothers. he’s okay with thatch, because he feeds them good, but he actively forces himself to ignore how fun they seem because they made ace upset and his brothers are always first. it’s kind of painful to watch because he’s so determined but also kind of miserable, but he refuses to play with them unless they either apologize or ace and sabo explicitly state they’re okay with them. he’s not built for holding grudges but he tries for their sake

of course, ace stops his assassination attempts when his brothers show up, so he gets the time to observe them better. sabo never leaves his side for the months he’s struggling with his thoughts and decisions, and for that he’s grateful. it’s sabo who ultimately pushes him to join because, after being here so long, he obviously enjoys their company

the day ace and sabo announce that they’re even and ace will join is the day the whitebeards first witness the hurricane that is a restless, understimulated luffy

#i rambled a ljttle #this au is just so dear to me #thank u raine for being the one to create this idea all those months ago #one piece #asl brothers #babylu au #soul spouts

208 notes · View notes

threestarsinline · 1 year ago

Text

Children's Books and Leather Jackets (Part I)

Jason Todd x reader one-shot

Summary: You couldn't love your job more. Or at least, that's what you thought, until Jason Todd started coming into the bookshop every week without fail, like clockwork. And then you form a connection that tilts your whole world on its axis.

Word Count: 13.6K (total of 29.2K)

Category: Lots and lots of fluff. Like, LOTS (plus some mutual pining, idiots in love, slow burn? and friends to lovers, and therefore, what all of that entails, mwah)

Warnings: Jason stealing your heart (and you stealing his)

Author’s note: Well, here's the proof that yes, I was writing hehehe. Anyway, enjoy this monster of a two-part fic, peace and love babes

>Part II

You loved your job. You really truly did. It might seem like a bold statement to make but when you spend your day to day in a quiet, lovely and vintage styled bookshop owned by the most wonderful couple of old people that you have ever met, who also treat you as their own granddaughter, you know that you could have it a lot worse in Gotham. You often forget that they are technically your bosses, or co-workers as they always corrected you when you referred to them as such.

Rose and Jimmy hired you a long time ago now, when they weren’t able to run the bookshop fulltime by themselves anymore due to the rise of popularity of the place (even though the customers were still just a close community of people from the neighborhood). And also because, after decades of running the bookshop, they wanted to finally kind of retire and do a few travels to places they wanted to see or visit their children scattered throughout the country.

So there you were, practically running all by yourself a small but successful business each week.

However, you weren’t bothered at all, it was perfect for you: working alone with no annoying co-workers or stressful deadlines, a flexible schedule since Rose and Jimmy would replace you here and there whenever you needed it and giving you free days out of the blue.

It also didn’t hurt that the job allowed you to stay in touch with the thing that you loved the most: books. Pages, full of stories that could transport you anywhere, to any time. Words, creating characters that became your family and made you laugh while also breaking your heart with their tragedies. And the possibility of sharing all of this with the people who came into the bookshop from all kinds of different backgrounds made it all even better.

Let’s just say that you couldn’t believe your luck when you got this job. Your day to day consisted of, among other things, attending customers, organizing the bookshelves, doing inventory and most of all: reading. There were certain moments of the day in which the shop was quite uneventful so you would seize those moments by doing all the reading that you could.

You really thought that you couldn’t love your job more. But that was until a gorgeous and very mysterious young man with a white streak in his hair started coming every week into the shop and giving you a smile every time that he left.

You got it bad.

And your crush on Jason Todd did nothing but increase. You were sure that that man was going to be the death of you.

The first time that Jason walked into the bookshop you were surprised to say the least. You had never seen him in the shop before yet he walked towards a section in the bookshelves of the back with firm and secure steps.

He came back to the register with three children’s books to check out. That surprised you even more. He certainly didn’t look like the type of person that you would expect to get children’s books. He had a rough appearance with his tall frame, dark hair and (fake) leather jacket.

But he was nothing but polite as he greeted you and handed you his bookshop card.

The shop also acted as a library with several books, Rose and Jimmy having implemented the idea after there was an attack at the public library that left the place in reforms for months.

It also allowed the people who couldn’t buy books that regularly to still be able to have new books since you only had to pay for the card when you first got it and pay the small fee for the membership every two months. Or every month if you wanted more perks like extended loans or not having a limit on the amount of books allowed to be checked out.

Most of that money was also directly donated to different causes in Gotham like orphanages and homeless shelters. The community loved Rose and Jimmy for all of that, it was like they were their guardian angels, some customers had told you that they were godsent.

As you proceeded to scan the books that the mysterious young man had brought you, you realized that his card was fairly new and came to the conclusion that Rose must have given it to him the week before, when you had your free day.

“Do you have The Rainbow Fish? I tried to look for it but I couldn’t find it.” He spoke up and you looked up at him, surprised once more, since most people either loved or hated that book.

“Uhm. If it’s not on the shelf, it must have been checked out. Let me see.” You looked it up on the computer. “Yeah, someone took it a few days ago. We should have it by next week, I can keep it in reserve for you if you’d like.” The information seemed to please him since his face lighted up and he let out a sigh of relief.

“That would be great, thank you.”

“No problem. Have a nice day.” You gave him back the books and his card and as you looked at him you realized that he had a very nice smile. You wondered if he would come back often to the bookshop.

“You too.” He said as he opened the door.

And in fact, he did come back to the bookshop rather often, at least once a week and always looking for children’s books. You were very curious about it since it wasn’t very common to see a man like him taking so many children’s books with him.

You couldn’t help but speculate, maybe he was close with kids in his family or maybe he did some kind of volunteering. Either way, you weren’t going to ask, it was out of place and you didn’t know him.

Then, he started checking out other books, this time fiction and most of all classic literature. He sometimes even bought the ones that really brought out his attention. He would always strike up friendly conversation with you as he came to the counter with new books to buy or check out, asking you about some book or asking you for recommendations.

On your most brave days, not really knowing what you were doing, you would even make a comment about the books that he was taking with him and he answered you with enthusiasm, commenting on them with you.

Soon, you were on a first name basis with him and something similar to a friendship blossomed between you two. You started giving snippets of each other's lives, you telling him about a show that you were watching that you really liked or him telling you about one of his siblings’s latest shenanigans.

Jason coming into the shop became something that you looked forward to and Rose and Jimmy, who some days spend the day in the shop helping you out, also saw how close you two were becoming.

Jason even befriended them too and the owners soon treated him like a grandson just like they had done with you so long ago. Jimmy sometimes shoved in his hand his famous homemade cookies and Rose tried to give him a discount for the books that he bought but Jason, like always, refused to accept it.

“What? You’re supposed to leave them inside, it’s on the delivery contract.” You add frustrated.

“Whatever you say. Not my problem.” The new delivery man doesn’t even look at you as he recklessly puts the last of the boxes of new book orders on the sidewalk.

Looking at the now damaged box you grimace. You really hoped that the books inside were okay. They were like your babies.

The man takes his cigarette out of his mouth and puts it out on top of one of the boxes knowingly, looking you dead in the eyes as if challenging you to say something else.

You know that starting a confrontation would get you nowhere, it would be better to file a complaint later that you know would have consequences for him since the delivery service and the bookshop had always had a trusting relationship.

So, knowing to pick your battles, you put on a smile and thank him. The man seems surprised at that, surely used to having excuses to play the bully. He just huffs, gets on the truck and leaves. You nod to yourself proudly, you won. But your small, triumphant moment ends as soon as you see the large number of boxes that you now have to carry inside on your own.

Oh, how you missed Charlie.

Charlie was the delivery man before he retired. It had been his job for more than fifty years and even now he was as strong as ever and he had always helped you with the boxes and made you laugh with his adventures from his younger years.

You always gave him a cup of coffee from the machine in the small back room that worked as a break room as he tried to set you up with his grandchildren. Telling you how amazing they were and how one of them was about to become a doctor.

“I’m sorry, Charlie. I’m sure they’re great.” You would always tell him. Because they did sound nice but none of them lived in Gotham. Charlie then would fake a disappointed sigh but the crinkles of a smile around his eyes would always appear.

“Well, let me know if you change your mind, sweetie.” A pause. “Though you should forget about trying here, there isn’t anyone worthy in this godforsaken city.” He would joke.

“Except you, Charlie.” You’d say brightly while winking at him jokingly. And then he would laugh the way only one can when they are satisfied with their life and as happy as they can be, something very rare.

“Don’t let Mary hear you, I know she doesn’t look like it but she can throw a punch.” His eyes would shine with love as he mentioned his wife.

“I don’t doubt it.” You’d answer.

You are brought out of your memories when a voice calls your name.

“Y/N, hi.” You turn to see Jason and you can't help the immediate smile that makes its way across your lips.

“Hi. How are you?”

“I’m good. I was just about to go in when I saw you out here. What’s all of this?” He looks around at all the boxes that the pedestrians were avoiding.

“Delivery day.” You say as you take one of the boxes in your arms. His eyes widen. With that funny expression on his face he looked cute, which made him even more handsome than usual. It wasn’t even fair.

Focus, Y/N.

“And you always do this alone?”

“No, the new delivery guy is just an idiot. Charlie always helped me.”

“Charlie?” He raises an eyebrow as he too grabs a box from the floor.

“Hey, what are you doing?”

“I’m helping you.” He replies without hesitation, you shake your head.

“I can’t let you do that, you’re a customer.”

“It’s no problem. Plus, this way you will finish this earlier and you can recommend me another book after the heartbreak that you gave me with the last one.”

“Sorry.” You say, trying to contain a giggle. He narrows his eyes at you.

“No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not.” You confess, this time laughing freely.

You didn’t know it but Jason thought that you looked beautiful. Even more so than some days, if that was even possible, with the wind carrying your laugh to him and rustling your hair. God, he was in deep.

“So, are you going to let me help you or not?”

“Fine.” You finally comply.

And as you two enter the boxes he repeats his question from earlier. “Well, who’s Charlie?”

“Oh, just the best delivery old man you will ever meet.” You answer, your affection for the man clearly present in your voice.

“Do you collect them?”

“What?” You ask confused.

“Grandparents, old people. You have your own grandparents, Rose, Jimmy and now I learn about this Charlie. Do you collect them?” You smile at his comment. Truth was, he had a point.

“Well, I guess you could say that. In fact, now that I think about it, most of my friends are old people. I mean, it kind of makes sense, my perfect Friday night is staying at home reading with a hot chocolate.” For a moment silence settles between you and you worry that you might have overshared and that you were creeping him out.

“You’re an old soul.” He finally says. And the way that he does so makes you stop, like he admires you for it, as if he likes the peace that comes with such a statement.

“Maybe.” You reply, resuming your step.

“I wish I could do that.” You arch an eyebrow. “Stay at home at night during the weekends and just relax.” He adds.

“Why’s that?”

“I work nights.”

“Oh. It must be hard.”

“Yeah, sometimes it is.” After saying that his gaze gets lost, as if for a moment he wasn’t there with you anymore, but deep into his thoughts and memories.

“Do you have any? Grandparents, I mean.” You say to distract him and bring him back.

“Just one, Alfred. Although he is in more the middle of being a father and a grandfather. He raised me along with Bruce.” As soon as he says that, you know that he is just as surprised at himself as much as you are at the confession since it is by far the most personal thing that he had ever shared with you.

It is also clear that there was a lot of history behind that statement. It seems a serious matter and the other times that you two talked, he mostly kept it lighthearted with you.

The mysterious man that had first entered into the bookshop had let you see a crack in him. He trusts you. Or at least, he was beginning to do so in a more personal way. You only feel lucky that you are being able to get closer to him.

You sense how his instinct to flight was about to strike, clearly not used to this kind of situation and being awkward about how to manage it. So, you decide to change the topic, in what you think is a smooth way, to relax the ambience and to selfishly see if you could keep him at your side just a little bit longer.

“Well, I can share Rose and Jimmy with you then. As long as you don’t steal my spot as their favorite bookshop grandkid.” Just as you finish talking you see him visibly relax, his tense shoulders acquiring a more loosen stance.

Then, almost unnoticeably, a small smile forms on his lips and another one makes its way to your own.

“Deal.” He ends up saying.

After you both bring in all the boxes, and you check them into the inventory, you open them to put the books in the correspondent shelves. You turn to thank Jason for the help but he's already passing you some of the books for you to place them.

“Thank you, but you don’t have to do this. You already did too much.”

“Nope. I’m not leaving.” He just hands you the books in his grasp and grabs some more. You stand there stunned. Where did this gorgeous kind man come from?

“Okay. At least let me give you a coffee.” You go to the break room and not even a moment later, after quickly asking him how he liked it, not even giving him the option to refuse it, you return with a cup in your hands. He whispers a thank you and when you hand it to him, his fingers so lightly graze yours, making your breath hitch in your throat.

“You don’t want one?” He asks, seeing that you had only brought a single cup.

“Oh, I don’t like coffee much.” He nods and then you get to work, looking at the books, classifying them and ordering them.

Jason keeps passing them to you and sipping the coffee in the comfortable silence. He’s glad that you’re so concentrated because that way you won’t notice how entranced he is with you. He watches you and just by your movements he knows that you’re in your element. It was clear that you enjoyed what you did.

At some point, you start humming a repertoire of the songs from Beauty and the Beast, probably without realizing it. Jason doesn’t mention it, knowing that most likely you would become ashamed and stop.

So, Jason lets the moment pass by, your company and the peaceful atmosphere of the bookshop making a warm feeling wash over him. Making him feel safe and relaxed. Something that didn’t usually happen to him, but that being in the bookshop and in your presence, always made him feel that way.

When he eventually left, you didn’t even realize that he had done so without taking any book with him.

“Hey.”

The sudden voice makes you stumble on the ladder that you were on to return a book to its place in one of the top shelves. You know that there is nothing that you can do to prevent your fall but still in a hopeful attempt, you drop the book that was in your hand to the floor, and extend your arms to try and gain some balance.

All of this happens in milliseconds and even then, you have time to exclaim “Jesus!” from the surprise, preparing yourself in any way you can for your imminent fate.

However, just as fast as it all happened, a hand settles on your waist to stabilize you and another one grips the ladder to stop its wobbling. And just like that, you’re back on your feet again. You look down and there he is.

Your knight in shining leather jacket.

“Not exactly but close enough.” Jason can’t help replying to your previous exclamation. It had never crossed his mind before but now that he thinks about it, he realizes that he has something quite peculiar in common with the biblical figure. With all the ‘been dead done that’ stuff. The weird coincidence and his own comment making him chuckle to himself.

You also huff out a small laugh, not at his comment, that you couldn't possibly fully understand, not yet, but at your own clumsiness. Laughing being almost always your immediate reaction whenever you fell or, like in this case, almost did.

“Oh my god, thank you.” You say relieved with a thankful smile on your face.

“It’s nothing. I’m sorry actually, you almost died because of me.”

“No, don’t worry, you just surprised me. Plus, me and high places have never been a great combination.” He chuckles at your comment and you smile in return.

Much to your disappointment, he lets go of your waist, but it doesn’t last long as he holds out his hand for you to help you come down from the ladder. You know that he’s just being polite and that you should finish what you were doing on the ladder but after the brief scare you’d like to put your feet on firm ground again for even just a small bit.

That, and the fact that you would take any chance that you could get to be close to Jason and hold his hand. Honestly, who wouldn’t?

So, you accept his hand and, just to be even more safe and avoid any possible risk of course, not for any other reason, you support yourself on his shoulder on the way down. He leads you to the ground with a small smile on his face and then sadly, lets go of your hand.

You miss the contact instantly.

“There we go.” He says, so low, that it’s almost like a whisper.

You take a moment to address him and look him over, the feel of his strong shoulder under your hand still tickling your fingers at your side. And for a split second, just a tiny little one, you wish that you had actually fallen from the ladder so that he could have caught you in his arms.

Damn it.

Now that the idea had occurred to you, you would think about it for days.

Jason leans down to retrieve the book that you had dropped earlier and with an ease and balance that you could only dream of, he returns it to the open spot that you had been reaching for on the top shelf. It makes you both jealous and in awe of the way in which he can almost effortlessly do so. Even though even he had to step onto the first step of the ladder to reach it.

Stupid tall attractive people.

Jason enters the bookshop excited to see you. He hadn’t been able to come by for a few days and he did not like it one bit. Coming to see you were the best parts of his week, because if he was being honest, the books themselves had stopped being a motivator a long time ago.

Probably the second or third time that he had visited the bookshop.

He was just thankful that you didn’t seem to notice that you were the main reason that he came by. You would probably think that he was being creepy. However, much to his dismay, Rose and Jimmy were very much aware of how much he liked you.

They always had that knowing smile whenever they saw you two talking and they definitely knew about the insane amount of books that he checked out weekly as an excuse to see you. Books that were impossible for him to read from one visit to another in such a short amount of time and that just spent several days stacked in his house.

Thankfully, for the moment, they had never said something to you or directly commented it to him either, as they wisely knew that you two needed to take things at your own pace.

He closes the entrance door behind him and his brows furrow in confusion not seeing you behind the counter, where he would usually find you reading or taking care of a customer. Maybe you’re in the bathroom, doing something in the break room or organizing the shelves.

But then, Rose emerges from the break room behind the counter greeting him.

Oh.

A slight feeling of disappointment settles in him. It’s not that he didn't like Rose, he really enjoyed chatting with her, he just really wanted to see you. And if Rose was here maybe you weren’t working today. But it couldn’t be, you always worked Thursdays.

Not that he had paid any attention to your schedule or anything.

Then it suddenly occurs to him that maybe you have taken the day off. He’s as happy for you as much as he’s disappointed. Everyone knew that you worked too much for your own good.

Still, the selfish part of him wanted to spend just a tiny little bit of time with you.

“Good afternoon, Rose. How are you?” Jason finally greets back.

“I’m good, sweetie, just checking day. And you?”

“Glad to hear it. I’m fine too. Just came in looking for…” Damn it, he didn’t even prepare an excuse of a book. A few seconds trail on and Jason still doesn’t say anything.

“For a…” He had been caught like a deer in headlights. He avoids Rose’s intense gaze that was still set on him waiting for him to say something. This is so embarrassing. And he was supposed to be one of the daring vigilantes of Gotham?

Pathetic. That’s what he was.

He could face villains but he couldn’t come up for an excuse to see you. Jason clears his throat.

“For a…” Jason’s starting to worry that he has entered some sort of self loop and is about to facepalm himself for his own stupidity when Rose’s lips break into a wide grin and she chuckles. She was messing with him. Like always, she definitely knew what exactly he was in there for. Jason smiles and lets out a sigh of relief.

“She’s on her break.” Rose says, nodding his head in your direction, towards the shelves.

“Thank you.” Jason turns to go find you when Rose speaks up once again.

“Oh and, by the way, since you’re on it, can you get her for me please? I want to tell her something and I’m about to meet Jimmy for lunch.”

“Of course.” He answers while Rose gives him a thankful smile.

Jason starts to pace through the bookshelves, looking for you, but you’re nowhere to be found.

Until he passes by between a couple of them and sees something on the floor. He takes a couple of steps back and there you are, sitting on the floor with books about to be shelved, he supposes, and a book in your own hands that must have had you so immersed and distracted that you hadn’t heard him come in, nor his conversation with Rose.

A fond smile makes an appearance on his lips. He loved seeing you like this, in the place that you loved most, doing what you loved most, lost in a book. He realizes that he would never get tired of that sight. Still, it’s an intimate and private moment for you and he doesn’t want to linger too much on it and intrude. Plus, Rose was looking for you.

“Hi.” He says softly as to not startle you, after the scare from the last time. Which by the way, had been replaying in his head over and over again, the electrifying feeling of your hand in his forever engraved in his mind.

“Y/N.” He tries.

Nothing. That book really had you in a trance. He huffs a small laugh and takes a couple of steps closer to you, hands in his pockets.

“Earth to Y/N.” You let out a small hum to acknowledge him but your gaze is still fixed on the ink. He’s about to call you again when you finally get out of your trance and steal a quick look to see who had talked to you.

Your eyes widen like plates, probably realizing that you had spent too long reading on the floor. You quickly get up and Jason notices how even in your distressed state, you close the book with care and slightly organize the mess around you, your hands treating each book carefully.

He wonders if you would treat him with the same carefulness and affection. For a split second, he even wishes it was him that your hands were treating and not books. Jealousy over books. Huh, that was new.

He also couldn’t help but wonder if you were that way with everything. If even when you weren’t at your best, or going through something, treating things, people, the world around you with care and kindness came as second nature to you, sometimes without even realizing it. He had a feeling that the answer was yes.

And once again, he realizes how much the dark part of his life clashed so much with yours. But before he can get too much into his own head, once more, just like several times before, you bring him back.

“Oh my god, Jason, I’m so sorry.” You start, taking the few steps that separated you from him. “I don’t know how it happened, I swear. God, were you waiting a lot?” He doesn’t like the worry settled on your features one bit, like always, making him feel uneasy. Like the other previous few times that he has seen you like this, he makes it his mission and his top priority to change it.

“No, not at all. Don’t worry.” You nod while your tense posture finally seems to relax a bit. “You okay?” He adds.

“Yeah, yeah. I just… Got a little bit distracted.” You say as you retrieve the books from the floor and your head motions towards them. Jason smiles at you, knowing the feeling of being so engrossed in a book that everything else faded away.

“Rose was looking for you by the way. She was about to head out to meet Jimmy.”

“Oh, right.”

When you both go back towards the counter and you take your usual spot behind it, Rose is already putting her coat on and about to leave.

“I’m so sorry Rose, I got myself carried away and…” You start but Rose stops you with a shake of her head.

“It’s okay, honey. Just wanted to let you know that I’m leaving now.” You let out a sigh of relief. You really have the best bosses in the world.

“Okay, have a nice lunch.”

“Thank you, darling. Goodbye kids.”

“Goodbye.” Both you and Jason say. And just before Rose closes the door behind her, she winks at you and you feel your cheeks warm at the unspoken insinuation. Enjoy your time alone. You steal a quick look at Jason, hoping that he hasn’t seen Rose’s wink and sigh in relief when you see that he’s already turned towards you, facing away from the door.

Though, now that you think about it, you could swear that it was Jimmy the one that was supposed to meet Rose at the bookshop today, not the other way around. That woman was too smart for her own good.

“Well, what can I do for you today?” You ask Jason once you turn towards him.

“I…” Quick, Jason, think. “Could you extend my loan for the book from last week?” Nice save.

“Sure.” As you click on the computer, Jason takes a look at the stack of books that you had brought back with you from the shelves and that you have left on the counter.

“What got you so entranced back there?”

“Oh.” You say and you turn to the stack of books. Your eyes shining with excitement now. “We just got these new Jane Austen hardcovers and they’re just so gorgeous, look.”

You take the one on top of the stack, the one that you had been reading, and hand it to him. Pride and Prejudice. He takes it from your hands, your fingertips slightly grazing one another’s. Jason looks at the cover that feels soft yet sturdy in his hands. It was simple with just the title of the book and Austen’s name but the intricate and beautiful designs that decorated it made it, as you had said, a gorgeous edition.

“Wow. These are great.” He says with childlike wonder lacing his tone. He opens the book and his eyes skim over the pages and passages that he has read so many times before.

“I know, right? I was just admiring them one last time before putting them on the shelves and I just opened one to read a couple of paragraphs but next thing I know, I was ten pages in. I swear I didn’t mean for it to happen.” You confess. Jason laughs softly.

“Don’t worry, that’s just the Jane Austen effect. I get it, it happens to me too.” You can’t help but stare at him for a few seconds, blinking slowly, processing the newfound information. Thankfully, he’s still engrossed in the book.

This man likes Jane Austen? Is he trying to kill you or something? As if you couldn’t like him even more.

“You like Austen?” You ask, still a bit in disbelief, though it doesn’t really surprise you, since from the very beginning you had noticed how he was a very cultured person and how he had a great taste in books.

How sexy is that? To you, very. Very sexy.

“I love her. Basic, I know, but this one’s my favorite.” He answers as he puts the book back on top of the stack. As if anything in him could be basic, as if you don’t find him to be one of the most fascinating persons that you have ever met in your entire life.

“It’s not basic, it’s great. I love it too but I think that I prefer Northanger Abbey.” You pause. “Or Persuasion.” You pause again. “Or Emma.” You pause to think once more and Jason looks at you amused, loving how passionate you are when talking about it. “Or… Okay well, I love all of them! I can’t choose just one.” Jason smirks.

“Perfectly valid and understandable answer.” He says. You both look at each other for a second too long and then his phone starts ringing, breaking the moment. You give a slight jump and busy yourself going back to finish renewing his loan on the computer.

But to your surprise, he just takes it out of his pocket, looks quickly at the screen and directly hangs up. You raise an eyebrow but continue with your task, a small smile making its way across your lips, flattered that he prefers to keep talking to you rather than picking up his phone.

“Well, done. You have another week to…” You’re interrupted when his phone rings again. Jason huffs annoyed and silences it again.

“Sorry.” He says. You shake your head.

“It’s okay.” The phone rings a third time. It must be really important. “Though I think you should take it.” Jason looks at his phone in his hands, then at you, back at his phone, and then at you again, still doubtful, but you nod encouragingly. He seems torn and undecided, but he finally nods to himself and gives you an apologetic look before answering.

“What?” He says annoyingly, taking a couple of steps away from the counter as you pretend to check things on the computer and try (and fail) not to eavesdrop.

He’s going to kill Steph. He really is. She never calls him and now there is something so important that she has to call him three times and interrupt his talk with you? It better be good.

“Heyyy. Jaybiiird. My bestieeee, the best vigilante in Gotham that there is.” Jason can already start to feel a headache forming, he brings a palm to his face and then runs it through his hair. You watch the gesture with envy. How many times had you daydreamed about doing the very same gesture? Probably too many.

“I can’t talk right now.” He quickly glances at you, still at the computer. This is stupid.

“Pleaseeee, I need your help.” At her pleading tone Jason sighs tiredly and pinches his nose, even though he knows that he shouldn’t be listening. With the way that she’s talking it’s probably a stupid favor or something, he would much rather be talking with you.

“Steph, what do you want?”

Steph? At that your head perks up slightly. His girlfriend, maybe? Your shoulders deflate thinking of the possibility. He had never mentioned having one but you also had never asked. Why would you even ask? You’re just friends, or something like that, it would seem like it was coming out of nowhere. As your thoughts keep spiraling and you stare blankly at the screen in front of you, Jason carries on with his conversation.

“You’re going to laugh…” Steph starts.

Jason rolls his eyes, catches your eyes and mouths my sister. You just nod and your spiraling thoughts stop abruptly. Thank god. Although the possibility of him having a girlfriend is still there, now that you don’t have to face it directly, you decide not to linger too much on it. Keeping the thought away and trying to ignore it, just like you had been doing since you met him. That’s a future problem for future you.

Jason changes his phone from one ear to the other as he listens to Steph stumble through her words. If she’s going to keep beating around the bush, he might as well hang up.

“Okay, bye.” He’s about to end the call when Steph speaks up again.

“I lost Damian.” Jason’s eyes widen as he turns to his other side.

“You what?” He whisper-shouts into the phone.

“Okay so, Damian is grounded, okay? Something about driving the batmobile without permission and then…”

“Steph.” Jason warns through gritted teeth, clearly meaning go to the point.

“Okay, okay! So, I’m on babysitting duty alright? And Damian had been talking non stop about this new limited art exposition in the museum that he wanted to go to and that it wasn’t fair that he was grounded and blah blah blah.”

“Okay, and?”

“And… Well, there was this new season of this show coming out today and I just got distracted for a bit and then he kinda… Disappeared?” God. Jason closes his eyes in frustration. His family really knew how to be the most infuriating at the worst of times. He stays silent for a moment mentally cursing them before opening his eyes again.

“Told you you were going to laugh…” Steph repeats at his silence and Jason sighs, making you giggle quietly at the sibling interaction. Jason smiles at the sound.

“So what? Just go to the museum after him.” He finally answers.

“That’s the thing, I am at the museum and I just can’t find him. Damn that kid and his ninja training.” Steph hisses through the line. “Can you come and help me find him please?” He could hear her pouting.

“Why me?”

“You’re the only one that picked up.” And now he was sure that she was smiling innocently but full of mischief. Jason huffs. As soon as he saw Steph’s name on his screen he knew that he shouldn’t have picked up.

“No.” He says.

“Come on, pleaseeee. I’ll owe you one. If I don’t find Damian I will be the one that’s grounded next.” Honestly, who had put her on babysitting duty? Who had even grounded Damian to begin with? It was impossible to try and control that kid.

Damn it, Bruce.

“Bruce can’t ground you.”

“Oh yes, he can. I’m sure he’ll find a way. He’ll make me go supervise Condiment King or something! Please, Jason, please." Jason sighs. “Please, please, please, please. I’ll do all the research that you need for a week!” Mmhm. That’s interesting. That would certainly leave him with more time to see you.

“A month.” He counteroffers and sees you smiling at his bickering, making his insides feel giddy. Steph groans.

“A month? You know that’s too much.”

“Do you want my help or not?” Silence.

“Arrrg, okay, okay! Well, we’ll talk about it, now, can you please come here?”

“With pleasure.” He says amused. Even though his family can be infuriating at times, he had to admit that they had their good moments and he enjoyed annoying them just as much as they did him.

“You’re so arrogant, oh my god. I pity whoever decides to put up with you.” Steph says and Jason can’t help but steal a glance in your direction.

“Just remember that you owe me a big one.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just come here. I’ll wait for you at the entrance.”

“Okay.” Before he hangs up, he hears Steph speak up again.

“Hey Jaybird.” Jason hums. “Thanks.” He rolls his eyes playfully.

“Bye.”

“And say hi to Y/N for me-!” He hangs up before you can hear Steph’s loud teasing voice. He knew that talking about you in front of his family wasn’t the best of ideas but he just couldn’t help it. You occupied his thoughts a lot more than what he was willing to admit.

“Sorry.” He says as he approaches the counter once again and puts his phone in his pocket.

“It’s okay. Sibling drama then?” You ask playfully as you raise an eyebrow.

“You have no idea. It was Steph, she used to date one of my brothers. Tim.” You look at him confused.

“I thought you said she was your sister?”

“Yeah, I mean- it’s… It’s complicated. That was how we met her but she’s like a sister to me now.”

“I see.”

“Sorry, we’re quite a mess.” He chuckles awkwardly, running his hand through his hair and the white streak once again. The movement, like always, has you hypnotized. It should be illegal. Jason thinks that he should just stop talking, now he has weirded you out with his stupid and crazy family.

“Aren’t we all?” You say softly as you tilt your head in the cutest of ways. Honestly, the more that he told you about his family, the more you realized how peculiar they were. But they seemed really close to each another, which was what really mattered.

“Yeah… I guess so.” He trails on as he gets lost in your eyes again. You nod and he shakes out of his daze. “Well, I should get going. Duty calls.” He adds as he nods towards the door and taps his fingers against his side of the counter nervously.

“Okay. Hope everything goes well with whatever it is.”

“Yeah, I’ll tell you next time.” Something about the security of knowing that he will always come back, and that there will always be a next time with him, raises goosebumps on your skin.

“Yeah. Next time.” You both look at each other as he walks towards the door.

Something lingers in the air, as if both of you want to say something else but do not dare to do so. Do not dare to cross the invisible line in your strange friendship usually defined by the safety of the counter that almost always stayed between you two in your interactions.

Jason grabs the door handle and holds it open for a moment as you speak one last time.

“See you soon then?” It’s a stupid sentence, already remarking what you both have already said, but it’s as good of an excuse as any to make him stay just a few seconds longer.

“See you soon.” Jason nods smiling at you and then, the door closes behind him.

You’re reading at the counter when the bell on top of the door jingles. You look up, hoping to find green eyes but are met with a stressful boy looking around the shop. As if in his distressed state, he can’t find you behind the counter.

“Hi.” You say as you bookmark your page. “Can I help you with anything?”

“Oh. Hi. Yeah.” He says as he quickly approaches you. He shakes his head to move the hair out of his blue eyes and takes a piece of paper out of his pocket. His hunched posture and shaky mannerisms tells you that he hasn’t caught a break in a while. This poor boy needs a rest.

“I’ve been looking for this book everywhere and I can’t find it anywhere. It’s my boyfriend’s birthday tomorrow, he loves mysteries and conspiracies and I need to find it. My brother told me that this is the best bookshop in all of Gotham and that you can find anything here.” He rambles as he gives you the piece of paper. You take the paper and look at the boy as he slightly bounces on his feet looking around the shop.

You raise an eyebrow. A distracted boy that seems to always be running and a brother that recommends the bookshop? Sounds quite familiar.

“Tim?” You can’t help but guess, though you’re still a bit unsure. Jason had mentioned him a few times and how his younger brother always seemed to be doing a hundred things at once. At that his bouncing stops abruptly and finally looks at you for more than a few fleeting seconds, suspicious of how you know his name.

“Sorry, hi. I’m Y/N. Jason comes here often and has mentioned you a few times.” You say nervously. The information seems to take a little bit longer than usual to register due to his distressed state but then when he finally recognizes you, his alert posture relaxes.

“Oh, Y/N! Hi, yes. I’m Tim. Nice to meet you.” He says as he holds out his hand and you shake it. “Jason talks about you too.” He adds. You feel your cheeks go warm.

“Well, nice to meet you too. Are you okay? You seem a bit stressed.”

“Yeah, sorry. It’s just that I’ve been putting together this party for my boyfriend and the gift is being so hard to find it’s giving me headaches. Please tell me that you can help me.”

“Of course.” You say. “But first, take a deep breath.” He looks at you as if he doesn’t know what you mean. “You need to rest and relax a bit if you want to make it to your boyfriend’s birthday tomorrow without dropping from exhaustion.” You nod encouraging him and then take a deep breath yourself so that he can imitate you. Thankfully, he does so after shaking his shoulders to release tension and then stays with his eyes closed, taking a moment.

“Better?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” He answers, opening his eyes.

You nod. “No problem. Let’s find that book.” You look at the piece of paper and type in the title and author of the book on the system. It’s a limited edition of a book about the old history of Gotham and thankfully, you have one copy in the storage room. “Got it. I’ll be right back.” Tim sighs in relief as you leave the counter.

When you come back, you bring the book and a cup of coffee from the break room with you.

“This is so that you can get home to rest until tomorrow without dying on the way.” You say as you slide the coffee towards him.

“Oh thanks, but it’s not necessary.” You stare at him, having clearly seen how the idea of coffee almost had him glowing.

“Okay, okay.” He chuckles as he goes to take the coffee but you keep the cup in place.

“Promise that when you get home, you will rest. Do not take anymore coffee so that you can keep organizing things.” Tim looks at you, your firm tone and kind intentions making him clearly see why Jason is so smitten with you. He can also easily see himself trusting you and becoming friends with you.

“Promise.” He says honestly. You nod, letting go of the cup. "If you want more milk or sugar-" You can't even finish the sentence as he shakes his head, having already taken the cup into his hands and taken a sip.

“Mm, not necessary. This is great. Thank you.”

You smile. “You’re welcome. Do you want to wrap the book?”

“Yes, please.” He says.

“The Rainbow Fish? Again?” You say chuckling as Jason puts it on the counter for what probably was the third or fourth time. You really were starting to run out of options wondering why he always checked out so many kids’ books. But it just felt very intrusive to ask, he never said anything more about it either, probably not wanting to talk about it much.

“Yeah.” He says as you scan the book and pass his card on the system.

“I loved this book when I was little.” A nostalgic look on your eyes as you gaze at the cover of the book, remembering the silver scales of the arrogant fish that he had to give away in order to be accepted instead of just being a nicer fish.

The message of the book in the end was good: not think of yourself as superior to others. But there was something about having to give up something that you were proud of and that was special about you in order to be accepted that always felt a little off putting to you when you grew up, especially when being kind could have just resolved everything.

“Though it sure as hell began my people pleasing problems.” You add giggling a bit without thinking. But when what you have said registers, you freeze, hands on the book and blank stare on them, not daring to look up at Jason.

Where the fuck did that come from?

You shut your eyes, praying to whatever was out there to let you die of embarrassment. Stupid, stupid, stupid. You had definitely freaked him out. That’s it. He would walk out of the bookshop and never come back. Why would you even say that? You weren’t thinking, that’s it. It had just slipped. You had become so used to being able to be yourself and talk about everything with Jason that it just felt so easy and comfortable to say whatever was on your mind.

Finally, you decide to sentence your fate and just end with this terribly awkward conversation as soon as possible.

“Sorry.” You say. “I honestly don’t know where that came from.” Jason just chuckles though not in a mocking manner, but in an understanding way.

“Don’t worry, I get it.” He assures you. You look back down, missing Jason’s look of appreciation, loving your honesty and how flustered you were. He found it endearing. “Well, thanks.” He says as he goes to take the book on the counter.

Your whole body then tenses in alarm when you see the state of his hands, which until now, had been hidden in his pockets. Without thinking, once again, (seriously, what was wrong with you today?), you take his hands to take a closer look at them.

Jason lets out a small gasp as you do so and mentally smacks himself for letting you see his wounded knuckles, now him being the one that wanted to die of embarrassment. It was only so much that the gloves of his Red Hood gear could do to protect them.

“What happened?” You whisper, worry etched onto every single one of your features.

Fuck.

How had he been so careless? He should have bandaged them, hidden them better or put make up on them. He just wasn’t used to having someone worry about him and his wounds like you were right now. At his silence, you try again:

“Jason.” Now he was the one avoiding your gaze. But you persist, finally making eye contact with him. “What happened? Are you okay?” He wills himself to get out of his stupor and even though deep down he doesn’t want to, out of the soft touch of your hands too, bringing his own back to his sides.

“It’s nothing. It’s just… I do boxing.” He says as he shrugs his shoulders. “It happens.” You raise an eyebrow, suspicious. It feels like something doesn’t fully add up.

You know that there are things that Jason isn’t telling you. He has made some strange comments before but you always let it go. You know that eventually, if he wants to, when he’s ready, he will tell you. God knows that you have your own things too.

But if there is something that you have learned about your growing friendship with Jason is that you both like to take things at your own pace. Trusting and becoming close with each other slowly but steadily.

Letting time do its work. Not forcing the flow of things. And you like it that way. Life is always everchanging so to have something so solid and safe like what you have with him, you want to treasure it and nurture it. Although all of that of course, doesn’t stop you from worrying about him and wanting to take care of him.

So, you just nod, accepting his explanation, but not without having a little bit of fun.

“I thought that in boxing you were supposed to wear gloves to avoid that very kind of injuries.” You say with a playful smile.

Shit.

Jason wants to facepalm himself. He really seemed to just have one brain cell whenever he was around you. At his lack of response you shake your head.

“Come, let me patch that up at least.”

“Oh, no, no. It’s fine, don’t worry.”

“Jason.” You throw him a glance.

“Y/N.” He maintains your stare. Finally, a small smile escapes your lips and you put an end to the staring contest, rounding the counter and taking his hands once again and guiding him to the break room. Allowing yourselves this moment since there aren't any other customers in the store right now. Jason lets you, knowing that in the end, he will never be able to deny you anything.

Once in the break room, you sit him down at a chair by a table and leave for a moment before you return with a first aid kid. You sit down in front of him and look at him softly.

“Can I?” You motion towards his hands. Jason swallows and only finds the courage to nod slowly.

The knuckles are far from being the worst that they have ever been and Jason always tries to take care of them but he had just arrived home from patrol the night before so exhausted that he had only managed to clean them before passing out on his bed. Right now, they’re mostly just reddened with a couple of points in which the skin is broken.

Jason then finds out that he was right. When you take his left hand and start treating the wound, cleaning it again and applying some antiseptic on it, he sees that you treat him with the same care and thoughtfulness that you did with those books all those weeks ago.

Almost as if he was something delicate, something precious. If not more.

The beat of his heart quickens and he wonders if in the silence of the room, you can hear it.

This is the very first time that Jason has been back here, the setting of your interactions always being the open part of the bookshop and this change of scenario makes it seem like something has shifted between you two. Like you weren’t just employee and customer with a friendly relationship anymore but like you have a real friendship and a deeper connection.

The whole time, as you treat his other hand too and then slowly bandage both of them, Jason looks at you. He’s glad that you’re only fixed on his hands because that way he can take all the time that he wants to admire you.

The concentrated look in your eyes, the way that your eyebrows furrow in concentration, how you put a strand of hair that has fallen out behind your ear, and the occasional and very tortuous moment in which you bite your lip in concentration, being extra careful in not hurting him.

And that's when the weight of how much he feels for you falls on him. He was already aware of it before but now is when he can really feel the weight of it all. How what he feels for you is not just an infatuation or a crush, but something deeper that runs beneath his skin, crawling into him, taking root. Settling and making a home there.

“Done.” You whisper. And as you retract your hands from his, Jason wishes that he never had to part from your touch.

You put all the things that you used back into the first aid kit and try not to think about the impulse that you had, but that you thankfully had managed to repress, of kissing his knuckles when you finished bandaging them.

“Be careful, okay?” You say. Jason nods, admiring your work but when you don’t take your eyes off of him he answers:

“Yeah. Promise.” You nod satisfied. Then Jason remembers another promise that he had made. “Tim wanted me to thank you by the way. Bernard loved the book.” He says.

“Oh, that’s right! It was no problem, it was really great to meet him. How was his boyfriend’s party? Bernard’s I guess?” You say excited.

“Tim said it went great. And that thanks to you he didn’t fall asleep during it and was actually able to enjoy it.” You giggle in response when suddenly, Jason’s phone beeps and he takes a quick look. Firefly alert downtown. He jumps out of his seat.

“Sorry, I have to go. Thank you, really.” And faster than a bullet, he’s gone.

You sigh, shaking yourself out from the intimate moment and when you return to the counter, you see that in his hurry, Jason forgot to take The Rainbow Fish with him. You take the book and put it under the counter, keeping it for him for next time.

You’re running some errands when you see two large men crowding a little girl. She can’t be older than six and she’s clutching onto a teddy bear for dear life.

Anger and fear for the little girl rage inside you, it is broad daylight and there are quite a few people on the street, yet everyone seems to carry out their business ignoring the men trying to talk the girl into going with them. You knew how Gotham was but it seemed like the city always found a way to surprise you.

“Come on, your mommy told us to come get you.” You hear one of the men say to the girl as you quickly approach them.

“I don’t have a mom.” The girl manages to say, distrustful. And even though hearing that makes you sad, you admire the girl, you can tell that she’s smart.

“Can I help you?” You hiss as you put yourself between the two men and the girl, putting an arm out to keep her behind you. You see the two men exchange a look, clearly discussing if it is worth it to cause a scene in the middle of the street.

“No. We were just leaving.” One ends up saying, giving a clap to the back of the other, directing them away from you and the girl. As they turn to leave, they try to give one last look to the little girl but you move to block their line of sight.

When they turn the corner at the end of the street, you finally let out a sigh of relief, thankful that the confrontation didn’t escalate to anything more.

You knew you didn’t actually stand a great chance against them physically, and seeing how people were ignoring the situation before, you’re not sure that anyone would have helped you.

Adrenaline is still pumping through your veins as you turn and kneel on the floor to be eye level with the girl, who takes a step back in fear but you hold your hands up, trying to show her how you’re not a threat.

Now that you can see her clearly, you see how scared she really is. She is shaking slightly, still clutching her worn out teddy bear with tears in her eyes. Her clothes aren’t in the best state either and her shoes are two steps more from falling apart. Just by looking at her you can tell that she has to have spent nights on the street.

Your heart breaks. It really was unfair how many unfortunate people and kids lived in such dire situations in Gotham. Of course you knew that there were people trying to change things and do better like the vigilantes or normal people like you, that even if it was in the smallest of ways, always tried to help somehow. You did so by either giving away the clothes that you didn’t use anymore or doing donations whenever you could. But sometimes it still seemed like the bad outweighed the good.

“Hi, honey.” You say in a soft voice to try and calm the little girl. “I’m Y/N. What’s your name?”

She stops backing up against the wall of the building, sniffs and rubs her eyes, before looking at you, deciding whether or not to trust you.

“Lily.” You hear her squeak out. Her grip on the teddy bear relaxes and she starts playing with its ear, still not looking directly at you.

“Hi Lily, it’s very nice to meet you.” You say as you extend a hand to her, wanting to give her some sense of normalcy. She slowly takes it and you give her a soft shake. “You okay?” She nods. “You know Lily, you were very brave standing up to those men.”

“They were bad” She says. You nod. “Jay always says not to trust strangers and much less big scary men.”

“He’s very right. Is he your brother?” Maybe you can help her get back to her family. If you managed to do so, it would be much better than bringing her to the police and then, sadly, most likely than not, forgotten in the foster care system.

“No. A friend. A very good friend.”

“Okay, good. That’s very important.” You look around, trying to see if somebody is looking for her. “Do you live nearby?”

“I think so.” She says shyly, you give her an encouraging look to see if she can give you any more information. “I was chasing a cat but I think that I took a wrong turn.”

“Okay. How about I go with you and try to find your way back?” You say as you stand back up. You’re happy to see that Lily doesn’t look scared anymore. Instead, she looks almost… Excited?

“Yes, please! I don’t want to miss it!” She says as she grabs your hand and starts walking in the direction that you suppose she came.

“Miss what?” You ask, but she’s already telling you everything about her teddy bear, who seems to be Batbear at night, fighting crime and kicking butt like the heroes in Gotham.

Turns out that Lily’s home was thankfully a lot closer than what you had expected. After asking her if she remembered a couple of streets and stores, she was able to find the right way back.

You finally reach an open space between two buildings that seems to work as a playground, with a rusty basket to play basketball on one side and several boxes and crates littering the corners. Several kids run around playing and chasing each other, most of them in the same condition as Lily.

A group of them surround a bench and you hear him before you see him.

“What do you mean Lily’s not here? Where is she?” He’s running a hand stressfully through his hair, looking around worriedly.

“Jason?” You ask transfixed.

Jason locks eyes with you and freezes, just as surprised to see you as you are to see him.

“Y/N.” He says breathlessly.

“Jay!” Lily’s excited voice filters through the air. You feel her dropping your hand and Jason’s eyes turn to her, relief washing over them. As she runs towards Jason, she extends her arms and he scoops her up and settles her on his waist effortlessly, Lily hugging his neck.

“Lily! Oh my god, where were you? We were all so worried. You’re always here when I arrive.” He says to her.

“I know, I'm sorry! Some bad men tried to take me. But don’t worry, Y/N helped me! She’s a badass!” Jason’s eyes widen at the new information and you see something in them that you had never seen before, a kind of anger that promises danger.

But as soon as that look comes, it disappears, and it makes you wonder if it was ever really there in the first place. He then looks at you, thankful but with a small tint of worry. You just give him a reassuring nod, telling him that everything is okay.

“Why don’t you go with the rest for a bit? I’ll be right there.” He says as he turns to Lily once more.

“Okay!” He settles her back down and she runs off to the other kids.

Jason approaches you quickly in a few strides, it feels like he wants to touch you, take your hands to make sure that you’re okay but he stops himself.

“You okay? What happened?”

“Yeah. I’m okay, don’t worry.” You tell him what happened and you can see how the anger returns to him in the way that he clenches his fists. “But we’re fine and they left so that’s all that matters.” You conclude.

“Where was it?” He asks firmly. You tell him the street where it all happened and Jason seems deep in thought for a moment, like searching for something in his mind. When he finally finds it, he nods resolutely as if he just made a mental note to do something later.

The determination in his eyes sends a chill running down your spine.

“Thank you for helping her.” He says then. “But be careful please, I don’t want you to be in danger.” The very thought makes him shiver, he doesn’t even want to entertain the possibility.

“I know. I am. I just couldn’t stand by.” You respond and he nods, knowing that that was how you were, always looking out for others.

“Anyway, thanks again.” He adds and you nod before looking around you once more.

It then dawns on you that this is the very first time that you are seeing Jason outside of the bookshop and it just feels so strange. When he first entered the shop, it seemed like he stood out like a sore thumb, with his tall frame, rough appearance and black leather jacket against the cozy backdrop of the shop. But now, after so much time, you couldn’t imagine him anywhere else. Now it was like he didn’t fit into any other atmosphere other than at the bookshop.

“Well, and what are you doing here?” You ask curiously.

“Oh, I…”

“So you’re Y/N?” Interrupts a young teen with a knowing smile, followed by a group of other kids, including Lily, clearly having told them her latest adventure. You nod.

“Are you his girlfriend?” Asks another boy now, looking up at you. You let out a small laugh at the way Jason’s eyes widen almost comically at the kid’s boldness.

“No.” You respond, and for a second, you can’t help but wonder what it would be like to answer otherwise.

“We’re friends.” Jason says.

“Very good friends.” You can’t help but add and when you steal a nervous glance at Jason, you find him nodding, agreeing with you. Because saying just ‘friends’ feels too simple to describe your relationship with Jason. And what you said still doesn't cover it.

“Really?” The teen boy from earlier asks again with a raised eyebrow. “Because he-” Jason grabs him and puts a hand over his mouth before he can keep talking, smiling innocently at you. You look at the chaotic situation amused.

“Are you staying for the reading?” Lily asks.

“The reading?” You ask confused.

“Yeah! Jason always reads to us and acts out the stories!” Another girl says. And then it clicks.

Jason buys and checks out so many children’s books for them. For these kids. Street kids. Like him. Not only that but he also reads the stories for them. Regularly. You feel like melting into a puddle.

You turn to Jason, an amazed look on your face. As if this man could be any more wonderful. He blushes and looks away in embarrassment. A small smile makes its way across your lips.

“Really? I didn’t know that.” You say, turning to the kids once more.

“Yeah! He’s great at it.” Chirps the same girl.

“Are you staying then?” Lily insists.

You immediately turn to Jason. You would love to but there is a reason for why Jason hasn’t told you about this. It feels like this is something very important to him and that he holds very dear so you don’t want to intrude on that. But Jason is already looking at you, scared yet hopeful, as if he does want you to stay but is afraid that you may want to leave now.

“Well, I would love to. If I’m not a burden of course.”

“Never.” Jason says without missing a beat.

You don’t think that you have ever smiled more brightly.

You end up having one of the best afternoons that you have ever had in a while. Rival only to the other ones in which Jason visits you in the bookstore. You stay and listen as Jason reads them the books that had been sitting on the bench and that you recognize from the bookstore out loud, using different voices, doing exaggerating gestures, and acting out scenes.

You watch as the kids laugh and look at him mesmerized. If you had been able to look into a mirror, you would have found that you had the very same look of admiration as them, maybe even a tiny little bit lovestruck. You can tell that they love him, look up to him and consider him a role model. You can’t help but think that they made an excellent choice.

The crowd is mostly made of small kids, the older ones, in their teenage years, although a few of them listen, most make as if the activity doesn’t interest them, but you can see how they linger around the group while they play basketball or pass by.

You see how what Jason is doing with these kids is a light for them. A moment of escapism, fun and happiness from their lives and problems in the worst neighborhoods of Gotham. Kids forced to grow up earlier to survive. Holding onto whatever source of innocence that they can.

Eventually, they all rope you into reading too and you end up sharing the spotlight with Jason. There are laughs, questions from the kids about yourself, funny comments and the snickering whispers from the older kids at the back about the two of you, having obviously heard about you before.

Jason prays that you can’t see them when they start teasing him and making kissy faces to which he just rolls his eyes. He also prays that you can’t see how he looks at you as you enjoy yourself and laugh at what the kids say. The utter adoration and longing that lay in his eyes.

It isn’t until almost a couple of hours later, when the sun has already disappeared beyond the horizon and the orange hue of the sky has turned purple, that the reading does come to an end.

The kids say their goodbyes, not before inviting you to reading time again and wondering when you will come back. A lot of them already give you a hug as they go, and you see them leave back towards their homes. Most of them go to the adjacent buildings but there are also a few, mostly the older kids, or at least accompanied by them, that go towards the street.

Lily thanks you for your help and even gives you a kiss on the cheek that makes you want to melt and give her a tight hug before she leaves towards the closest building, a girl a few years older than her guiding her by the hand.

And then, after all the chaos and laughs, with the night starting to settle in, it’s just you and Jason once again.

You sit back down on the bench next to him and you both stay there for a moment, enjoying the quiet and the silence of the chill Gotham air.

When you turn to Jason, his green gaze is already on you.

“Thank you for staying. The kids loved having you here.” He whispers as to not disturb the peace that has settled over you both. “I hope that it wasn’t too much.”

“What? No, it was lovely. Really, I had a great time. I’m sorry if I intruded.”

“No, not at all.”

“Now I know why you always check out so many kids’ books. Good to know that you’re not a psychopath with kids in cages or something.” You joke and Jason huffs out a laugh.

“Yeah, maybe I should have explained that earlier. It would have been too strange to explain at the beginning but then we became friends and it dragged on and it felt too weird to explain now. I don’t know.” He just didn’t know what you would have thought of him.

“No, no.” You shake your head. “I didn’t mean it like that. This was clearly something very private to you. It’s perfectly understandable not wanting to share it with anybody.”

“You’re not anybody.”

You’re sure your heart stops beating for a moment.

The intensity of his gaze makes you look down at your hands. You can’t remember if anyone has ever looked at you like that.

It’s scary.

In a good way, but still very scary.

“Well, anyway, thank you for letting me be a part of it.” You end up saying and he nods.

Silence settles over you two once again. Neither of you wanting the day to end.

“You hungry? I know a great spot.” He speaks up.

Your cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

“I’m starving.”

You love the place as soon as you see it. It’s a small, yet very cozy and lovely diner. Through the outside windows you can see that the color pattern is mostly blue and white with bright pink neon letters announcing that it’s open.

Jason holds the door open for you and the warmness inside the place drastically contrasts with the cold from outside. The delightful smells from the kitchen make your stomach ache with hunger.

“Hi, sweetie! We’ll be right with you!” The old woman at the bar with a brightly tinted red streak in her hair says excitedly.

“Sit wherever you like!” A voice yells next from the kitchen. From the open window that looks into it from the dining area you can see another old woman with a bun.

“Thank you, ladies.” Jason greets.

Your mouth hangs open.

Jason leads you to a booth that stares out into the street. His usual spot, you suppose. As you sit in the comfortable booth and you two take off your coats, you close your mouth and look at Jason with a raised eyebrow. He looks back at you feigning innocence, though you know well that he knows why you’re so surprised.

“What?” He says with a teasing smirk that makes you want to kiss it away.

“You little liar.”

“Hey.” He responds amused. “What did I do now?”

“Looks like I’m not the only one with practically adoptive grandparents that just so happen to run a business.” You say with your arms crossed.

And when Jason laughs, you might as well be addicted to the sound with how much you love it everytime you hear it.

“I knew you were going to say that.” He says and you scoff playfully. “In my defense, I will say that I wasn’t fully ‘officially’ adopted until after we had that conversation. I hadn’t come here enough times for that yet.”

“Mmhm, sure.” You say suspicious as you take the menu from the side of the table and take a quick look over it. “And you wanted to take Rose and Jimmy away from me.” You add, muttering under your breath.

“Excuse me?” Mock outrageousness in his tone.

“What you hear.” You’re trying too hard to hide your smile.

“You know that was never my intention.” He answers and you just hum, pretending to read the menu. “Okay, as an act of peace, you can have Millie and Ruby too.”

“Mhm.” You pretend to think it over.

“I’m sure they’ll love you in no time anyway.” The lightness with which he says that, as if anyone who met you couldn’t help but love you, makes you drop the menu onto the table and look back at him.

“Deal then.” You finally say and you both let out a small laugh.

After that, the woman with the red streak approaches your table and greets you both.

“Good evening kids, how are you today?”

“Good, Ruby, and you?” Jason answers.

“You know, same old, same old.” She says, waving her hand. Then she turns fully to you. “And who might this lovely lady be?” She asks with a knowing smile and an arched eyebrow, almost as if she already knows the answer and knows a secret that you’re not privy to.

“I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you.”

“The Y/N?” Ruby says while throwing Jason a look. He just looks away in embarrassment and the neon sign of the window really makes you wonder if the red tint on his cheeks are a reflection of it or not. “Oh, it’s so lovely to meet you dear! We've heard so much about you! We’ve been telling Jason to bring you non-stop. Oh gosh, I gotta tell Millie. Millie! Honey, come here!” She screams towards the kitchen.

Your lips curve into an amused smile, but you also feel heat rush to your face, not really knowing what to do with all the attention and the fact that Jason has been talking about you, what seems to be quite a lot, to other people. Not only his brother, but also the kids and these women.

Millie appears and when she learns who you are, she greets you just as enthusiastically as Ruby has.

“Let me tell you sweetheart, this boy here talks about you-” Millie starts but then she clears her throat as Jason throws her a warning glance. “I mean, about your bookshop all the time.”

“Well, you can drop by anytime.” You offer.

“We will.” Millie assures you. It seems as though both Millie and Ruby want to stay and ask you millions of questions but they see how Jason is begging them with his eyes to leave you two alone, and after taking your orders, they leave with a smile.

“They seem really great.” You say. Their loud nature sign of a joyous life. And even though they seem more energetic, vivacious and chaotic than the calm and quiet way in which Rose and Jimmy carry themselves, you know that they would get along very well. Especially with how all of them seemed to be thoroughly entertained by the interactions that you and Jason have.

“Yeah, they are.” Jason confirms. “But sorry about that, they can come off as a bit overwhelming sometimes.”

“It’s okay. It’s nice to be greeted so welcomely.”

As the night goes on, you find that it is just as easy to talk to Jason outside the bookshop as it is over the counter. It doesn’t surprise you but the underlying fear that your connection only works surrounded by bookshelves finally leaves you.

As you both eat the delicious food that Millie prepared, Jason tells you more about the kids per your request. How he tries to read to them at least once a week, how he brings them food whenever he can and how he has even taught a few of them to read. You also immediately offer up the bookstore to hold the readings but he shakes his head and smiles sadly.

“Thank you, really. That’s very kind of you. But it’s not very viable since the neighborhoods are not very close. Most of the kids have people relying on them and can only make it to the readings from time to time. The playground is also the more common ground, the older kids can’t go very far due to the responsibilities and it’s not safe for the smaller ones to go on their own.”

You nod, but your heart clenches at how these kids can’t enjoy a normal childhood.

“I understand.” You stop and think for a second if you should say what you want to say next, worried about overstepping.

You decide to go for it anyway.

“I’d like to come back for the readings, if that’s okay?” Your voice comes out lower and more unsure than what you had first intended, your hands playing nervously on your lap.

Jason looks at you, as if he can hardly believe you’re real.

“Of course you can. I’m sure they’d love to have you back.” I’d love to have you back. But Jason doesn’t want to scare you or make the whole situation come off too strong. “But are you sure? I don’t want you to feel pressured, if their insistence-”

“No, no! Really, I had a great time and I would love to be able to see the kids again. Help in any way I can.”

“Okay, then.” He says with a smile pulling at his lips.

The evening stretches on and you two stay at the dinner until closing time. There is a moment that will haunt you for days, as you told him a story, he leaned his arms on the table, giving you his undivided attention, and the way in which his bicep flexed under his sleeve… Nothing has ever been so distracting. Your eyes had been instantly drawn over to it. You really, really hoped that he didn’t notice. You would die of embarrassment otherwise.

You even finally, finally, give each others’ numbers to match schedules for the readings (and to just chat in general of course), since you won’t be able to make it to all of them due to the bookstore hours and so that Jason can let you know if he can’t attend one. You can’t believe you didn’t even have it before with how often you two already talked at the bookshop.

It feels like another shift in your relationship. A stepping stone.

Another brick on the long yet sturdy building road.

Please let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!

>Part II

#Jason todd x reader #Jason todd fic #Jason todd one shot #Jason todd imagine #Jason todd #Red hood x reader #Red hood fic #Red hood one shot #Red hood imagine #Red hood #Jason todd imagines #Red hood imagines #Children's Books and Leather Jackets #ThreeStarsInLine #Jason todd fluff #Jason todd angst #Red hood fluff #Red hood angst #DC Comics

764 notes · View notes