#let me know what you think about them ^.^

[tawnysoup]

Deltarune theory that I need people to think about for a moment.

Monsters don't bleed.

You can probably figure out where this is going yourself, but if you want to hear my thoughts and evidence, it's all going under the cut.

Monsters don't bleed. We're reminded of this at the start of and throughout Chapter 4, through interaction with the bunny kid when you knock their door, and the funeral book about monsters turning into dust.

Conversely Susie has expressed a lack of understanding about this concept, implying she's bled before and doesn't find it weird. Implying she's used to a culture where blood is normal...

...but not dust? She didn't seem to put the pieces together that the dust in the 'snowglobe' (horrific implications btw) could be Gerson's body until Kris pointed it out to her. After which point she reacted with horror, as if she hadn't expected it, or didn't know that's how it worked?

Let's think about Susie for a moment. What do we know about Susie, now?

We know she bleeds. They made a point of showing it even though Kris bleeds in the same chapter and it's not visibly shown. We know she's considered a brute, more monsterish than those around her. She lays into this fact, playing it up. We know she had a rocky childhood. She's moved houses multiple times in the past. She's given up on trying to make friends.

She doesn't have a tail (or at least, her tail is a nub), and she feels embarrassed about that fact. When equiped with the jevil's tail, she'll say "figured I'd grow one eventually."

Kris used to wear a horn headband in the hopes they'd grow horns like their family, eventually. When Susie sees a picture of them with the headband, she quietens uncomfortably once she realises why.

Susie HATED Kris's guts, even before chapter 1. (From the spamton sweepstakes:)

Whatever they said made her back off and leave. I think she saw herself in them. The outcast. The odd one out in a town full of something else. Something that can't be understood. Is it any wonder she changed her tune when she found out Kris was not her enemy, but understood her? That Kris would leap to defend her, instead? That she thought, surely, this kid hates me for what I am just as much as I hate them for what they are? They don't hate me? They don't think I'm disgusting, a freak of nature, better off abandoned?

Why have we never seen her parents?

Why is it that, when we look away from Kris, we can only imagine "what Susie is up to"? Why no one else? Why can we see her, but not exert enough control to impact what she does? Why is our soul able to fight on her behalf without Kris's involvement? Why does she seem to exert control over the story even when it's clearly trying to be bent in favour of the player's decisions?

Monsters don't bleed.

Susie is a hybrid.

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 33: September 2024 - Part 4

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.

She watched her family give up everything for Charles’ career—Arthur’s karting, their father’s savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.

But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isn’t an afterthought—she’s a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesn’t have to be invisible.

Warnings and Notes: 

we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, talk about loosing a childhood pet, toxic families, mention of the loss of a parent.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

The office was quiet, soft. A low hum of air-conditioning filled the silence between words, the kind of ambient white noise that Belle had grown to find oddly comforting. She sat cross-legged on the couch, a mug of chamomile tea cooling in her hands. Simone, always calm, always precise, watched her with an expression that never pushed—but always invited.

“I think it’s… better,” Belle said slowly. “Not fixed. Not even close. But better.”

Simone nodded. “What feels better?”

Belle thought for a moment. “Arthur’s been texting more. Charles and Lorenzo send me links to baby things they think I’ll like. Nothing huge. Just... consistent. Like they’re trying.”

“And how does that feel?”

“Confusing,” Belle said honestly. “Nice, sometimes. Other times I want to scream. But I’m not… shutting them out. Not completely.”

Simone’s gaze softened. “That’s progress.”

“Yeah.” Belle gave a wry smile. “It’s baby steps. My mother sends me articles about parenting now. Like I haven’t already read everything the internet has to offer. But she’s trying.”

“And how does it feel when he does?”

“Complicated,” Belle admitted. “It makes me happy, but it also makes me angry, like—where was this five years ago? Where was this when I needed it?”

Simone nodded once, acknowledging the contradiction without judgment. “You’re allowed to feel both. One doesn’t cancel out the other.”

“I know.” Belle paused. “But I think… I want to keep the door open. Just a little.”

“That sounds brave.”

Belle gave a dry laugh. “It sounds terrifying.”

Simone tilted her head. “Would it help if you had more control over how you let them in?”

Belle looked up. “What do you mean?”

Simone set her notebook gently aside. “What if you invited them to something low-stakes? Something where they’re part of your world, but not the center of it. Somewhere you can set the tone, and where other people are around. Like a buffer.”

Belle blinked. “Like what?”

Simone smiled lightly. “You mentioned Max’s birthday. That you’re planning to decorate the nursery that weekend?”

“Yeah…” Belle’s voice trailed off as the thought formed. “We were going to build the shelves and hang the prints. Nothing fancy. Just… make it feel real.”

“What if you invited your family to be part of that?” Simone asked gently. “Not the whole day. Not a big deal. Just… included.”

Belle was quiet for a moment. “It wouldn’t be about them.”

“Exactly,” Simone said. “It’s about you. Your space. Your child. But it could be a way to let them step into that gently. On your terms.”

“And if it’s awful, I can make Max tell them to leave,” Belle muttered.

Simone smiled. “You’re not alone anymore. That’s the difference.”

Belle stared down into her tea. The idea sat heavily—but not painfully.

Maybe it wasn’t a reconciliation. Maybe it wasn’t forgiveness.

Maybe it was just… the next step.

“Okay,” Belle said softly. “Maybe I’ll ask them.”

Simone nodded, kind and steady. “Only if you want to. You don’t owe anyone a seat in your story. But if you want to hand them a folding chair—they’ll know where to find it.”

Belle snorted. “God, that’s such a therapist metaphor.”

“And yet,” Simone said, eyes twinkling, “you got it immediately.”

Belle smiled, small and tired and real. “I did.”

***

The fan hummed softly overhead. The windows were cracked open just enough to let the night air in, and Belle was half-curled on her side, head resting on Max’s chest, her fingers absently tracing the edge of his shirt.

They were supposed to be asleep. But the baby had kicked just hard enough to startle Belle, and now sleep felt like a distant thought.

“Do you want to keep talking names?” Max asked quietly, not pushing, just offering.

Belle didn’t answer right away. Her fingers paused, then started again. “Maybe.”

Max waited.

“I’ve been thinking about middle names,” she said eventually. “And… I don’t know. I’m stuck.”

“Too many options?” he asked, brushing his hand along her spine.

She shook her head. “Just one. That I keep coming back to.”

Max was quiet, letting her shape the words however she needed to.

“My father’s name,” Belle said softly. “Hervé.”

He didn’t react. Just shifted a little so he could see her face better. “Okay.”

“There’s this… expectation,” she continued. “I haven’t said anything to anyone, but I know. My family will assume we’ll use it. Especially because we are having a boy. It’ll be this unspoken thing that I’m supposed to do.”

Max ran his thumb gently along her arm. “Do you want to?”

Belle was quiet again. “I don’t know.”

And that was the honest truth.

“I loved him,” she said, her voice rough now. “He died when I was nineteen. There’s a part of me that still misses him every day.”

Max’s eyes softened. “I know.”

“But he also…” She swallowed. “He sold Blanche.”

Belle let out a breath. “Sold her. My horse. My best friend. Just—gone. For karting tires. For Charles. And I know it was to help the family, and I know he thought he was doing the right thing. But he never even told me. He didn’t say goodbye. I came home and the stable was just… empty.”

Max didn’t try to fix it. He just leaned in a little, one arm brushing hers. Letting her feel him there.

“So now,” she said, throat tight, “I think of giving our child his name, and there’s this voice in my head saying, you should. That it’s the right thing. That I’ll be ungrateful if I don’t. That everyone will judge me.”

Max reached for her hand and wrapped it gently in his.

“But then,” Belle whispered, “there’s this other part of me that still feels like that girl. Standing in that empty stable. Wondering why I wasn’t enough to keep.”

Silence bloomed between them. Not heavy. Not cold. Just true.

After a moment, Max spoke, voice low but certain. “You don’t owe anyone that name.”

“I know,” she said. “But part of me still wants to give it to the baby. Because he was my dad. Because I did love him. Because it wasn’t all bad.”

She turned to look at Max. “Is that stupid?”

“No,” he said immediately. “It’s not stupid. It’s human. He mattered to you. It’s okay that it’s complicated.”

Belle’s eyes glistened. “What if people think I’m being selfish for not using it?”

Max shifted closer, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Then let them think it. This isn’t about them. It’s about what feels right to you. To us.”

She leaned into him slightly, comforted by the certainty in his voice.

“And Belle,” he added, voice gentler now, “you know Charles or Arthur or maybe even Lorenzo will use the name. One of them will. Hervé will live on, one way or another.”

Belle turned slightly toward him.

“And maybe they should,” Max continued. “Because he had a different meaning to them. Because Hervé was their father too. And that’s their grief to carry, their memory to honor.”

Belle gave a small, tearful laugh. “Arthur will probably make it the kid’s first name and then forget to tell anyone.”

Max smiled. “Exactly. So you don’t have to carry that weight for them. Not this time.”

She nodded, silent again. But this time, it felt less like drowning in indecision and more like finding breath.

He squeezed her hand. “This is our child. And this name? This is yours to choose. Not for tradition. Not for guilt. For love.”

Belle blinked back tears she hadn’t meant to let fall.

Max smiled softly. “If you want to use Hervé, we can. But it doesn’t have to be this time. Or ever. Our baby won’t love you less. He won’t even know unless you choose to tell him.”

Belle exhaled shakily and rested her head on his shoulder.

“Can we just… sit on it for a while?”

“For as long as you want,” Max said. “We’ve got time.”

Belle stayed curled against him, listening to the slow, steady rhythm of his heartbeat. One of his hands had settled over the curve of her belly again, warm and grounding. She didn’t want to break the moment—but she also didn’t want to hold it in anymore.

“There’s something else,” she said quietly.

Max shifted just enough to show he was listening.

“I saw Simone yesterday.”

“Yeah?” he murmured. “How was it?”

“Good,” Belle said. Then, after a pause: “Hard. But good.”

Max waited.

“She brought something up. Something I haven’t stopped thinking about since.”

Max hummed softly, encouragement in sound form.

“She suggested… maybe I invite my family to help with the nursery. On your birthday.”

Max blinked. “Oh.”

“I know that’s not what we planned,” Belle rushed to say. “And it’s totally okay if you don’t want to. Or if it feels like too much. I just—Simone said it might be easier if I let them come when it’s not just about me. When it’s already a full day. Less pressure. Less expectation. More people around.”

She lifted her head slightly to look at him. “Would that be okay?”

Max was quiet for a moment. Not because he was upset—Belle knew his silences now. This one was full of thought, not hesitation.

“I don’t care what my birthday looks like,” he said softly. “As long as you’re okay. If this helps you… if this makes it easier to let them in, even just a little—I’m all for it.”

Belle’s brows knit, uncertain. “Are you sure?”

Max reached up and gently tucked her hair behind her ear. “I’m sure.”

She searched his face for any sign of discomfort. There was none.

“I just…” She took a breath. “I don’t want it to become a whole thing. Like—‘we’re all fine now,’ or ‘look how close we are again.’ I’m not there. I’m not even close.”

“You don’t have to be,” Max said. “It doesn’t have to be anything more than a few hours of paint and furniture and wallpaper. If anyone tries to turn it into a redemption arc, I’ll lock them in the garage with Christian.”

Belle laughed wetly, wiping her eyes.

“Let them come,” Max said, gently. “Let them hold a paintbrush and hang some shelves and exist in a space that you created. That we’re building for our son.”

She exhaled slowly, like letting something heavy slide from her shoulders.

“And if at any point it’s too much,” Max added, “just say the word. I’ll fake a plumbing emergency.”

Belle snorted. “A plumbing emergency in a newly built Monaco penthouse?”

He grinned. “I’m very committed to the bit.”

She rested her forehead against his. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For letting me have it both ways,” she said softly. “For letting me try.”

Max’s voice dropped, rough with affection. “I always will.”

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Lando Norris

Max: you’re coming to my birthday next weekend don’t make a face we’re decorating the nursery

Lando: oh thank god i thought you were about to make me wear a button-down and socialize

Max: no button-down just emotional labor and assembling IKEA furniture

Lando: so… worse

Max: also the Leclerc brothers will be there all of them

Lando: MAX NO no no no no no i’m not sitting through Arthur quoting Pinterest at us and Charles making emotionally repressed noises

Max: that’s why i’m texting you i’m not sitting through that alone you’re my support gremlin

Lando: i hate it here

Max: bring a drill and snacks or just stand near me and make fun of Arthur under your breath either works

Lando: i had plans that day

Max: do you even know what day it is

Lando: not the point

***

Text Messages: Lando Norris & Emilie Abadie

Lando: MAX IS MAKING ME GO TO HIS BIRTHDAY NURSERY BUILDING CHAOS THING

Emilie: yes. we are going.

Lando: WHAT WE??

Emilie: yes. You’re not getting out of it. I already RSVP’d for us when Belle mentioned it

Lando: this feels like betrayal

Emilie: it’s community support and if i have to be in the same room as Charles, i’m not doing it alone

Lando: but i was going to play FIFA and ignore my feelings

Emilie: congratulations. now you’ll be building a changing table and confronting emotional growth instead

Lando: i’m calling HR

Emilie: HR said bring cupcakes

***

Text Messages: Lando Norris & Max Verstappen

Lando: we’re coming emilie sold me out

Max: excellent i’ll save you a paint roller

Lando: i hope the baby grows up to be a McLaren fan out of sheer spite

***

Group Chat: WHAT IS HAPPENING

(Members: Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri and Daniel Ricciardo)

Lando: i need backup this is an emergency

Oscar: hello to you too

Daniel: what did you do now

Lando: MAX invited me to his birthday which is also apparently a nursery decorating session AND THE LECLERCS WILL BE THERE plural. brothers. full trio. mother. no escape

Oscar: so what you’re saying is you’re being forced to be emotionally supportive and also use a screwdriver

Lando: YES emilie said we’re going i didn’t even have a say i was mid toast when she RSVP’d for both of us

Daniel: mate that sounds like a you problem i’m in australia 8,000 miles away UNREACHABLE

Lando: that’s cowardice

Daniel: that’s geography 😌

Lando: oscar please don’t leave me alone with a roll of painter’s tape and charles leclerc talking about childhood trauma

Oscar: unfortunately i have a prior engagement

Lando: you don’t even know what day it is

Oscar: still. engagement confirmed. cannot cancel.

Daniel: i hope they make you do the stenciling

Oscar: i hope you get stuck between Arthur and Jos in a very small room

Lando: i hate both of you i want that on record

Daniel: duly noted, now post pictures of you holding a baby onesie and pretending to care

Oscar: bonus points if you cry during the wallpaper reveal

Lando: this is abuse

Daniel: this is family ❤️

***

Text Messages: Lando Norris & Lily Zneimer

Lando: Lily. Light of Oscar’s life. i need your help.

Lily: what did he do now

Lando: MAX invited us to his birthday slash nursery decorating emotional ambush oscar said he had “a prior engagement” please tell me that’s fake. PLEASE.

Lily: excuse me??? this is the first i’m hearing of it

Lando: I KNEW IT he’s trying to abandon me with a paint roller and charles leclerc’s unresolved childhood trauma

Lily: he said nothing about this we are absolutely going

Lando: thank god you’re my favorite

Lily: i am texting him right now “prior engagement” my ass the engagement is with Belle’s wallpaper

Lando: can i stand next to you the whole time

Lily: yes but only if you bring cupcakes and stop calling it an emotional ambush

Lando: i make no promises

***

Text Messages: Lily Zneimer & Oscar Piastri

Lily: “prior engagement” ??? MAX’S NURSERY DAY IS NEXT WEEKEND AND YOU LIED

Oscar: i didn’t lie i deflected

Lily: we’re going. you’re painting something. lando is emotionally fragile. you are not abandoning him.

Oscar: i regret all of my life choices

***

Text Messages: Oscar Piastri & Lando Norris

Oscar:I hate you.

Oscar:Lily said i have to help you emotionally regulate during baby-themed social situations

***

Leclerc Family Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles, Lorenzo and Pascale)

Belle: Hi everyone— I wanted to let you know that we’re doing some nursery decorating on Max’s birthday. Nothing formal, just paint and furniture and probably chaos. We’ll be at the house all day. If anyone wants to come by and help, you’re welcome.

Belle: No pressure. But… if you want to be part of this, this is a good place to start.

Arthur: i’ll be there!! do i need to bring snacks??

Charles: Thank you for inviting us We’d love to help

Lorenzo: Do you need tools? Or wine?

Belle: both, probably

Pascale: Thank you, ma chérie. I’d love to come. Let me know what you need.

Belle:Just… bring yourselves. And maybe don’t wear white.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Max: just a heads up the entire Leclerc family might be at the house next weekend

Victoria: wait what like… the Leclerc family?

Max: all of them Belle invited them to help with the nursery on my birthday painting. furniture. emotional tension. the works.

Victoria: so… you’re telling me that i need to bring snacks, patience, and a fully charged phone for live updates

Max: absolutely arthur’s already trying to bring snacks so we’ll see how that goes

Max: i’m just warning you there will be wallpaper there will be feelings there may be passive-aggressive screwdriver moments

Victoria: i’m bringing wine and wearing black in case we need to mourn the concept of boundaries

Max: smart also maybe stay near belle just in case she needs backup

Victoria: always

Max: she’s trying so hard i just want it to go okay

Victoria: it will you’ve got me and a surprisingly motivated lando norris, apparently

Max: he’s been emotionally blackmailed into coming it’s beautiful

Victoria: see you there, birthday boy don’t let anyone cry on the crib mattress

Max: no promises

***

Team Redline Stream Transcript

Luke Crane: (laughing) “Okay, okay — last lap, and then serious question time. Max. Birthday boy. What’s the plan for tomorrow?”

Max: (without hesitation) “Ah, nothing crazy. My family’s coming over.”

Gianni Vecchio: “So what, big party? Michelin chef? Yacht? Balloons shaped like racing trophies?”

Max:  “No, nothing like that this year.” (pauses, completely deadpan) “We’re doing the nursery.”

(beat of stunned silence)

Chris Lulham: “…You’re doing what?”

Max: (grinning now) “You heard me.”

Chris: “Mate. Like… baby nursery?”

CHAT: 🧡🧡🧡 “Wait. THE NURSERY??” “HELLO???” “Is this how we find out he’s building the baby room???” “MAX. HELLO. BACK UP.” “Soft dad mode ACTIVATED.” “27 and domesticated.” “Say ‘my wife’ next, I dare you.”

Max (nodding, smiling like it’s the best thing in the world): “Yeah. Belle wants everything up before December, so we’re starting now. Wallpaper, furniture, the works. It’s… nice. Feels real.”

Luke: “You’re telling me you, Max Verstappen, multi-time F1 World Champion, are spending your birthday assembling a crib?”

Max: “Yeah. Why not? We’ve got to put up the wallpaper. And the mobile thing. The one with the little monkeys. I have been trying to build the giraffe lamp for three days and failing.”

CHAT: “BELLEEEE 🥺” “JUNGLE. NURSERY. I’M DEAD.” “Wait it’s a jungle theme I can’t breathe that’s so cute.” “HE SAID HER NAME.” “‘My family is coming over’ = wife + baby bump confirmed.” “IKEA collab when.”

Luke:  “Do we get a vlog? A ‘Verstappen Builds a Jungle’ series?”

Max:  “You can come help if you want.”

Luke:  “Absolutely not. I’m not getting blamed if the giraffe ends up upside down.”

Max: (shrugging)  “It’s Belle’s vision. I’m just the assistant. And maybe the muscle.”

Chris:   “Can’t believe the guy who nearly flipped a kart at age nine is excited about monkey mobiles.”

Max:  “Yeah, well. Turns out there are better things than trophies.”

Gianni:  “…you’re telling me your birthday party is IKEA furniture and jungle wallpaper?”

Max (smiling): “Yeah. And honestly? I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Chris: “God, he’s in deep.”

Luke: “Deep? He’s gone. Man said nursery like it was a five-star spa weekend.”

Max: “It kind of is. You don’t know joy until you see Belle looking at stuffed lion.”

Gianni: “Max Verstappen: Three-time World Champion. King of the jungle nursery.”

Max: “Soon-to-be father of one very spoiled, very loved little monkey.”

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/gridwife: MAX VERSTAPPEN SAID “YOU DON’T KNOW JOY UNTIL YOU SEE BELLE LOOKING AT STUFFED LIONS” don’t touch me i’m emotional

@/rbrarchive: i don’t want Drive to Survive i want a 4-part miniseries called “Verstappen Builds a Jungle”

@/formulafem: Belle: “Don’t make it all about me.” Max: “Her name is Belle. She wants monkeys. I love her. My job is giraffe assembly.” 🥹🥹🥹

@/kartsandcookies: Soft dad era Max Verstappen is stronger than any Red Bull aero package. He’s GONE. He’s in the jungle with a mobile in one hand and an allen key in the other.

@/f1contentqueen: We just watched Max Verstappen admit live on stream that he’s building a jungle-themed nursery for his child. On his birthday. Because Belle wants it done before December. Sir. You are the prize.

@/itsgivingdadenergy: 27. Multi-World Champion. Could be celebrating on a yacht. Instead: – Crib assembly – Monkey mobile – Jungle wallpaper – Saying “there are better things than trophies” 🥹

@/alonsohascats: MAX SAID BELLE WANTS “EVERYTHING UP BEFORE DECEMBER” SOFT DEADLINE?? BABY VERSTAPPEN ETA CONFIRMED FOR DECEMBER???? HELLO????

@/verstappenanon: You can actually hear Chris Lulham’s soul leave his body when Max says “the nursery.” I need the highlight reel. I need the full transcript. I need therapy.

@/sheercontent: Please understand that “Soon-to-be father of one very spoiled, very loved little monkey” is now my religion.

@/formulaiconics: Someone asked Max Verstappen what he’s doing for his birthday and he said “assembling jungle furniture for my unborn child.” This man has never been hotter.

@/gridtea: Max: "My family is coming over." Us: oh cute. Max: "We're doing the nursery." Us: EMOTIONAL COLLAPSE

@/carbonsnack:

I regret to inform you that Max Verstappen is so deep in domestic bliss he considers building IKEA furniture a birthday treat.

@/chaosandcarbon:

Max Verstappen, in 2019: “I’m here to win.”

Max Verstappen, in 2024: “I’ve been trying to build the giraffe lamp for three days.”

@/iknowaboutthegiraffelamp

if you’d told me five years ago that Max Verstappen would be losing sleep over a giraffe lamp and grinning about baby mobiles on Twitch I would’ve called you delusional but here we are

***

The plan had been simple.

Paint the nursery. Assemble the crib. Maybe hang the curtains. A cozy afternoon with a few close people.

Instead, there were 20 humans, two stepladders, a very suspicious IKEA instruction manual, and one giraffe lamp with a death wish.

***

In one corner of the nursery:

“Don’t force it,” Lily said calmly, crouched beside Oscar as she braced the neck of the lamp, her fingers steady against the ceramic.

“I’m not,” Oscar replied, tone even, brows furrowed in concentration as he adjusted the internal wiring with surgical precision. “But whoever assembled this originally had a deep disregard for physics. Possibly also sanity.”

Lily glanced at him, amused. “So Max, then.”

He gave her a long, unimpressed look. “Do you want the giraffe to work or not?”

She held up one hand in surrender but didn’t let go of the lamp. “Please continue your delicate surgery, Doctor Piastri.”

Oscar muttered something under his breath about hostile work environments, but his hands were careful, his focus razor-sharp. Despite the chaos unfolding around them—Arthur dropping wallpaper paste on the floor, Charles reading the instructions upside down, Lando declaring himself a “pattern expert”—the corner they’d carved out for themselves was oddly peaceful.

They’d been working on the lamp for nearly twenty minutes. Rewiring the socket, re-aligning the brass hardware, and gluing down a chip in the giraffe’s ear with Lily’s travel-sized nail glue. The giraffe’s head, slightly cocked to the side, had a vaguely judgmental expression, as if it, too, was questioning every decision that had led to this moment.

It fit right in.

“There,” Oscar said finally, sitting back on his heels. “Moment of truth.”

He reached up and flipped the switch.

The giraffe’s eyes lit up—literally. Two soft golden bulbs nestled behind the ceramic pupils flickered to life, casting a warm, slightly eerie glow around the corner of the nursery.

Lily gasped, delighted. “It’s majestic.”

Oscar tilted his head. “It’s deeply unsettling.”

“Majestically unsettling,” she corrected. “I’m naming him Gerard.”

Oscar blinked. “Gerard?”

She nodded, solemn. “He’s seen things. He has opinions. He’s here to supervise.”

Oscar glanced at the giraffe’s glowing face and then at Lily. “We’re not keeping this in the corner. It’s going next to the changing table. That way the baby can meet Gerard during every diaper change.”

“Perfect,” Lily said. “An early lesson in judgment and accountability.”

They both laughed, low and warm, the kind of laugh that comes from knowing each other too well and still liking what they find.

Across the room, Belle caught the glow out of the corner of her eye and smiled. “Did you fix it?”

Oscar looked up. “Gerard lives.”

Belle blinked. “You named the lamp?”

Lily patted Gerard on the head. “He named himself.”

Max, overhearing, just said, “If that lamp judges me at 3am while I’m trying to swaddle a screaming child, I’m throwing it in the bin.”

Oscar stood, dusting off his hands. “He’d survive. Gerard has strong main character energy.”

***

In another corner of the nursery:

“Okay,” Alexandra said, holding up a brass knob shaped like a monkey. “We’ve got a giraffe, an elephant, a lion, a hippo, and this little guy. Rank them in order of jungle superiority.”

“Giraffe wins for drama,” Emilie said, without looking up as she carefully smoothed down a tiny cotton onesie covered in embroidered leaves. “Monkeys are too chaotic. They’re basically Lando with a tail.”

Charlotte, on her knees by the partially assembled dresser, looked up with a grin. “So lion goes in the center drawer. Obviously. Power placement.”

“Agreed,” Alexandra said, already unscrewing the generic silver knobs from the dresser Max had built three weeks ago and left in ‘temporary, totally functional’ mode. “This child will be raised with aesthetics and authority.”

“Also, do we alphabetize the clothes?” Charlotte asked, holding up a delicate pale green muslin romper. “Or organize by size? Or by outfit vibe?”

Emilie blinked. “Is… outfit vibe a category?”

Charlotte shrugged. “If it’s not, I’m inventing it. Look at this cardigan. It’s giving ‘baby goes to brunch.’ This one?” She held up a tiny zip-up hoodie with bear ears. “This is ‘baby goes camping but stylishly.’”

Alexandra held up a pair of overalls the size of a dinner napkin. “This is ‘baby is emotionally prepared for tax season.’”

Emilie snorted. “Belle is going to walk in here and either cry from joy or immediately revoke our access to her child’s wardrobe.”

“I’m betting on both,” Charlotte said.

They laughed, quietly, gently, surrounded by soft fabrics and the scent of wood polish. Emilie reached for the drawer handles and began screwing on the animal knobs—giraffe on the top left, lion in the middle, elephant bottom right. It was absurd how satisfying it felt.

“Does this feel… real to you?” Alexandra asked after a moment, her voice a little softer now. “Like… Belle is having a baby.”

Emilie paused, hand resting on the edge of the dresser. “Sometimes, no. And then I fold a pair of newborn socks and remember that a tiny person is going to wear them.”

Charlotte added, “A tiny person with Max Verstappen’s DNA. Which means we’re probably going to have to baby-proof the sim rig by month four.”

Emilie smiled, but her eyes were warm. “They’re going to be so good at this.”

“They already are,” Alexandra said.

Emilie screwed in the last knob—a hippo, slightly crooked, just enough to be charming.

“Done,” she announced.

Charlotte leaned over to inspect. “That hippo is judging me.”

“Perfect,” Emilie said, sitting back on her heels. “He and Gerard the giraffe lamp can have meetings.”

***

In another corner: 

It was supposed to be a straightforward job.

 One wall.

Four panels of jungle-themed wallpaper.

An afternoon of light banter and bonding.

Instead, it had become a cautionary tale about letting three Leclercs, two Verstappens and a chaos-addicted McLaren driver do anything involving measurements.

“Okay,” Max said through gritted teeth, holding the smoothing tool in one hand and a strip of wallpaper in the other, “this is the last panel. We just need to line it up with the tree trunk on the previous one.”

Charles leaned in, squinting. “It’s already misaligned.”

“I haven’t even put it on the wall yet, Charles.”

Arthur, standing precariously on the second ladder with a glue brush in one hand and his phone flashlight in the other, said, “It’s the giraffe that’s off. Look. Its legs don’t line up.”

Lando, sitting cross-legged on the floor, leaned back slowly until he was lying flat, arms splayed out dramatically. “I could be anywhere else. I could be in Bali. Or dead. Either would be better than this.”

“You’re not helping,” Max muttered.

“I told you I wasn’t helping,” Lando said, voice muffled by the carpet. “I was promised cake and low-stakes birthday vibes. Not psychological warfare disguised as home improvement.”

Lorenzo sighed loudly. “I said we should’ve started with the right side and worked left. But nooo, Arthur had a system.”

Arthur looked offended. “My system was logical!”

Jos, standing by the door like a deeply disappointed god, crossed his arms. “Your system has resulted in two upside-down leaves, a floating lemur, and ten minutes of arguing about tree trunks.”

Charles rolled his eyes. “We wouldn’t be arguing if people listened to me when I said we needed a laser level.”

“NO ONE OWNS A LASER LEVEL, CHARLES,” Max snapped, eyes wild.

“I do,” Jos said, calmly.

Everyone turned to look at him.

“What?” he asked. “I like precision.”

Lando groaned from the floor. “I’m going to fake an injury. Someone drop a bookshelf on me.”

“Can we please just get this on the wall before my son graduates university?” Max asked, voice climbing into a pitch usually reserved for pit wall frustration.

Jos stepped forward silently and took the smoothing tool from Max’s hand.

“Oh, thank god,” Lando muttered.

With terrifying precision, Jos adjusted the paper, ran the tool down the seam, and stepped back. It was perfectly aligned.

No one said a word for a full five seconds.

Then Jos, still deadpan, muttered, “It’s like working with unmedicated squirrels.”

Arthur snorted.

Lorenzo looked personally wounded.

Charles opened his mouth and wisely closed it again.

Max dragged a hand down his face. “Why did I think this was a good idea?”

Lando, now half-asleep on the floor: “Because you love Belle. It’s always because you love Belle.”

Jos handed the smoothing tool back to Max and walked out without a word.

A moment of silence followed.

Then Arthur said, “Should we… fix the lemur?”

Max turned slowly. “If you touch that wall again, I’m using your face to test the crib mattress.”

***

In another corner: 

The nursery was full of chaos—ladders, laughter, half-screwed drawer knobs, wallpaper that had probably driven someone to therapy. So Belle had retreated to the sun-drenched living room with a basket of baby clothes and a folding station made out of the coffee table. Victoria helping her sort the clothing by size. 

Sophie knelt near the bookshelf, methodically stacking picture books and board games by theme and height. Pascale perched neatly on the edge of the armchair, holding a cup of herbal tea. 

In the hallway just outside, the sounds of chaos filtered in: a thump, a shout, and the unmistakable hiss of an offended cat.

“I said don’t chase Sassy with the tambourine!” Tom called, exasperated.

“We’re not chasing it, we’re guiding her with sound!” one of the children yelled back.

Victoria winced. “That’s the third time today.”

Belle sighed.  “She’ll live. Granted, she’ll loudly complain to Max this evening, but she’ll survive. ”

They shared a smile, the kind of tired, knowing thing women passed between each other without words.

The conversation drifted toward baby names as Belle started sorting through the pile of baby clothing.

“We’ve narrowed it down,” she said casually, “but we’re still thinking about middle names.”

“Have you considered something from your side of the family?” Victoria asked gently.

Pascale perked up immediately, voice sweet with just the faintest edge of expectation. “I always thought Hervé would be such a lovely tribute.”

The words hung in the air.

Belle’s shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly. “Yes,” she said, carefully. “We’ve talked about it.”

“I just think,” Pascale continued, smiling, “it would be such a nice way to honor your father. Especially since it’s a boy. Your father would’ve been so proud.”

Sophie, without looking up from her espresso, said, “Would he?”

Pascale blinked. “Excuse me?”

Sophie set her cup down and looked up slowly, voice as calm and cutting as a fine blade. “You speak as if love and grief are simple. As if honoring someone is a duty, not a choice.”

Belle’s breath hitched, just slightly.

“He was her father,” Pascale said, defensively.

“Yes,” Sophie said. “And he made choices that hurt her. That shaped her. That took something from her she never got back. That doesn’t make him a villain. But it does make this complicated.”

“I’m not saying he was perfect,” Pascale said stiffly. “But he was part of her.”

“And she’s allowed to decide which parts she wants to pass on,” Sophie said. “You may think you’re asking for a tribute. But what she hears is a demand.”

Pascale fell quiet. Not insulted. Just… still. Like someone who’d finally heard something that made the ground tilt.

Belle didn’t speak. She just folded a blanket slowly, fingers steady even though her throat was tight.

Sophie’s voice softened. “If Belle chooses that name, it should be because it brings her peace. Not because she feels indebted to grief.”

Victoria reached out and gently squeezed Belle’s hand.

And then—quietly, almost too quiet to hear—Pascale said, “I never thought of it like that.”

Belle looked up.

Pascale swallowed. “I just… I thought I was helping. I thought keeping his name alive meant something. But maybe I was asking her to carry something I should’ve been carrying myself.”

Sophie nodded, sitting back. “Then perhaps now, you can start letting her choose her own way to remember him.”

***

Instagram Stories: @/victoriaverstappen

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/sportschaosnet max verstappen going from “i don’t need friends” to “i have a jungle-themed nursery and a sister who writes poetry about it” is MY roman empire

@/OscarHardLaunch MAX HAS A NURSERY THERE IS A JUNGLE THEMED NURSERY THE CATS HAVE BEEN DEFEATED THE ERA HAS BEGUN

@/wheresthedrama Studio_B tag = BELLE IS THE DESIGNER = Max Verstappen’s wife is actually an interior architect with immaculate taste Do not speak to me I’m in mourning for my own walls

@/featherandfuel “Happy birthday, Max. You picked the best kind of life.” HELLO???? I’M CRYING IN TARGET

@/MaxVerstappenDefenseSquad can’t believe max verstappen’s redemption arc includes a eucalyptus mobile, a giraffe lamp, and an younger sister who now speaks in emotional prose

@/charlesgirliesunite i just know charles walked into that nursery and immediately questioned every aesthetic choice he’s ever made

@/formulalatte tbh the only thing more powerful than belle’s design taste is victoria's commitment to chaos. what do you mean “objective: avoid punching my brother” girl HELP

@/verstappenupdates victoria tagging @studio_b like belle isn't her sister-in-law and bestie now LMAOOO supportive queen

@/circuithearts max verstappen having a jungle nursery and victoria getting emotional about it was not on my 2024 bingo card but I’m here for the domestic era

@/softerverstappen “Happy Birthday, Max. You picked the best kind of life.” i am on the FLOOR. this is max’s roman empire.

***

The house was quiet. Max had gone out for a drive to clear his head after dinner, and the chaos of the day—the laughter, the teasing, the wallpaper war—had finally settled into a gentle hum in Belle’s memory.

She sat cross-legged on the rug in the half-lit nursery, a notepad resting on her knee. The giraffe lamp—Gerard—cast a golden glow over the list of names she’d scribbled and rewritten so many times the page had started to wrinkle.

She wasn’t even pretending to be objective anymore. The list was chaotic. A mix of classic and unusual, soft and strong. Names Max had liked. Names Belle had dismissed. Names from books. Names from nowhere.

And again—again—her pen landed on the same one.

Emilian.

She wrote it down softly. Fourth time this week.

She didn’t say it out loud. Didn’t need to. Just traced the letters, over and over, until the ink deepened and the paper thinned beneath it.

It was Max’s middle name. One he almost never used. One that came up once in conversation, early on, and she’d filed it away without knowing why.

But that wasn’t the only reason.

It was Emilie, too. The girl who had stood beside her in everything. The one who’d carried her grief like it was nothing and handed her back joy in return. It was Emilie’s laugh. Emilie’s loyalty. Emilie, who had become something like a sister without ever asking for the title.

Emilian.

It felt right in a way she couldn’t explain.

Strong, but soft. Steady.

She never said anything to Max. Not yet. She didn’t know if she was allowed to name something so permanent after people who already meant so much. Didn’t know if Max would see it as sentimental or strange.

So she kept the name to herself.

Wrote it at the top of every new page.

Circled it absentmindedly when she talked to the baby alone in the quiet.

Sometimes whispered it under her breath when she folded tiny onesies or passed by the crib and imagined someone small in it.

Emilian.

Maybe she was waiting to see if Max said it first. Or maybe she just needed to be sure.

But again and again—when she closed her eyes, when she dreamed of someone with Max’s eyes and her stubbornness—

That was the name that came back.

[0scarp1astr1]

Spoiled Much? (P1)

જ⁀➴ Desc: || Pranking them but telling them you let another man pay for you. ||

P2 (COMING SOON)

ᯓ★ Featuring: Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc, Lewis Hamilton, Lando Norris, Carlos Sainz, Fernando Alonso.

ᯓ★ 1x Genre: Humor

ᯓ★ Warning: None

ᯓ★ Requested? Yes

Author Note: We are back to headcanons! and doing requests given to me. I've been working on the masterlist that will soon replace the original pinned post. It'll have links to each part of these headcanosn so I hope you all enjoy.

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Max Verstappen

It all started with a few innocent scrolls on TikTok—girls pranking their boyfriends left and right—and you figured, why not? Max had just handed you his card to go grab a few things from the store, trusting you like he always did. That’s when the perfect plan popped into your mind.

"Call me if you need me," he said casually, completely unaware. You hummed in response, leaned over to kiss his cheek, and slipped out of the car with a little too much pep in your step.

Max leaned back in the driver’s seat, letting the car sit idle in the parking spot. At first, he thought nothing of your delay. He assumed you were just stuck in a long line. Meanwhile, inside, you were hunched over a cart, hiding your giggles behind your hand as you rehearsed the prank in your head.

Eventually, you managed to compose yourself, strolled out with your bags in hand, and tossed them into the back seat before slipping into your place beside him. You buckled up, eyes wide with innocent mischief.

"The man I ran into was really nice—he paid for everything," you said smoothly.

Max turned toward you, brow already furrowing. "The man?" he echoed, confused. "What are you talking about, lieverd?"

You nodded, playing it cool. "Yeah, he said I was pretty and that I shouldn’t have to pay on my own, so...he paid for everything."

Max leaned toward you, staring like he was trying to read your soul. "You weren’t paying on your own? That was literally my card."

"Yeah," you shrugged, holding it out to him. "But he insisted."

He took the card from your hand, jaw tightening slightly. "How old was this guy?"

You pretended to think, dragging out the moment. "Hmm… around your age, I guess?"

Max scoffed. "And he just—what—started complimenting you and offered to pay? Just like that?"

You fought the urge to burst into laughter. "He wasn’t hitting on me," you said, smiling just a little too much.

"He called you pretty," Max shot back, frowning. "And don’t get me wrong—you are—but still. He clearly meant what he said. That’s not casual."

You just nodded solemnly, letting the tension hang in the air a second longer before he abruptly unbuckled. "Alright, I’m going back inside to find this guy."

You grabbed his arm, laughter spilling out now. "Max, wait—"

"No, seriously," he huffed. "He thinks you’re single or something. Like he has a shot. I can afford to fly you to Monaco, let you live in my house, be spoiled every day of your life—what can he offer you?"

You were full-on laughing now, tears threatening to sting your eyes. "Baby, I was pranking you. There was no guy. I used your card like you said."

Max froze, blinking at you. Slowly, his stern expression melted into something softer, almost amused.

"You’re evil," he muttered, shaking his head. Then he let out a quiet laugh of his own. "Don’t joke like that, lieverd. You know I don’t care if people think you’re pretty—but if someone’s actually hitting on you? No. Absolutely not."

You leaned over, kissing his cheek. "Look at you, all protective and jealous."

"You nearly scared me to death, lieverd,"

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Charles Leclerc

Charles was home, lounging on the couch with Leo curled up beside him, the little dog resting his chin on Charles' leg like the most loyal companion. The TV played softly in the background, a comforting buzz. Before you left, Charles had handed you his card with a smile, telling you to get whatever you were craving for dinner tonight. But instead of heading straight home after shopping, you were too busy plotting your latest prank—one inspired by a few too many TikToks.

"I'm home!" you called out as you stepped inside. At once, Leo perked up, leaping from the couch and padding over to greet you with his tail wagging wildly.

Charles looked over his shoulder. "I was starting to worry," he said, standing up. "You took longer than usual."

You smiled innocently, setting your keys down and slipping off your shoes. After leaning in to kiss his cheek, you dropped the first line. "Sorry, this guy paid for everything and we just got caught up in conversation."

Charles froze, staring at you like you'd just said the most absurd thing he’d ever heard. “Je t’ai donné ma carte ?” he asked, blinking slowly.

You hummed. "I know, but he was really sweet. Said I shouldn’t worry my pretty little head about paying. He covered it."

Charles just stared for a moment before slowly shaking his head. “That’s unbelievable. People are going to assume you're dating him.”

You fought back a grin, holding it in with all your strength. "No one’s going to think that but you, Charles."

“Sure, sure,” he muttered, eyes narrowing as he turned on his heel and headed toward the kitchen. You followed him, bags in hand.

"Tu fais la moue ?" you teased once inside, catching a glimpse of his unmistakably pouty expression.

Charles didn’t even try to hide it. He just stared at you, arms crossed like a sulking prince. “I treat you well. We live in Monaco. We have Leo,” he gestured around, like the dog was part of his romantic résumé. “I drive in F1—and you're letting some random guy hit on you, baby?”

You couldn’t help it anymore. You broke, laughing as you set the bags on the counter. “I was just messing with you, Charles. There was no guy. I used your card—like I was supposed to.”

He let out a long sigh, his head dropping back slightly. “Don’t scare me like that, woman. I thought some random was actually going to take you away from me.”

You walked up to him, wrapping your arms around his waist. “I’m with you, Charles. Why would some random have me?”

He gave a tiny shrug, still sulking. “You never know.”

You patted his back playfully. “I got you good,” you said through a soft laugh. Leo barked at your feet as if to agree, his tail wagging like he, too, was in on the joke.

Charles looked down at the dog, then at you, his pout slowly morphing into a smirk

“Yeah, well—just wait, Y/N. One day, I’ll get you back.”

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Lewis Hamilton

You and Lewis had been shopping together most of the day, casually wandering the aisles like the soft domestic duo you were. At some point, Lewis veered off toward the pet section to get Roscoe a few new treats and maybe a fresh toy or two, promising to meet you up front when he was done. You nodded sweetly and went your own way—though behind that innocent look, you were plotting. And not just any plan: a prank. A classic, lighthearted trap for your sweet, loving, “just tell me what you need and I’ll buy it” boyfriend.

After grabbing everything you came for, you paid for your cart using your own money, then waited with the most innocent look you could muster. Lewis eventually showed up, a plush dog bed under one arm and a pack of Roscoe’s favorite snacks in the other.

"You already paid for your stuff?" he asked, dropping the items onto the counter.

You nodded, slipping into character. "No actually… this really nice guy offered to pay. Said I looked beautiful today, and he didn’t want me lifting a finger."

Lewis blinked. “He what?”

"He paid for me," you repeated with a shrug, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling. "Said it was his pleasure. Real gentleman type."

Lewis squinted at you like you just told him someone insulted Roscoe. "Baby… that man was flirting with you."

You shook your head, playing dumb. “No, he was just being nice.”

“Right. ‘Just being nice,’” Lewis echoed, making air quotes with a look of complete disbelief. “Because men randomly pay for groceries out of the kindness of their hearts and not at all to shoot their shot with a gorgeous woman.”

You kept your poker face as he grabbed the shopping bags and kept going. “I don’t see myself out here buying random women’s almond milk and cucumbers just to be nice. That’s a move.”

You tried to hide your smirk. “You sound a little… jealous.”

Lewis narrowed his eyes. “I’m not jealous. I’m logical. Man sees a beautiful woman, she’s alone, he tries his luck with his wallet. Basic flirting algorithm.”

“I mean, it worked. He was really sweet.”

That did it.

Lewis ran a hand down his face and let out a long sigh. “Look, it’s great someone thinks you’re hot enough to swipe a card for—but you know I’m right here. You never have to let some man pay for you when your boyfriend drives for a living. Just sayin’.”

You watched him ramble with a barely contained laugh as he kept going.

“I mean, come on, I spoil you for a reason. And now some stranger thinks he can step in with a grocery run? That’s his whole move?”

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. You burst into laughter, your body shaking as you leaned into the cart. “Lewis. Babe. It was a prank. I paid for everything. No man, no flirting, no almond milk Casanova.”

He blinked, pausing mid-rant. “Wait… you’re serious?”

“I am. Gotcha.”

He took a breath like someone who’d just been pulled from open water. “I’m forty, woman. You can’t play with my blood pressure like that.”

You grinned. “Alright, old man.”

Lewis straightened up immediately. “I am not an old man.”

“You didn’t even catch on to the prank, grandpa.”

He narrowed his eyes, his lips tugging into a smirk. “Forty doesn’t make me old. It makes me wise. And this wise man now knows he’s being pranked in public.”

You patted his back “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll go easy on you next time.”

Lewis gave a low chuckle, wagging a finger at you.

“No, no. You started something. A prank war is officially declared. So… just be prepared.”

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Lando Norris

When it came to you and Lando, pranks weren’t just an occasional thing—they were a lifestyle. The relationship came with love, laughter, and a mild risk of heart attacks. Like the time he woke you up at 3AM with a horror mask and you nearly karate-kicked him into next week. Or when you served him a fish smoothie and he banned you from the blender for a month. Your TikTok followers? Obsessed. They lived for every prank war update, every meltdown, every squeal of revenge.

So when you got tagged in a new viral prank trend, it was practically a public request to strike again. You didn’t hesitate. The phone was propped up, camera rolling discreetly, and you were all set. Lando, of course, had no clue what was coming.

You heard the door open and quickly pretended to be busy with prep in the kitchen. He walked in, hoodie slightly damp from the gym, cheeks flushed from the workout. “Smells good,” he said, setting down the grocery bag before leaning in for a soft kiss. “Took me forever to find that stupid oat cream you like.”

You smiled sweetly. “Oh, you didn’t have to. I ended up sending that list to Joshua earlier, and he already grabbed everything for me. Paid for it too. Said, and I quote, ‘anything for the pretty lady.’ Sweet, huh?”

Lando froze, hand still half-in the bag. “Joshua?”

“Mm-hmm,” you nodded, biting your inner cheek.

He blinked. “As in your friend Joshua? The one who wears too much cologne and tried to teach me how to salsa at that dinner party?”

You tilted your head. “Yeah, he insisted.”

Lando scoffed, standing up straighter. “I literally sweat through my hoodie at the gym, fought for a parking spot, went to four aisles for oat cream—and you let another man, one who smells like a Hugo Boss sample sale, buy your groceries?”

You struggled to keep a straight face. “He was being nice.”

“Oh, nice? Nice?! That’s the international signal for flirting. What’s next, is he gonna tuck you into bed and read you poetry? Babe, if I see him handing you a spoon while you're cooking, I might lose it.”

“Are you jealous?”

“I’m insulted. I’m offended. I’m—” He placed a hand over his chest. “—deeply betrayed. I mean, I pay rent! I drive race cars for a living! I went out to get snacks for your cravings at 4AM one time! And now I’m just… footnote boyfriend?”

You snorted. “You’re so dramatic.”

He gasped. “Go ask Joshua to massage your feet tonight then. My spa services are officially retired. Hope he has peppermint oil.”

At that point, you burst into laughter, pointing toward the camera recording from the corner. Lando followed your gaze, groaned, and dragged a hand down his face. “You little gremlin,” he muttered. “Of course it’s a prank. Of course.”

“Aww, you love me.”

“I do. Too much. Which is why you’re lucky you’re cute, because anyone else trying this would be blocked and reported.”

You leaned up, kissing his jaw gently. “You’re my favorite victim.”

He smirked. “And you’re my favorite menace. But just know—this war? It’s not over. I know you're scared of some bugs and some...other things. I’ve got Oscar on speed dial.”

Your eyes widened. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, I will. I already know where you hide your slippers.”

“LANDO NORRIS!” you shrieked as he backed into the hallway, giggling like the absolute child he was.

“Love you!” he called over his shoulder.

“Calling Oscar now! Let’s ruin her life!”

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Carlos Sainz

Carlos and you had been on the road for way too long, the kind of drive where you’ve already debated three podcast topics, played the same five songs on repeat, and shared half a bag of chips in silence. You were coming back from a much-needed trip—two full weeks away from the chaos of daily life. But now, you were finally heading home. And honestly? You were ready.

Still, you needed one last laugh before real life kicked back in. So, naturally, you plotted a prank.

You’d been riding like a queen in the passenger seat the whole time—pillow tucked under your head, cozy in the Christmas blanket Carlos had gotten you last year, doing everything but offering to drive. So when Carlos offered to go into the store to grab some snacks, you stopped him with a sweet smile and a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll go,” you insisted, taking his card from his hand.

He smirked. “Okay, but bring chips. Whatever you pick, I’ll eat it, mi amor.”

Inside, you grabbed everything you both liked—chips, drinks, something sweet. But instead of swiping his card, you paid with yours. And as you made your way back to the car, the plan was already in motion.

Sliding into the passenger seat, you handed him his card back with a calm smile. “You know,” you said casually, “the cashier was really nice. Paid for everything himself. Said he’d just take it out of his paycheck. Also told me my shirt looked cute.”

Carlos stared at you. “Wait—my shirt? That’s literally mine, you’re wearing my clothes.”

“Yeah, but he liked it,” you said with a shrug. “Said it brought out my eyes.”

Carlos blinked at you like he’d just short-circuited. “Oh my god.”

You bit your lip, trying to hide your laugh.

“Mi amor, what do you mean some random cashier paid for your snacks and flirted with you while you were wearing my clothes? Do I look like I’m sharing?”

You tried to keep a straight face as he gestured wildly at the snack bag like it had betrayed him. “I don’t even want these anymore. I can’t eat the chips. They’ve been... compromised.”

“Carlos—”

“No, seriously. You have a ring on your finger! Granted, it’s a promise ring, but still, the promise is loud and clear! I was gone for five minutes and I already lost you to a gas station Romeo?”

That was it. You burst out laughing, your head thrown back as tears formed in your eyes.

He narrowed his gaze, suspicious. “Wait. No. Don’t tell me...”

Still giggling, you nodded. “It’s a prank. I paid with my card.”

He groaned and started the engine again, shaking his head. “You almost gave me a heart attack, mi vida.”

You wiped your eyes, still giggling. “I have to tell Charles about this. He’s going to love it.”

Carlos turned, deadpan. “Do not tell Charles. I swear, if that man starts calling me Gas Station Cuckold or something—”

“You’re being dramatic!”

“I’m being real!” he exclaimed. “That was emotional damage.”

You leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You love me.”

He sighed. “Way too much. And that’s exactly the problem.”

You laughed again as he muttered under his breath, pulling back onto the road. “Just know...this isn’t over. I’ve got something planned. Something evil.”

“Oh yeah?” you smirked.

He grinned. “Just wait till you wake up to find glitter in your shampoo.”

“CARLOS!”

“Love you!”

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Fernando Alonso

You and Fernando had only recently tied the knot — rings still shining, wedding playlists still stuck in your heads. The honeymoon? Cut short by his ever-demanding racing schedule. But to make up for it (and to keep his guilt in check), Fernando had surprised you with a follow-up getaway, your choice of destination. Romantic, thoughtful… and, as you decided, the perfect setting to prank your new husband.

The internet had become obsessed with your marriage — overnight, you'd gone from “regular girl with decent taste in sunglasses” to “Fernando Alonso’s wife who posts adorable reels.” So when fans started tagging you in prank challenges, you figured: why not give the people what they want?

Camera hidden. Kitchen smelling like garlic and glory. Tomatoes being sliced with intention. You were ready.

Fernando walked into the vacation home and immediately lit up. “Huele bien,” he smiled, shrugging off his jacket.

“Mhm,” you hummed, sliding the tomatoes into the pot. “Took me a minute to get it all, though. I accidentally brought the wrong card with me to the store.”

He frowned immediately, concerned. “You should’ve called me, mi amor. I would’ve paid—”

“No need. A very sweet guy at the store paid for me. Said he didn’t want a pretty girl like me to struggle.”

The air stilled. Fernando blinked. Once. Twice.

“I’m sorry, what?” he said slowly.

You kept stirring the pot, tone completely casual. “Yeah, he just insisted. Said it was no trouble. Even complimented my top. Super nice guy.”

Fernando was now planted in place like he’d just been hit with a yellow flag mid-race.

“So... some stranger,” he started, arms crossing, “paid for your groceries. Complimented you. And you just… thanked him and left?”

“Yep.”

“You didn’t say, ‘Oh, I’m married to Fernando Alonso, two-time world champion, racing legend, heartthrob since 2001’?”

You blinked innocently. “Didn’t think it was necessary.”

Fernando threw his hands up. “Necessary?! That ring I gave you is the size of a small island. It has its own timezone. You could signal planes with it.”

You bit back a grin as he kept spiraling. “And this guy? Just decided to be your white knight? At the produce section?! He sees you picking tomatoes and thinks, ‘Yes, this damsel needs saving’?”

You nodded, trying so hard not to laugh. “Pretty much.”

He started pacing. “No. No, no, no. See, I make you feel better when you’re down. I buy you things. I compliment you. I signed up for that role! This guy? He’s just freelancing emotional support. I should find him.”

You turned, finally pointing toward the fruit bowl hiding your phone. “Or... you could relax. Because you’ve been pranked.”

Fernando froze. “You’re joking.”

You just smiled.

He leaned in, spotting the camera, then groaned dramatically. “Oh my god. I gave a full speech. I even included my racing credentials.”

“And it was a very passionate monologue,” you teased.

He stared at you, narrowing his eyes. “You’re evil.”

“Maybe. But I’m your evil.”

He shook his head, muttering something in Spanish before pausing. “Also… be honest with me. Was I really hot in the early 2000s?”

Your head snapped up. “Fernando. You were unfairly hot in the 2000s. Like, ‘could’ve ruined my life if we’d met back then’ hot. The hair? The fire? The attitude? I would've fallen hard.”

He raised a brow, trying not to look too pleased. “Gracias, mi vida. Very sweet of you.”

Then he pointed at you, smug returning full force. “But don’t think flattery will save you. You will be pranked back. And when it happens? You’ll regret ever stirring that tomato sauce.”

You giggled, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “You’re adorable when you’re dramatic.”

He smirked, grabbing a spoon and tasting the pasta. “I was adorable in the 2000s too.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m going to post this entire thing.”

“I know,” he sighed.

“Just tag me in it — and put ‘Oscar-worthy performance’ in the caption.”

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[nephynes]

You thought things would calm down after the confessions, the crying, the sex. After fists were thrown and secrets dragged out into the open. But Jake is still mean, Sunghoon is still quiet, and now you're still stuck somewhere in the middle—aching for something that feels like love but tastes like possession.

• minors do not interact

• pairing: sunghoon x afab reader x jake

• part one here

• wc: 45k (yikes)

• content tags: SMUT, polyamory, angst, found family vibes, messy relationship dynamics, emotional hurt/comfort, intense group drama, mention of cheating, heavy emotional themes, jealousy, slut shaming, verbal degradation, crying, physical altercation, unhealthy coping mechanisms, complex feelings, mentions of sexuality, power imbalance, reader calls the boys hoonie and yunnie sometimes, mentions of enhypen’s jay, jungwon and heeseung and lesserafim’s yunjin and chaewon. not proofread.

WARNINGS: emotional whiplash, heavy angst, themes of cheating, heartbreak, yelling, crying, drinking, graphic, talks of weight loss/gain, depictions of sex, slut-shaming (called out), toxic relationships, emotional manipulation, intense emotional vulnerability, hurt/comfort, slow burn healing. please read with care 💕, also i need everyone to remember that this is FICTION!

• a/n: yes i know it took me forever to write this, yes it nearly emotionally destroyed me in the process and yes, i hope it emotionally destroys you too enjoy the chaos, again and the crying, and the filthy ass smut.

• nsfw warnings under the cut

threesome (mfm), established relationship, emotionally charged sex, oral (f and m receiving), praise kink, slight breeding kink, slight dacryphilia (crying during sex), anal, slight hair pulling, face sitting, spanking, themes of voyeurism, squirting, possession/claiming, lots of kissing and touching, switch!jake and dom!sunghoon, sub!reader, double the aftercare, shared bed, reader is doted on completely, lots of “mine” and “ours,” intense eye contact, and deep emotional intimacy wrapped in filth. let me know if i missed any.

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You weren't even supposed to come tonight. Again. You'd said as much when Sunghoon offered to pick you up, voice hushed over the phone, socked feet curled under you on the couch, saying, "I don't think I'm in a party mood." He didn't push. He never really does. He just said, "You'll be with us," like it was that simple. "It's someone's birthday, right?" you asked after a beat. "I don't even know the birthday boy."

"Jungwon won't mind." You blinked. "Who even is Jungwon?" And then, faintly, over the phone, not even on the call with you, Jake's voice rang out in the background like a war cry. "Ugh! Just come, Y/N!!"

So now you're here. Three drinks in and sunk into a velvet-cornered couch, nursing a half-empty cup while Jake makes eyes at you from across the room, he probably thinks you've been talking to Yunjin for too long now. You didn't even know she'd be here tonight. You're trying so desperately trying to listen to what she's saying, something about how things have changed with Heeseung, how he's not the same, how you’ve barely been at your apartment, but it's hard to when Jake's stare is making heat crawl up your spine. It's different now with you and him, with you and them. There's no official label, no posts or promises. Just this unspoken closeness, a quiet claiming that's bled into everything. It sits under your skin like warmth after a fever. You're still you, still the girl who people-watches from corners, still awkward when they touch you too long, but now, when Jake calls you pretty, you roll your eyes and tell him to shut up instead of looking away.

And he lives for it, he watches you the way you watch people, he notices you. Notices when you excuse yourself from Yunjin's presence and head to the kitchen. "You staring again, sweetheart?" Jake's voice cuts through the low music, dragging your attention away from the stranger in the corner who's been arguing with a girl in black boots for the past fifteen minutes. You blink up at him. He's leaning against the wall beside you now, eyes lazy, lips pink from whatever cocktail someone handed him earlier. His shirt is half-unbuttoned already.

"I wasn't staring," you mumble, even though you were. "I was observing." Jake laughs, that boyish little tilt of his head when he knows he's caught you in a lie. "Mm. Observing. Right." He reaches for your cup and takes a sip without asking, then makes a face. "What is that?"

"I don't know. Someone handed it to me and said it tasted like juice." Jake hums, leaning closer. "It tastes like trauma.” You hear Sunghoon snort as he approaches both of you and it makes your cheeks warm, not just from Jake's teasing, "I was watching that couple over there," you mutter, nodding toward the argument in the corner. Jake follows your gaze. "Oof. Been there." "You're so mean," you say, sipping from your cup just to have something to do with your hands. "I'm honest," he counters, brushing your hair out of your face. "You think he cheated?" Your eyes flick back to the couple. The girl's arms are crossed, the guy's face twisted in the kind of guilt you can't fake. "Definitely. He looks like he left his phone face-down one too many times." Jake hums in agreement, and then—"You know who else used to leave her phone face-down?" You glance at him, slow. "Who?" Jake's grin sharpens. "You." Your mouth parts, ready to protest, but he just winks, smug and playful, and says, "It's okay, baby. We already know you're the heartbreaker now."

"I am not—" you start, but you don't get to finish. Because Sunghoon, who's been silent the entire time, watching the exchange with a faint smirk, suddenly pulls you to his side and plants a kiss to the side of your head. You gasp, caught off guard, hand flying up to steady yourself against his chest. "You're letting him get cocky," Sunghoon murmurs near your ear. His voice is quiet and casual, but it melts down your spine. "He's gonna think you like him."

"I don't," you say, but it's breathless and Jake's grin widens like he knows better. "You so do," he says, brushing his fingers along the rim of your cup. "Admit it." Your face burns. Sunghoon chuckles beside you—a rare, genuine sound. "Let her breathe, Jaeyun. You're scaring her." "She likes when I scare her."

"I like when you shut up," you snap, heart thumping too fast—and both of them freeze. And then Jake's mouth drops open, affronted. "Oh, you've changed."

"I told you," Sunghoon murmurs, dragging his hand over the small of your back. It's new—all of it. The teasing, the way you don't fold under their attention anymore, not as easily. The way you lean into Sunghoon's chest like you belong there. Like you've finally accepted that, in some strange, broken way, you do. The music starts to shift to something bass-heavy and dark, pouring in from the open sliding doors that lead to the patio. You barely notice when Sunghoon moves. He's smooth like that, so quiet, so deliberate in the way he pulls you deeper into the house, away from the center of noise and heat. His palm stays at your lower back, anchoring you like a leash.

It's only when you blink and glance around that you realize the people around you have thinned. This side of the house is dimmer, quieter. A hallway leads off to what you assume is a guest bedroom, but you're tucked into a low couch that's slightly hidden by tall shelving and shadow. The music still thrums through the walls, but here, it's softer. Private. Sunghoon pulls you into his lap sideways—your legs draping across his thighs as he settles back, one arm slung across the back of the couch behind you, the other resting possessively on your outer thigh.

Jake flops down beside him, his knee bumping against yours, completely unfazed by the way you're curled into Sunghoon's body like a second skin. You feel dizzy, not from alcohol, but from the shift in atmosphere. From how real this feels. Jake's fingers trail lazily down your shin before they reach your ankle, his expression curious. "When'd you get these?" he asks, tone unreadable. You glance at him, confused. "You bought them." Jake's eyes lift. "I did?"

"Last week." He tilts his head, mouth twitching like he's somewhere between amused and disturbed. "Was I blacked out?"

"No," you say quietly, "you were just... distracted." Sunghoon exhales through his nose. You feel the rise and fall of his chest against your back. The silence that follows feels weighted. "I should introduce you to Jungwon," Sunghoon murmurs then, his voice almost lost in the thrum of the music spilling from the other end of the house. His hand slides higher up your thigh, not rushed, just steady. Intimate. Your fingers curl around his wrist. "Stop—people will see."

"So?"

"Yunjin might walk in."

Jake's jaw twitches. He leans forward, casually prying your hand off Sunghoon's like he's done it a hundred times. "Who gives a fuck about Yunjin," he mutters, eyes still on your foot, thumb brushing a slow line up your calf. "She always shows up uninvited anyway." The bitterness in his voice is quiet but undeniable. It slithers into your chest like smoke. "I don't want to meet Jungwon," you say, not even sure why. Jake shrugs. "He's harmless."

"He's also Jake's golden boy," Sunghoon adds. "Little too sweet. Makes me uncomfortable." You don't even have time to fully process what that means before Jake scoffs, fingers tightening a fraction where they're brushing your calf. "Says the one who fucked him," he mutters, not even looking up. You blink. "What?" The word slips out of you in a gasp before you can stop it. Your voice isn't loud, but it cuts straight through the air between all three of you. Sunghoon doesn't flinch. Doesn't blink. Just tilts his head slightly like the memory is irrelevant now. Jake finally meets your eyes. "Yeah. That's how it works with Hoon, baby. He breaks them in, and gets bored of them."

It's a joke. But not really. You glance at Sunghoon, expecting something—denial, annoyance, anything. But he just shrugs one shoulder, casual. "He was curious," he says simply, like he's talking about something as mundane as loaning someone a lighter. Jake snorts. "He was obsessed with you for weeks."

"And then he wasn't." Silence settles again. You sit there stunned, a little breathless, wrapped in Sunghoon's lap and Jake's stare, while this entire new side of their past unfurls around you. And now Jungwon is walking toward you, pretty and bright and completely unaware that you just found out both the man beneath you has slept with him. You don't know what shocks you more—the reveal, or how unbothered they are by it. "He's a literal angel," Jake says, annoyed. "And he's been asking about her." Before you can respond, someone steps into view. You glance up—startled by how young the boy looks. Pretty. Too clean. Too bright for the shadowed space you're in. Jake doesn't even look surprised. "Hi, birthday boy." Jungwon stops short when he sees you. And you see it. The shift. "Oh," he says, his voice soft with wonder. "Are you...Y/N?" The way he says your name, like he already knows it. Like he's said it before, makes you stiffen slightly.

Jake smiles, slow. "Told you she was real." Jungwon looks at you like you're unreal anyway. "I've... heard a lot about you," he says gently. Sunghoon hasn't said a word. But his hand is still on your thigh. His fingers tap twice—almost like a warning. You try to remember how to breathe. "Happy birthday," you say finally, voice small. Jungwon smiles. "This might be the best part of it." You don't know what to say to that. You don't look at Jake and you don't dare look at Sunghoon. It hits you all at once—how this thing between the three of you lives just under the surface. Like a current humming in the walls. Invisible, but undeniable. And Jungwon, for all his innocence, is standing at the edge of it. Jake lets out a small sound. Not quite a laugh. "C'mon, Wonnie. Don't be creepy." Jungwon scratches the back of his neck, flushed. "Sorry. Just... surprised."

You nod, almost imperceptibly. You feel like a surprise too. An anomaly in this world you're still not sure you belong in. But they keep pulling you deeper, neither of them ever ask if you're ready. You're starting to think they don't care. Jungwon fits in too easily, you think. He stays after the introductions, laughter light in his voice and gaze too warm when it lands on Jake. The way he leans closer when Jake talks, how he seems to know exactly how to make him laugh. Their rhythm is natural, almost flirtatious but familiar and you're not sure what that says about anything. It's not just the ease between them, it's the way Jungwon looks at you sometimes, asking questions like he genuinely wants to know the answers. You can't meet his eyes when he does, you kind of just stare just past his shoulder, nod a little too much, sip your drink like it'll save you. Sunghoon notices. His palm smooths up your side, and he leans in, his lips brushing your ear when he murmurs, "Why won't you look at him?" You hesitate, maybe you'll lie or tell the truth. But then you see it—just beyond Sunghoon's shoulder, in the dim-lit corner of the living room.

Yunjin. Arguing with Heeseung. They're too far for you to hear anything, but her hands are moving fast, her expression sharp with something that doesn't belong at a birthday party. Heeseung's jaw is tight, head ducked, like he's trying to keep things quiet. You shift, body twitching in instinct. Sunghoon's lap suddenly feels like too much. You move to rise, but his hand presses against your thigh, holding you there like a lock. "Don't," he says lowly. Your breath catches. "I just—" But it's too late, Yunjin's eyes snap in your direction. You feel it before you see it—the freeze, the flicker of disdain that crosses her face. She's still mid-sentence with Heeseung, but her attention splinters, zeroing in on you, not just you, but you nestled in Sunghoon's lap like it's second nature, while Jake absentmindedly rubs circles into the arch of your foot, his fingers tangled around the heel he just remembered buying you. She looks at you like she's witnessing something sordid. Her lip curls before she catches herself.

Jake follows your gaze, eyes flicking to Yunjin. "Tch," he breathes out, a wry smirk forming. "Oh no. She's short-circuiting." Sunghoon doesn't say anything. He just tugs you a little closer, turning your body inward, his hand resting between your legs like it belongs there. You feel exposed. Not just physically, emotionally, like someone's cracked the glass and now everyone can see the dirt beneath. "She's gonna say something," you whisper. "Let her," Jake says, not even looking away from the way his fingers trace the shape of your ankle. "She was never good at behaving herself anyway." You don't know what he means by that, but you don't get the chance to ask. Because Yunjin is already making her way toward you, and Sunghoon hasn't let go of your thigh. And suddenly you remember why you never liked parties in the first place. She walks up like a storm that forgot how to be subtle, heels sharp against the marble as her eyes fix on you with a kind of disbelief that makes your stomach churn.

"What's this?" Yunjin demands, voice cutting clean through the music and conversation like it was always meant to be heard. "I'm sorry, I'm just—confused." You blink at her, already shrinking in Sunghoon's lap, but he doesn't let you move. His hand on your thigh tightens just slightly. "I mean..." She gestures vaguely, like the sight of you is something foul. "Weren't they—harassing you? Not that long ago? And now you're perched on him like some little—"

She falters. Her jaw clenches and you brace. "...Whore."

It's not even yelled. It's worse—it's quiet, mean and even measured. You gasp, feeling you whole body go cold all over, your mouth parting in shock. She's never spoken to you like that. Not in all your life. Not even when you fought as kids and now you don't even know what to say.

Sunghoon does. "Be careful," he says flatly, but the threat is unmistakable beneath his calm. Yunjin's head snaps toward him, fury building in the curve of her brow. "What is this? Huh?" She scoffs bitterly. "Are you fucking my cousin?" She says it loud enough for the room to tilt. Jake, who'd been lazily toying with the buckle on your heel, leans back on one elbow and smirks. "Why do you care so much?" It hits a nerve. You see it happen—Yunjin's entire body stills for a half-second, her expression shifting just enough that something unsettles in your chest. Like there's a history here you don't know, a door you've never been allowed to open. She covers quickly. "Because Heeseung will kill you," she says, pointing toward Sunghoon. "You know he will. If he finds out." Sunghoon's gaze drifts, slow and unfazed, to where Heeseung still stands where she left him, hands in his pockets, eyes watching but unreadable. "Hm," he hums. "He doesn't really look like he cares." Jake snorts. "Yeah, we were thinking the same. Pretty sure there's something else he'd actually care about." He says it at the exact moment Heeseung begins walking over. You feel it happen in slow motion—the drop in Yunjin's shoulders, the way her breath stalls, the look she throws Jake like he just put a loaded gun on the table and dared someone to pull the trigger.

You glance around. Jungwon, who had been sitting nearby, freezes where he is. His eyes flick between everyone, between you, Jake, Sunghoon, Yunjin, then down to his drink like it might explain what the fuck he just walked into. He's the only other person, besides you, not folded into whatever war is quietly being waged in plain sight.

Yunjin's voice is thin now. "Don't."

Heeseung's steps are slow and Jake's still smirking, but Sunghoon has gone still beneath you, like a predator who sees the snare coming. And you? You can feel your pulse in your throat, making you feel like something is about to break. Heeseung walks up like he didn't just argue with Yunjin in the hallway moments ago, like he didn't nearly rip his watch strap off adjusting it too tightly, jaw still twitching beneath the calm. "Hey," he greets, nodding at the three of you. His voice is level, his tone careful—too casual for the way his eyes keep flicking between where you're curled in Sunghoon's lap and where Jake is still playing idly with the ankle strap of your heel. Sunghoon speaks before anyone else can. "Heeseung," he says, calm as a lake, one hand sliding leisurely up your hip. "I'm kind of with Y/N now. Is that okay?" And then, he thrusts his hips up, enough to jostle you in his lap, enough to make a surprised squeak escape your lips. The sheer shamelessness of it makes Jake bark out a laugh, head tipping back against the couch.

Heeseung blinks. Once. A breath passes. Then, slowly, his brows lift—not in outrage, not in disapproval, but with a vague kind of curiosity. "Uh... sure?" He shrugs, as if that was all it took. "Yeah. Congrats or whatever.” Yunjin's face crumbles. She whirls to face him. "Are you serious right now?" Jake tilts his head, all mock-innocence. "See, Yunjin?" he says. "He doesn't care. So why do you?" That's the final nail. You can see it hit her all at once—the humiliation, the realization that whatever reaction she thought she could provoke just isn't coming. Not from Heeseung or any of them.

She doesn't say a word. Just spins on her heel and storms off, shoving through the crowd like she can disappear if she moves fast enough. You jolt, instinct kicking in. "I should—"

"No," Sunghoon says simply, tightening his hold. "You're not chasing after someone who just called you a whore." You freeze. He says it so calmly, like it's fact, like it's beneath even arguing about. Jake lets out a low hum beside you, fingers now trailing soft circles along the arch of your foot. "Sunghoon's right," he murmurs. "She said what she said." You exhale shakily. But then—Heeseung shifts, shoves his hands in his pockets and gives Sunghoon a look. "Can I talk to you for a sec?"

Sunghoon doesn't even hesitate. He lifts you without a word and places you in Jake's lap like you weigh nothing, like it's second nature. Jake grins, catching you easily, one arm looping around your waist. Heeseung doesn't even look twice. Not at the transfer, at you or at the soft gasp you let out when Jake's hand settles over the front of your stomach like it belongs there. He just turns and walks off, Sunghoon falling into step beside him. The second they're gone, Jake presses a kiss behind your ear. You don't even realize you're still tense until he speaks—low, warm, curling through you. "You okay, baby?" You nod, even though your chest feels tight, nerves still rattled. Jake pinches your inner thigh lightly. "You didn't even notice Jungwon's gone, huh?"

You glance at him. "What?" You blink, gaze flicking around. It's true. You hadn't even noticed him leave. Jake grins, sharp and too pleased with himself. "You've been too busy dripping all over Sunghoon's jeans to notice anything." You start to protest, but then his voice drops, low and filthy against your ear. "I know you're soaked. I could see it every time he moved his hand. You were clenching your thighs so tight for what, baby? You think we're not gonna take care of that the second we get you home?" Your breath hitches as you feel his smirk against your cheek. "Yeah. That's what I thought." Your breath stutters, lips parting like maybe you'll deny it or maybe beg, but Jake doesn't give you the chance. His hand trails from your thigh up, up, and then he slips his fingers between your legs.

Right there in his lap, under the sheer fabric of your dress, his fingertips press against your panties, soaked through, warm and slick with want. You jolt, eyes widening. Jake just hums, like he's satisfied with himself. His fingers don't linger. He gives one slow stroke and pulls away, eyes dark as he raises his hand up to show you the dampness on his fingers. "You don't even know what you do to us," he says softly. "Look at this. Fuck." You flush so hard it burns, mouth open but no words coming out. Jake leans in, brushing his lips to the shell of your ear, the faintest trace of amusement in his voice. "Think Sunghoon felt this too when you were grinding all over him like that?" He presses a kiss to your cheek. "You're lucky we're in public, baby."

Jake's fingers still glisten when he lifts them and you know what he's about to do before he even does it. You shake your head, weakly, breath caught somewhere between protest and anticipation. But he's already slipping his fingers into his mouth, eyes never leaving yours. His lips close around them with slow deliberation, tongue curling, sucking your taste off with a soft pop when he pulls them out again. He looks wrecked—pupils blown, lips parted, smiling like he's just won something. You're barely holding on, heart thudding in your throat, when a shadow falls over the two of you.

"Wanna head out?" Sunghoon's voice cuts in smoothly, low and direct, like he didn't just interrupt something that was about to spiral. "I've got something to handle with Heeseung, but I'll meet you at home." Jake answers before you can even breathe. "Yes," he says quickly, hand already sliding possessively over your knee. "We're going." But you hesitate, glancing up at Sunghoon, eyes searching his unreadable expression. Something about the way he said handle something makes your stomach twist. And maybe you don't realize it, but you're biting your lip, worried. Sunghoon notices. His features soften almost imperceptibly as he leans down just a bit, voice dipping into something only you'll catch.

"It's alright, baby," he murmurs. "Go with Jake. I'll meet you at home." He presses a kiss to your temple, warm, reassuring and final, he straightens, already walking off before you can argue. Jake's hand slides up your back and pulls you in closer.

"You worry too much," he mutters, almost smug again now that Sunghoon's gone. "C'mon. I already need you again." And just like that, the air shifts again. The front door clicks shut behind you and Jake doesn't waste a second. His hand wraps around your wrist firmly, leading you out of the house like you're on borrowed time. You cast one last glance over your shoulder. The house is still humming behind you. Music bleeding into the night air. Voices echoing off the brick. But Sunghoon's already gone, disappeared somewhere deeper inside with Heeseung, and the absence of him makes everything around you feel a little too loud. A little too chaotic.

Jake doesn't say a word until you're outside. He unlocks his blue Jeep Wrangler with one sharp click, opens the passenger side for you, and ushers you in with a look that borders on don't test me. You scramble in, clutching the hem of your dress when it rides up, only to feel Jake's hand on your thigh again the moment he slides into the driver's seat. He doesn't start the car right away. You feel his eyes on you first, burning, frustrated, reverent. Then his hand slides higher, then higher, until his knuckles brush just beneath your dress. "You're still wet," he mutters, more to himself than to you. You nod before you even realize it.

His head thumps back against the headrest and he groans. "Fuck, I can't—Hoon’s so fucking slow about everything. I don't know how he does it. You were in my lap for two seconds and I almost lost it." You try to tease him, "You always almost lose it." But he's not laughing. He leans in suddenly, hand sliding to the back of your neck, pulling you in for a kiss that's messy and rushed and a little too hot for the passenger seat of his car. You whimper into his mouth and Jake swears against your lips. "I was about to fuck you right there in front of him." Your breath catches. "He just sits there. Like composed. Like he didn't watch me taste you with his fingers in your mouth last week—like he doesn't know." He shakes his head, pulling back only slightly, thumb dragging along your bottom lip.

"I'm not like him, you know?" he says, quieter now. "I don't do that... waiting shit. I want you now." The engine roars to life under his hand. "Seatbelt," he adds, but it sounds more like a growl than a reminder. You barely manage to click it in before he's backing out of the driveway, one hand on the wheel, the other firmly gripping your thigh. Streetlights flicker across his face as he speeds down the empty road, and you catch the way his jaw clenches—tight, impatient. Jake is chaos, restless, always on the verge of something dangerous, Sunghoon is a storm you never see coming. And you’re stuck in the middle as the fuse between them.

Jake doesn't even bother locking the Jeep when you arrive. He's out and rounding the car before you've even reached for the handle, pulling your door open with one hand and tugging you toward the building with the other. There's urgency in everything he does—his pace, his touch, the way his fingers keep twitching against your wrist like he's resisting the urge to stop and press you up against the elevator wall. The second the door to their apartment swings open, it hits the wall with a thud. Jake doesn't care. He's already kissing you. Clumsy. Messy. His mouth finds yours the moment you're inside, and he moans into it like he's already losing control. It's not a soft sound. It's greedy, almost needy. You can feel how badly he wants it, how wrecked he already is just from kissing you. He's all hands—up your sides, over your hips, under your dress. You barely get a word in before your feet leave the ground.

"Jake—" you gasp, arms winding around his neck as he lifts you. "I got you," he breathes, kissing along your jaw now, stumbling toward the hallway. "Fuck—I got you, baby." The walk through the apartment is clumsy at best. Jake's grip on your waist is iron-tight, his mouth never straying far from your neck, pressing wet kisses under your ear, murmuring things that don't even make sense, just sounds of want, of need, of everything he's been holding in all night. His fingers fumble with the zipper of your dress, like he doesn't know whether to undress you here in the hallway or wait until the bedroom.

"Why are you so—fuck—soft everywhere?" he mutters against your throat, and it's half accusation, half worship. "You know I can't handle it." He kicks the bedroom door open, not even his own, you realize hazily, as your back hits the edge of Sunghoon's bed. Your breath catches in your throat, but Jake doesn't notice. Or maybe he does, and he just doesn't care.

His hands are already dragging your dress up your thighs. "You wore this for me, didn't you?" he breathes, like he needs to believe it. "Tell me you did."

Your lips part, but the words come out soft. "I did."

Jake stares at you in awe like you just handed him the heavens and the earth. "I fucking love you." You can't even respond before his mouth is back on yours, his hands sliding down the backs of your thighs, gripping tight. He groans as he lifts you and lays you back on the bed, one knee braced between yours, nudging your legs apart. He hovers above you, forehead to forehead, breathing heavy. His eyes are blown out with want, but he's not moving fast now, not anymore. Now, he's just looking at you. "Do you even know," he says, "how fucking pretty you are when you let me in like this?"

He runs a palm down your side, slow and firm, until his fingers skim the hem of your panties. He doesn't yank them off, not yet, just traces the edge, pressing the lightest touch where you ache most. You jerk under his touch. Jake moans at your reaction. "Shit. That's all it takes, huh?"

He dips his fingers under the fabric and slides them between your folds, slow, testing, and groans when he feels the wetness pooling there. "Oh my God." The groan that leaves him is obscene. "Sunghoon's gonna kill me," he mutters, half-laughing as he leans down and kisses your cheek, your jaw, your collarbone. "But I don't care. I can't wait anymore. Can't." He's talking more to himself now, barely coherent. Then he's falling back onto the bed, eyes glassy, lips red, his voice lower now, almost pleading. "Come here." He tugs you closer by your hips. "Sit on my face."

You blink. "What?" Jake lets out a breathless laugh, voice curling into a grin even as his eyes burn serious. "You heard me. Don't act shy now, not after the way you were whispering in Hoon's ear with his hand on your thigh like that." You feel your heart pound, legs unsteady. "Jake—"

"I wanna make you feel good," he says. "Need to. Don't you get it? I'll lose my mind if I don't taste you right now." He's so eager. So sincere in the worst way. You try to keep your balance as he pulls you up over him, backlit by the soft glow of the bedside lamp. Jake's hands never leave your body, dragging you gently forward until your knees are planted beside his head, thighs trembling with anticipation. He looks up at you like you're everything he's ever wanted. "Please," he whispers, eyes locking with yours. "Be good for me."

Your breath catches as you lower yourself slowly onto him, and Jake groans the moment your heat grazes his tongue, hands gripping your thighs like you're divine, like he's anchoring himself to reality through you alone. Jake looks up at you from below like he's been waiting for this, like nothing else truly matters. His fingers trail up the back of your thighs slowly, not rushing, not even speaking. Just waiting for you to settle into place. The warmth of his breath against your skin makes your stomach flutter, nerves tight and trembling. You lower yourself gradually, hesitant, but he doesn't pull—just holds you steady, his hands open and patient on your hips. The moment your pussy brushes his lips, he exhales like he's been holding his breath for minutes.

You're not sure when your hands found his hair, but they do, threading in soft, slow strokes through the strands as his mouth opens against you. At first, it's light, just the gentle press of his lips and the lazy flick of his tongue, almost like he's memorizing. His grip tightens, grounding you with just enough pressure to keep you still. "Ah!—Ja—"

He groans lowly, the sound vibrating against your skin, and it makes your entire body shudder. His hands flex at your hips, encouraging you to move, more, deeper, harder. "Yeah, that's it," he murmurs, breathless against you. "Just like that... come on." Your thighs tighten around his head as you grind down again, unable to help the shaky moan that slips from your lips. "Jake! Please!" He doesn't let up. If anything, he holds you tighter, more devoted in the way he pulls you closer, like he can't bear even an inch of distance between his mouth and the warm pulse of your body. Every breath is shaky, every movement desperate. Your legs tense. You can't help the way you shift forward, barely grinding down into his mouth, and he responds with a hum so soft you almost miss it. His arms wrap fully around your waist now, anchoring you closer. He starts to move you, slow and controlled, as if he's savoring the weight of you, the way you tremble. There's a quiet desperation in the way he works his mouth against you—never frantic, but focused. His eyes flutter shut, brow creasing in concentration. The kind of devotion he shows you in this moment feels dangerous. Like he's addicted, like nothing else could ever be enough.

Your breathing hitches as your hips move again, your choice this time, and his hands slide further, brushing up your back, fingers pressing lightly between your shoulder blades. The gesture is tender, grounding. He doesn't say anything else, but the look in his eyes when they open again is a plea. You grip tighter to his hair, tilting his head just so. You whisper something—his name, maybe, or just a broken sound—and his mouth chases the movement of your body like instinct. "Jakey! Uh uhn," you gasp, "I'm—I'm so close," you whisper, arching as the pressure builds. His palms smooth up your spine in a steady rhythm, anchoring you, calming and arousing all at once. And when you shake in his hold, trembling, he just tilts his face up, unbothered and patient, and takes every last ounce of you with a quiet, satisfied hum, not even flinching when you press down and shudder through it, clutching at.

You barely realize he hasn't taken a breath until he finally exhales, lips still brushing warm against your skin, his fingers still stroking softly at your waist like he's in no rush to let you go. "Jaeyun—" you breathe, already trembling from the comedown, but he doesn't stop. His hand stays right there, coaxing another slow rise from you, pulling your pleasure taut again. "I'm not done," he murmurs, voice rough and hungry. He kisses up your thigh as you lift off him slightly, still panting, still dazed. He's flushed, lips wet, eyes darker than you've ever seen them. "C'mere," he says, guiding you down to straddle his lap this time, pulling you into a deep, messy kiss. You taste yourself on his tongue, feel the eager pull of his hands under your thighs as he ruts up slowly against you, still fully clothed.

That's when the door opens, making the air shift instantly. Jake doesn't stop kissing you, not at first. He moans into your mouth, lost in it, until he hears the soft click of the door closing again behind whoever walked in. And then a quiet voice breaks the haze, "So this is what I come home to?" You jolt, your head turning, lips still slick from Jake's mouth, and your eyes meet Sunghoon's. He's leaning against the wall like he's been standing there longer than you realized. His eyes are dark, unreadable, drifting slowly from your flushed face to the way Jake's hands are gripping your waist. You suddenly feel everything, the sticky mess between your thighs, the sharp press of Jake's belt buckle under you, the faint tremble in your knees.

Jake sighs against your shoulder, lazy and smug. "You said to take her home." Sunghoon hums, not in amusement or anger, but something in between, something sharp and quiet. "I didn't say ruin her in my bed." You feel Jake's fingers flex where they rest on your hips, but he doesn't argue. He just grins. "You're the one who said she looked pretty tonight," Jake says, his voice low. "You should've known better."

There's a pause. You can't look at either of them. Then, "Did she cum?" Sunghoon asks. The question makes your stomach tighten, shame blooming in your chest. But Jake only chuckles, tilting his head to look up at you, brushing his thumb over the curve of your cheek. "She did," he says softly. "But I think she could do it again, don't you?" Sunghoon pushes off the wall. The way he walks over is unhurried. The way he looks at you is careful, like he's deciding what to do with you now. His hand brushes your arm, fingers skating up the side of your neck until he tilts your chin toward him. Jake doesn't move, he just watches, eyes half-lidded, breath slowing. "You okay?" Sunghoon asks you.

You nod.

"Words."

"Yes." He studies you for a second longer. Then he leans in, not to kiss you, but to press his lips to the corner of your mouth. Gentle and possessive. "Good," he murmurs. "Now get off him." Jake lets out a frustrated breath, but he doesn't fight it cause he knows Sunghoon is in control now. His hands don't leave your waist though. You feel the way he twitches beneath you, the faint roll of his hips like he's chasing friction, even now. He wants you, he always wants you, but it's Sunghoon's presence that stills him. That centers the room again. Sunghoon stands just behind, one hand sliding into his pocket, his other resting lightly on the edge of the bedframe. "Were you going to make her ride you?" he asks Jake quietly. Jake glances up at you, then back to Sunghoon. There's no guilt, just honesty. "Yeah."

Sunghoon hums, slow and deep. His gaze cuts to you.

"She looks tired." You blink. "I'm not—"

"Shh," he interrupts, not unkindly, and brings a finger to his lips. "I didn't ask." Jake watches you with blown pupils, his chest rising and falling like he's just run a mile. He doesn't say anything, just waits. Sunghoon's voice dips a little lower. "Do it right, Jaeyun." Jake groans at that, like the words alone are a reward. He sits up just slightly, lips brushing your collarbone, eyes fluttering closed at the praise. "Yes, sir," he murmurs, almost to himself.

"And be gentle with her. Okay?" You feel the flush race up your chest, spreading over your neck, your ears. Jake presses his mouth to your shoulder like he's trying to calm himself down, whispering soft nothings between the kisses. "I can ride him, Hoonie" you say quietly, voice shaky but sincere. "I want to. I'm not—"

Sunghoon tilts his head, dark eyes narrowing just slightly as he moves closer. His fingers brush your chin again, thumb pressing against your bottom lip this time. "No," he murmurs. "Not this time." He leans down, mouth nearly grazing your ear. "Let Jake take care of you, hm?"

Your breath catches, knees tightening on either side of Jake's hips. Jake notices. He grins and cups the back of your thigh, fingers slipping higher. "Lay back, baby," Jake says, voice still rough from earlier. "Let me take care of you." You're melting into it before you even know it, back arching, thighs trembling, the room closing in around just the three of you. Sunghoon still hasn't sat down, still hasn't touched beyond your face, but you can feel the weight of his presence like a second heat. Jake guides you down with gentle hands and even gentler eyes, and you hear him whisper against your neck, "Perfect girl." And behind him, Sunghoon finally speaks again, quiet and unwavering.

"Don't stop until she cries."

Jake settles over you like a promise, warm, flushed, breathing heavily as he kisses his way down your jaw. You feel every bit of him, the heat of his body pressed against yours, the roughness of his voice murmuring in your ear as his fingers trail over your waist. "So fucking soft," he breathes, kissing down your throat. Across the room, the old leather chair creaks. You tilt your head just enough to catch a glimpse of Sunghoon lowering himself into it, one long leg crossing over the other, fingers laced loosely in his lap. He doesn't say anything, you know he doesn't need to. The atmosphere changes the moment he sits down. Jake feels it too, you can tell by the way his hands still on your body for just a second, by the deep breath he takes against your shoulder before looking over his shoulder and locking eyes with Sunghoon.

Then he turns back to you, slower now. "Look at me," he says softly. His fingers brush your cheek. "You with me, baby?" You nod. "Good girl." He kisses you, open-mouthed and heady, and as he shifts down between your legs again, he parts them with careful hands like he's opening a gift. His cock rubs between your folds, and he groans, low and ragged. "Fuck, so wet," he murmurs, dragging himself through the mess he already made earlier, and glancing back toward Sunghoon again. "She's dripping." Sunghoon gives a slow nod. "She should be." Jake doesn't need more instruction than that. He lines himself up and rests his weight on one forearm, his free hand still petting your thigh, brushing hair from your face. His lips ghost over your ear. "Tell me if it's too much," he says.

You nod again, voice gone somewhere too far to reach. He pushes in slowly, so slowly, keeping eye contact with you until you gasp and clutch his shoulders. "Fuck—" Jake moans, lips parting as he bottoms out, hips shaking just a little. "You feel unreal. So warm, so tight—fuck." You hear the leather shift again. Sunghoon's watching. You know he is, but he hasn't said anotner word. Jake pulls back, then rocks in again, shallow, precise thrusts that make your legs tighten around his waist.

His voice breaks again. "Taking me so good, princess. So good. You were made for this, you know that? This pussy—fuck, it's ours." He leans down, presses a kiss to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. "I need you," he whispers. "So bad. Always do." His pace is unhurried but deep, dragging every inch of himself through you, letting you feel everything. One of his hands slips between your bodies, finding your clit, pressing soft, slow circles. You gasp, hips jumping. "Oh shit!"

"That's it," he pants. "Let me make you cum. Come on, pretty girl. Just for me." You cry out softly, fingers digging into his back, and behind him, he knows you're close and he moans like he's proud, like it's the highest compliment he's ever received. He kisses you hard. "You're so good for me. You gonna cum, baby? Gonna soak me?" You nod frantically, the build-up sharp and fast, pressure mounting under his hand, under his hips. The moment's stretching, tightening, ready to snap. And as it does, Jake groans your name, holding you through it as your legs shake and your eyes squeeze shut.

But through your moans and breathless whimpers, you still hear Sunghoon, steady, observant, and controlled.

"Think you can give him another one?" Jake's body is already moving, hips rolling into you with a steady, deliberate rhythm, but now his eyes keep straying, flicking toward the chair in the corner where Sunghoon sits, silent and composed. The man hasn't said anotner word, but he doesn't really have to. Just being there changes the way Jake touches you, the way he moves inside you.

At first, it had been about you, about the way your lips parted, the way you whispered his name in breathless moans. But now Jake's losing focus. His breath stutters every time he feels Sunghoon's gaze on him, burning low and unreadable. Jake starts fucking you harder without realizing it, like he's performing now, or proving something. The weight of Sunghoon's silence makes him want to impress. You notice the shift too, how Jake goes deeper, the way he grits his teeth. His hand wraps tighter around your thigh. He's chasing something, and it's not just your second orgasm. He groans again, forehead brushing against yours, and you feel how wound up he is. It's not just need, there's reverence there.

Jake had never considered himself submissive, well that was until he met Sunghoon. To Jake, there just seemed to be something about Sunghoon that made him want to be that way for him, made him want to do everything Sunghoon said, even before he said it. If Jake believed in religion, Sunghoon would be his god, maybe that would explain why he's currently fucking his cock into you but his mind is elsewhere. His mind is entirely on Sunghoon in particular, where he's sat across the bed from you two. Jake is moaning like it hurts, he's starving for praise like that might be the only thing keeping him alive.

"Sunghoon," he gasps, hips rocking into you with enough force to jolt the headboard, "fuck—look at me. Please—please look at me." Sunghoon doesn't flinch. He's still. Unbothered. Sitting in the corner chair like he's been there forever, long legs spread now, jaw in his hand, eyes flicking lazily across the room—but not to Jake. Never to Jake. Jake whines, desperate and pretty, breath fanning across your collarbone as he buries himself deeper, chasing something he'll never get from the man who made him this way. "Am I doing it right?" he pants, fucking you harder. "Tell me I'm doing it right—tell me I'm good—please—"

Sunghoon hums. His gaze lands on you this time. Controlled. Careful. "You're such a slut for praise, Jake," he says, voice low and faintly amused. "Shouldn't you be asking her that?" And Jake does. So fast. So broken. "Baby—" His voice cracks. "Am I good? Am I making you feel good?" You try to answer, lips parting on a moan—but Sunghoon stops you before a sound can fall. "Don't answer him." Your body tightens under Jake's, your back arching instinctively toward the voice that denies and commands you.

And Jake feels it. "Fuck," he grits, pulling back to look at your face, but you're already looking past him. Already whining for someone else.

It doesn't matter that Jake had already pulled two orgasms out of you, with his mouth, with his words, with the frantic way his fingers curled like he was searching for something only Sunghoon could name. It doesn't matter that you're still trembling underneath him, that your skin is hot and your limbs boneless from how hard you came the last time.

Because now Sunghoon is here. Watching. And somehow that makes everything feel different. Jake feels it too, the shift in the air, the weight of Sunghoon's presence behind every stroke. He's still buried deep inside you, his chest slick and flushed, and his pace is no longer thoughtful or controlled. It's gone, whatever composure he had left. His thrusts are rough now, fast and unforgiving, like he's trying to chase something only Sunghoon can give him permission to have. "Jake," you breathe, nails dragging lightly down his back as he keeps rutting into you. "Wait—" You whimper again, barely able to breathe through the rhythm, your body rocked back into the bed with every movement. "Slow down, please—" But he doesn't, he probably doesn't even hear you.

His hand fists the sheets beside your head, and his other grabs your thigh and hikes it higher like he needs more of you, like he could crawl inside you and still not get enough. That's when your head tilts, eyes catching the one person who always sees everything. Sunghoon hasn't moved from the chair. His elbows are on the armrests now, fingers steepled under his chin. He looks calm, maddeningly calm, but you know better.

Your eyes plead with him silently, lips parted, breath shaky. One more thrust from Jake and you gasp, "Hoon—" It's barely a whisper. But it's all he really needs.

In an instant, Sunghoon is up. He doesn't raise his voice. He doesn't even look at Jake at first. He comes to your side, brushing his knuckles softly over your cheek, grounding you before turning his head to the man still buried inside you. "That's enough," he says, voice low but firm. Controlled. Jake stills. It's like a switch flips in him—his hips freezing, his chest heaving with ragged breaths, but his eyes glassy as they lock onto Sunghoon like he's been waiting for that command all along. "I didn't mean to," Jake mumbles, his voice hoarse and desperate. "I know," Sunghoon replies, cool and quiet, like he's the only one in the room who understands Jake completely. He slips his hand down, gentle where Jake was frenzied, fingers brushing over your thigh and easing it down. "But she asked you to slow down. Didn't she?"

Jake swallows hard, nodding like a reprimanded boy.

Sunghoon's hand lingers on your knee. "You alright, love?" You nod back, heart thudding, already calmer just from his presence. Jake's still inside you, but now he isn't moving, he’s waiting, watching Sunghoon like he needs permission to breathe. That's when it becomes clear to you like it always does—Jake might be the one fucking you, but it's Sunghoon who hold all the power. And he always has been.

"I can keep going," you whisper, still catching your breath, voice fragile but filled with certainty. "I want to." Jake exhales like he's been given permission to live again, but you're not looking at him. Your eyes are locked on Sunghoon. "I want you to touch me too," you say, barely above a breath. Your fingers curl at the sheets, as if grounding yourself to keep from pulling him in by force. "Please."

It's the only word that finally breaks him. You see the moment his composure wavers, his eyes flinch, his jaw tightens, and for the first time tonight, Sunghoon hesitates. He's never been able to deny you anything. Not when you ask like that. Not when your voice sounds that soft, that raw. A long silence stretches between the three of you, thick with your need, Jake's restless grip still holding your hips in place, and Sunghoon's stare flickering across your face, from your eyes, to your swollen lips, to the soft, quivering part of you that just begged for him.

Then, finally, Sunghoon gives a quiet nod. "Get on top," he murmurs, voice steady again, but you can feel the shift underneath it. Jake nearly groans in relief as you move, lifting your legs and sliding up to straddle him. His hands find your thighs immediately, squeezing like he's been starving, but it's your eyes on Sunghoon again, watching him sit at the edge of the bed now, close enough to touch, close enough to kiss.

And so he does. The first press of his mouth to yours makes your whole body flinch, not in surprise, but in something sharper. His lips are slow, claiming, so deep that you feel your toes curl as your hips rock down on Jake. Jake's moans muffle in your throat as Sunghoon kisses you again. And again. Every time you roll your hips forward on Jake, Sunghoon meets you with his mouth. His tongue slides past your lips like he's determined to keep you tethered to him no matter who's inside of you. The heat of Jake's hands, the way he moves beneath you, it all melts together in the haze of Sunghoon's kiss.

You try to reach for more of him, hands desperate at the hem of his shirt, tugging, frustrated that he's still fully clothed while you're bare, being touched and watched and used. Your fingertips find the warm skin under the fabric, sliding under his shirt, desperate to feel more. Sunghoon doesn't stop you. He lets you feel. Lets you explore. Even if he hasn't moved to undress, even if he's holding back, you aren't. And your hips don't stop moving. Not once. You ride Jake slow, languid, your rhythm set by the rise and fall of Sunghoon's mouth on yours, the ebb and flow of his tongue pulling you under like a tide. It makes you dizzy, being loved like this by one man while kissing the other, being watched and touched and given the space to want everything.

And god, you want everything.

Jake pants beneath you, clutching at your thighs like he might fall through the mattress, and you never break the kiss, not even as you start to tremble again, not even as Sunghoon finally whispers, voice low against your lips, "Just like that, princess." You barely realize how fast it's building again until your thighs begin to shake. Jake's grip on you has turned possessive, hands gripping your hips like he's guiding you through the end of the world. He's a mess beneath you, all panting breaths and ruined whimpers, his head thrown back against the pillow as he mouths your name like a prayer he's barely worthy of.

And you, you're still tangled in Sunghoon. His lips trail slow and steady along your jaw now, your neck, your shoulder, mouth warm and coaxing even as his hands stay maddeningly still on your thighs, letting Jake have you while he simply watches. Letting you ache for more of him, and only giving you his voice in return. "You're so perfect," he murmurs against your skin. "So, so pretty when you take it like this." Jake's moan cuts through the room high, broken. “Nghh—I—M’gonna cum!” You can feel the tension coil in him, that telltale snap of his rhythm turning erratic beneath you. He's close. You know it. Sunghoon knows it too.

"Look at him," Sunghoon murmurs in your ear, dragging his lips just below it, "he's already breaking." And Jake is, shaking, crying out, hips jolting up once, twice, a third time before he completely breaks under you, spilling inside with a noise so wrecked it makes your head spin. His arms wrap tight around your waist, pulling you flush to his chest, as if he doesn't know what else to cling to but you. That's when it happens. As Jake's high crashes into him and his body goes slack, his hand slides blindly out, not even looking, just reaching and palms over Sunghoon's clothed cock. Just once. Just a rough, mindless squeeze like instinct, like habit. Sunghoon finally breathes like it hurt. His hand shoots out to Jake's wrist, gripping it tight.

"Jake." It's a warning. Low and dangerous. But Jake only smiles, breathless and utterly undone. He nuzzles your chest like he doesn't have a single thought in his head, eyes glazed, body limp beneath you. "Sorry," he murmurs, eyes fluttering open just barely as he looks up at Sunghoon. "Couldn't help it." You're still catching your breath when you look at Sunghoon, and the heat you find there steals whatever air you had left. Jake's chest rises and falls beneath you in exhausted waves, his eyes barely open as he blinks up at the ceiling, dazed. Your body's still trembling faintly, skin damp and flushed, caught somewhere between overstimulation and deep, floating warmth. But it's Sunghoon's hands that ground you again, firm at your waist, lifting you before you can even register the shift.

You gasp softly, clinging on instinct. Your arms loop around his shoulders. Your legs wrap around his waist. And he catches all of you like he was always meant to.

He doesn't flinch when he feels it, the wetness between your thighs painting into the front of his clothes. Jake's cum, still leaking, smearing onto him with every shift of your weight. Sunghoon doesn't even blink. He only adjusts you a little higher in his arms, one hand cupping the back of your thigh, the other firm at the base of your spine, keeping you close. "Come on," he says, glancing at Jake without stopping his stride. His voice is quiet, but it leaves no room for negotiation. "You too." Jake groans but pushes himself up slowly, limbs still boneless as he stumbles to follow. And Sunghoon, ever composed and in control, carries you straight to the bathroom, never once loosening his grip. Never once looking away. Because you're done for now, yes.

The water is long gone now, turned off with soft, sluggish movements, steam lingering in the air. Towels exchanged between fingers like unspoken reassurances. No words needed. Not yet. You're clean, finally. A little sore. A little dizzy. But warm. Sunghoon's hoodie is draped over your shoulders, sleeves long enough to swallow your fingers. Jake had laughed watching you tug it on, muttering that Sunghoon always brings out your bratty side, but his voice was half-asleep even then, eyes puffy and red around the edges.

So now here you are. Tucked in Jake's bed instead of Sunghoon's, a rare deviation none of you had energy to question. The sheets still carry Jake's detergent, softer, citrusy, a little too clean for how he usually acts and your limbs are caught in a tangle of body heat.

Sunghoon lies on his back beside you, one arm folded under his head, the other stretched along the curve of your side. You're tucked in close, nose nearly brushing his shoulder as you breathe him in. His pulse is slow under your cheek. His fingers lightly drag up and down your spine, rhythmic, gentle, like he's drawing shapes just for himself. Jake, meanwhile, is curled up on the other side of you, head heavy on your stomach, cheek pressed to your bare skin. You're stroking his hair without even realizing it, combing the strands back gently as his breathing deepens, softer and slower with each pass. The room is quiet. The kind of quiet where the world feels far away. Just three of you, bodies finally settled, the ache of heat and noise replaced with something heavier and tender.

You stare at the ceiling for a moment. Then at Sunghoon. "Can I ask something?" His fingers pause for a split second before continuing, slower now. "Mm."

"The thing earlier," you murmur, voice barely above a whisper. "With Yunjin. What was that?" There's a pause. A very long one. You feel the shift in his breath before you hear the words. "It's nothing," he says finally, calm. Even. "I'll tell you later." But something in the way he says it makes your stomach turn. Sunghoon never lies, but he does withhold. And this doesn't feel like nothing. Not when his jaw ticks like that. Not when his hand drifts up your spine again, a little tighter, like he's grounding himself. Not when he won't look at you, even now.

You nod, because you don't want to push. But you don't miss how Jake stirs slightly at the sound, how he snuggles closer, pressing a kiss to your skin without even lifting his head. He's already halfway into sleep, and you know he won't remember it. But it's comfort. His way of keeping you close. So you let it go. For now.

Even if the silence feels heavier this time. Even as Sunghoon's fingers slide higher and rest at the nape of your neck. Even as you try to believe him. Even as the weight of that later starts to hang in the air between you.

The first thing you hear is the quiet hum of Jake's voice, muffled, amused, talking shit over his headset somewhere in the living room. You recognize the cadence of it, the rise and fall of his tone, the clack of his controller buttons, the way he leans into his game with too much energy for this hour. The second thing you feel is warmth. Heavy, slow warmth. Sunghoon. You're tucked into his chest, half-under the covers, skin against skin, the room still dim and quiet. The sunlight is creeping in just enough to make his collarbones glow. His breathing is steady and warm at your nape. One of his legs is thrown over both of yours. His arm is firm around your middle, too firm, actually. You shift slowly, turning your face into his chest before you lift your head just slightly, blinking your eyes open. There's a moment where you forget everything else. Your body is still sore in a pleasant way. Your mind is fogged with sleep. There's no urgency.

You stretch, or at least, you try to. You start to lift your arm, shift your hips to sit up and that's when you feel his arm tightens around you like a vice. His hand flattens against your side, keeping you exactly where you are. "Sunghoon?" you whisper, voice thick with sleep. "Don't go yet." His voice is rough and quiet. "Just for a little longer." You glance up and he's already awake, eyes barely open, lashes low and heavy. His mouth is slack and soft from sleep, but the grip he has on you is anything but. You try to smile. "I was just gonna brush my teeth."

"I don't care."

"Okay..."

"Talk to me," he says next, a little firmer. "Anything."

You pause. The tone is familiar, the softness threaded under something else. A kind of vulnerability he rarely shows unless it's quiet like this, unless you're alone.

You hum. "Like...about what?"

"Doesn't matter."

"Why?" He exhales. Shifts just enough to bury his nose in your hair. "You already know," he says quietly. "Your voice calms me." And he's right. You do know. This isn't new. It's happened more than a few times, after hard days, after silence-filled dinners, after that one fight with his father where he didn't even speak for hours. You remember the first time, when he told you in a low voice that your talking about anything, about everything, made him feel like the world wasn't closing in. You'd said you were honored. You still are. So you relax back into him, shifting your head slightly against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. You let your eyes close again.

And then you speak.

"You always say that," you whisper, voice low as you rest your hand against Sunghoon's chest, just over his heart. His eyes are closed again now, and his lashes twitch a little when you brush your thumb across his skin. "That my voice calms you." Your lips quirk slightly as you exhale a fond breath. "But you never tell me why. Is it the tone? The dumb things I say? Or just because I don't shut up when you need a distraction? You smile to yourself when he makes a quiet hum something between agreement and a dozing sigh. "I could talk about the weather, you know," you say lightly. "Like, it's supposed to rain today. Probably later. Jake's gonna forget he left the top of his Jeep down and get mad about it and pretend it wasn't his fault."

You feel the faintest breath of amusement in Sunghoon's chest, even as his grip slackens just a little. "Or I could tell you about the list of groceries we forgot to buy again. Or how Jake definitely used my shampoo even though he swore he didn't." You brush a gentle hand over Sunghoon's hair. "Or how we really need to wash your sheets after last night but we're all too lazy. Or how..." you trail off softly, your voice thinning as his breathing deepens. You pause to look up at him eyes closed, jaw relaxed, the smallest crease between his brows finally softening. You press a kiss just below his collarbone. "I'll still be here," you whisper. "Always."

And then carefully, slowly, you untangle yourself from his limbs. He stirs for a second, brows furrowing as if his body knows you're leaving even if he doesn't fully wake. But you hush him softly, running your fingers through his hair once more. "I'll be right back." Then you slip out from under the blanket, padding quietly across the cool floor, and make your way down the hall toward the soft noise of game chatter and clicking buttons. Just as you suspected, Jake is curled up on the couch in the living room, headset askew, legs sprawled wide and controller in hand. He's in a hoodie and boxers, hair still messy from sleep, and the moment he sees you, his whole face lights up.

"There's my girl," he beams, dropping the controller to the side and opening his arms. You don't even hesitate, you crawl straight into his lap, straddling him in a tight hug as he wraps you up with both arms. He smells like your body wash and leftover cologne, and you breathe him in as he peppers kisses along your cheeks. "Hi, hi, hi," he murmurs between kisses. "God, you're warm. You sleep okay, baby? You sore?" You nod into his shoulder, wrapping your arms tighter around his neck. "A little sore," you admit softly. "But good sore." Jake grins against your cheek and pulls back just enough to cup your face in his hands. "Yeah?" he says, tilting his head. "You need me to kiss it better?" You laugh softly, tapping his chest.

"Maybe later," you say. "Sunghoon's still asleep."

Jake gives you a look like when is he not? “We should make breakfast.” You say, but instantly almost regret saying we.

The kitchen is quiet at first, just the low clatter of pans and the hum of the fridge. You're barefoot as you move around the space with practiced ease, cracking eggs and flipping pancakes with a gentle rhythm.Jake's at your side, or more accurately, in your way. "Wait, wait, baby—should I stir this?" he asks, already grabbing the whisk in a bowl you very much do not need stirred. "No—Jake, that's pancake batter, it's done."

"Oh," he says, sheepish, setting the whisk down like it's fragile. "Well, what about the toast? Should I flip that?"

You pause. "You don't flip toast, Jake."

"Oh." You shoot him a look over your shoulder, and he holds his hands up in surrender, grinning like he's already planning his next move. "I'm helping."

"You're talking," you counter. "Very loudly. While putting things in the wrong place. Which is... the opposite of helping." Jake leans into the counter with a whine. "I'm moral support."

"Sure you are."

"You're bossy when you cook," he says with a smug tilt of his lips. "It kinda turns me on." You shoot him a flat stare, eyebrows raised. "Oh my god," you mutter, jabbing a finger toward the stool behind him. "Sit. Down. Don't touch anything else." His eyes gleam like he's just been handed the best gift of his life. "Yes, chef." He drops into the seat with exaggerated obedience, resting his chin in his hands, staring at you with something between adoration and mischief. "Tell me what to do next, I'll be so good." You roll your eyes and smirk as you turn back to the stove. "You're such a sub." Jake laughs, then pushes up to his feet just long enough to wrap his arms around your waist and kiss the corner of your mouth. "Only for you." “And Sunghoon.”

The moment is cut short by the sound of a low, groggy voice from the hallway. "It's way too early for you to be turned on, Jake," Sunghoon grumbles, padding into the kitchen with hair still messy from sleep. He rubs at his eyes with the back of his hand and leans over to kiss you, a slow, languid kiss that tastes like morning and comfort. Then he tilts his head and breathes in, eyes fluttering half open. "Smells good." Before you can respond, he slips his arms around your waist and lifts you off the ground, placing you on the counter like you weigh nothing. The kiss that follows is just as effortless slow and soft, his hands firm at your hips, lips brushing yours again and again until you sigh into his mouth.

Jake lets out a dramatic sigh. Sunghoon turns without missing a beat, leans in, and kisses Jake too. Just a soft press of lips, but it's affectionate and familiar and Jake grins like it's nothing new. "Hi," Sunghoon murmurs, then turns back to you, gently grabbing your foot and rubbing it in his hand. "You sore?" The question is quiet, spoken like he already knows the answer. You nod just slightly, and his thumb brushes over your ankle, kneading a spot there as Jake scoots closer to run his hand down your thigh. "You both asked the same thing," you say with a sleepy smile, watching them move around you like you're the center of gravity.

Jake beams. "Team effort." You lean your head back against the cabinet and breathe in the warmth of it all, the scent of eggs and pancakes, the press of Sunghoon's palm on your skin, the sound of Jake humming some off-key tune as he steals a piece of fruit from the cutting board. It's so domestic. So easy and so far from where you started. The three of you tucked in the glow of the morning—half-eaten pancakes on the counter, music playing low from Jake's phone, and your legs swinging gently where Sunghoon set you on the kitchen island. But eventually, the thought creeps in. You should go back to your place. You don't really want to—not when the air here feels like something warm and worn-in. Not when Jake keeps grazing your waist when he passes, or when Sunghoon's fingers are still loosely wrapped around your ankle, absently rubbing. Still, your laundry's piling up, your textbooks are somewhere under your bed, and you haven't touched your own skincare in four days. You shift on the counter. "I should head back for a bit," you say quietly. Jake stops mid-chew and frowns. "Now?"

"Just for a while," you shrug, playing with the hem of the oversized hoodie you'd slept in. "I need more clothes. And my laptop." There's a pause. You don't say it out loud, but you're both thinking it—Yunjin might be there. Jake is the first to break the silence. "I'll go with you." You glance over at him. He's already standing up, wiping his hands on a paper towel, as if it's already decided.

"You don't have to," you say gently, not wanting to seem cold, but knowing how much heavier it'll feel if he's there, how much more obvious your tension with Yunjin will be with him watching. "Really. I'll be fine."

Jake frowns, but you can tell it's not from offense, it's from concern. Sunghoon finally speaks, voice quiet as always. "Let him drive you." You turn your head. He's not looking at you, just brushing the crumbs off his hands and walking to the sink, like it's a casual suggestion — but it isn't. You know Sunghoon too well to miss the weight behind his words.

"I'll be okay," you repeat. He dries his hands and finally meets your eyes. "I know. But you shouldn't have to be." That lands heavier than you expect. It silences you for a beat. Jake doesn't gloat. Doesn't push. He just rests his hand on your thigh and says, softer this time, "Let me take you. Just the ride, yeah? I won't come up." And the way he says it, not begging or pleading, just offering, makes it impossible to say no.

You nod. "Okay." Jake grins. "Cool. I'll grab my keys."

As he disappears into the hallway, you feel Sunghoon step close again. He tilts your chin up with one finger, expression unreadable, the way it always is when he's being careful with his words. "Don't let her get under your skin," he says quietly.

"I'm not—"

"I know you," he interrupts, brushing his thumb against your cheek. "And I know how much space you make for people, even the ones who don't deserve it."

Your throat tightens. "You should go back cause you want to," he adds. "Not just because you feel like you have to." You lean into his touch for a second longer, just until you hear Jake's footsteps returning. Sunghoon drops his hand, presses a kiss to your temple, and steps away.

The car is warm, the windows slightly cracked as the wind hums in soft bursts. You’d reminded him to put the top back on and now he’s got one hand on the wheel, the other gesturing animatedly as he tells you some story about a mutual friend from class, something about a failed group project and a spilled drink, but your eyes aren't really on him. You're watching the road blur past. Listening, but not really.

The smile on your face is faint, polite, not the kind Jake's used to pulling from you. He's halfway through a joke when you finally cut in, voice gentle, almost unsure. "What did you mean... back at the party," you start slowly, "when you said Yunjin doesn't behave herself?" His hand stills on the wheel. You see the way his jaw tightens, barely noticeable, but you catch it.

He exhales through his nose, gaze fixed on the road. "Did you ask Sunghoon?" You hesitate, thinking maybe you should lie. Then, quietly, "I did." Jake hums once, like he's not surprised. "What'd he say?" You shake your head a little, turning to face him more. "He said it was nothing. Or that he'd tell me later." Jake chuckles dryly, shifting gears at a light. "That sounds like him."

"Is it nothing?" There's a pause. Jake finally glances at you, just for a second, then looks back at the road. "You should listen to Sunghoon," he says, not unkindly. "It's not a big deal." But the way he says it, almost rehearsed. Like he's been told to say that before. You turn back to the window, chewing on your lip, silence slipping between you two again. Jake drums his fingers on the steering wheel, probably trying to think of something else to talk about. Something easier. But the question still lingers between you both. It still doesn't feel like nothing, and you can tell he knows that. You can’t really say much, especially when he’s already pulling up to your building and parking, leaving over to kiss you and tell you not too take too long.

You shut the door of your apartment quietly behind you, already feeling the weight of the air inside your apartment. Yunjin's sitting on the couch, just as you expected, arms crossed and eyes glued to her phone, but it's the tension in her shoulders that tells you everything. "Hey," you say softly, setting your bag down. No response. You glance at her again. "Yunjin." She finally looks up, expression unreadable. "Oh. You're back." You stop, taken aback by the tone. "Yeah... just came to grab a few things." She nods slowly, like she's pretending to think about that. "Right. Cause you live at Sunghoon and Jake's now." Her smile doesn't reach her eyes. "Or maybe you're still trying to decide which bed you like more."

That lands hard. You pause in place, uncertain if you heard her right. "What?" She stands up, folding her arms. "Don't look so shocked. People talk, you know? And I'm not blind. You're staying over there constantly. You walk around campus like it's normal—like it's fine."

"Yunjin—"

"Are you sleeping with both of them?" she snaps, making you go stiff. "What—what kind of question is that?" you ask, trying to keep your voice level. "It's not a question," she says coolly. "It's what everyone already thinks. Don't act like you're some innocent victim here. You know what you're doing."

You stare at her, heart pounding. "Why are you saying this to me?"

"Because I'm your cousin, basically your sister," she spits. "And you clearly need someone to knock some sense into you." The silence afterward is awful. Heavy and bitter. She doesn't back down, doesn't blink, doesn't seem to notice how much she's just hurt you. You open your mouth even though nothing comes out. But then door opens with a clean, sharp sound that cuts right through the silence. You and Yunjin both turn your heads toward it, startled. Jake steps in casually, holding your phone between two fingers like he's done nothing but walk into a peaceful room. His face, though, says otherwise. His eyes lock on Yunjin's instantly—calm but tight around the edges, like a lit match held too close to something flammable.

"You forgot this," he says, voice low as he looks to you. He holds the phone out gently, not breaking eye contact with Yunjin until you reach to take it.

"Jake—" you start, confused, because you'd watched him drive off. He had class, he told you he did. He cuts you off, gaze still fixed on Yunjin. "This conversation? Not your business," he says quietly, but the threat in his tone is unmistakable. "And the way you're talking to her? You're crossing a line you don't want to cross."

Yunjin blinks like she can't believe what she's hearing. "Is that a threat?" Jake raises a brow. "It's a warning. You don't get to speak to her like that. Not anymore."

"Oh, I'm so scared," she snaps, arms folding. "What are you gonna do? Have Sunghoon glower at me until I cry?" It's meant to be biting. But Jake doesn't even flinch. He tilts his head just slightly, his tone flat. "You think this is about me and Sunghoon?" He looks down at you then, eyes softening just a little. His voice drops, quieter now. "I was already driving off when I noticed your phone. But something told me to come up anyway." He looks at Yunjin again, no longer trying to hide the coldness in his stare. "Guess I figured right."

You're still frozen, unsure what just shifted. Jake's still Jake—but this edge to him? The steel behind the softness? It's disorienting, like watching something gentle catch fire.

Yunjin stares at him, and for the first time—she doesn't have anything to say. And you're left even more confused than before. Because none of this feels random, none of this feels new to them. Jake doesn't say anything at first. He just steps inside and closes the door behind him, the sound oddly calm despite the storm in his expression. His eyes flick to you, then to Yunjin. You watch the shift in his face as he registers how stiff you look, how shaken. "Go grab your things," he says, eyes still on your cousin. You hesitate. "Jake—"

He turns his head slowly and looks at you—really looks. And the intensity there, the weight behind it, makes your mouth go dry. "Y/n." That's all it takes.

You move, legs shaky as you head down the hallway toward your room, but you can hear them behind you. Muffled voices, low but clipped. You pause just past the corner, just out of view. The voices sharpen. "I'm warning you," Yunjin snaps. "You wouldn't dare—"

"Just fucking try me, I’m begging you." Jake's voice is all grit and steel, low enough to be a growl, and for a moment you don't recognize him. You can't make out what Yunjin says after that because Jake's footsteps are suddenly coming down the hall. You dart into your room and pretend to be mid-pack when he walks in, though your fingers are barely curled around the strap of your duffle. He doesn't speak right away. Just stands there, jaw clenched, pulling his phone from his back pocket and dialing. "Yeah, it's me," he says as soon as the line connects. His eyes don't leave yours. "She's coming back now. Yunjin opened her fucking mouth."

A pause. You can faintly hear Sunghoon on the other end, but you're too disoriented to register the words.

Jake drags a hand through his hair and exhales harshly. "Yeah. In a bit." He hangs up and lowers the phone, finally glancing at your duffle. "You're so slow sometimes," he mutters, stepping closer. "Sit down."

You blink. "What—"

"Sit," he repeats, already prying the bag from your grip.

You lower yourself to the edge of your bed as he starts grabbing clothes. No rhyme or reason to it. Shirts, hoodies, underwear, shorts, your phone charger. You watch him shove them all into the bag. He grabs a pair of your panties off the floor near your laundry basket and pauses. You watch his gaze drag slowly over them, then flick up to meet your eyes. A smirk curves at his lips, playful and a little wicked. "These are mine now." You stare at him in disbelief. He slips them into his pocket and grabs your wrist with zero shame. "Let's go, baby."

"Jake, wait—"

"No," he cuts in quickly, jaw set, hand still wrapped around your wrist. "You don't need to see her again right now." Your feet scramble to keep up as he leads you down the hall, the bag slung over his shoulder, his grip unwavering. You pass the living room, the couch, the kitchen, but Yunjin isn't there. Or maybe she is and she's just gone silent again—but you don't dare look.

Jake doesn't stop. He pulls open the door, steps out, and keeps going, guiding you down the stairs like every second you spend in that apartment is dangerous. Like something might snap if you linger any longer. You barely remember locking the door. You barely remember making it down the last step before he's helping you into the passenger seat, shutting the door behind you, circling the car to the driver's side.

It's not until he throws the duffle in the back seat and starts the engine that you finally speak.

"I didn't... I didn't know she could speak to me like that…ever." Jake looks straight ahead as he pulls onto the street, the muscle in his jaw twitching. "Neither did I."

Jake's car pulling into the student lot like it owns the pavement isn’t anything new. The late morning sun always glints off the blue of the hood, windows rolled down, your laughter blending with Jake's dramatics. He's in the middle of reenacting a scene you half-remember from four months ago—something he'd called you, something filthy and ridiculous, and something that still makes your stomach twist in the best way now. "'She’s a free use toy now, remember?'" you repeat in his voice, pitching it low and overly serious. "'That's what you said, baby.'" You slap his arm, your face flushed, the both of you nearly wheezing with laughter now. Jake grins like an idiot behind the wheel, almost pleased with himself. "I don’t even know why I said that! You looked so sad, my heart clenched." He pouts.

"Mine too," Sunghoon chimes dryly from the back seat. His tone is flat, but there's a hint of amusement there—just enough to make you glance back at him with a small smile. "Yeah, yeah," Jake mutters, shifting into park as the three of you pull into a spot. "Let’s just think of it like post sex dirty talk."

“What!?”

"I don't need dirty talk," Sunghoon replies as he opens the door. "You two are loud enough for all three of us." The car shuts off. Jake practically bounds out, his words already flowing again, this time about the stats class he’s trying not to fail. You reach for the door handle but don't get far—Sunghoon is already there, pulling it open, steadying your hand with his. "Careful," he murmurs, not for show. His fingers smooth the hem of your skirt, and it's automatic, the way he does it. The way his hand lingers at your hip for a second too long. You barely notice. Or rather, you're used to it now. Jake's still talking, walking ahead, phone in hand, gesturing like someone gave him a stage.

And then something quieter and sharper hits you. You glance up and realize...people are staring. Not just glancing. Staring. A pair of girls by the outdoor vending machine pause mid conversation. A guy you recognize from your elective class does a double take. You catch a couple seated at the stone benches near the quad, both turning their heads as the three of you walk by. And suddenly nothing is funny anymore. Suddenly, you're aware of how close you're standing to Sunghoon, how his hand is still faintly at your lower back. You think about the night before, about the way Jake's voice sounded when he was spilling himself inside you while Sunghoon kissed your mouth shut. You think about how many times this week you've stayed over and how you barely even sleep at your own place anymore. You hear Yunjin's voice like she's walking beside you. People talk, you know?

You're not sure what they're saying, but they're saying something. Your stomach tightens as your face goes hot. Sunghoon's arm starts to rise, curling over your shoulders like it always does, and you react before you can think. You shrug him off. Not so gently that it makes him pause mid-step. Jake even stops talking. It's a blink, a beat, but the air shifts instantly. You can feel both of them watching you. Sunghoon's brows draw in the tiniest amount and Jake's confusion is very obvious. You swallow and force your eyes ahead, tucking your hair behind your ear like that'll explain everything. "Sorry," you mumble. "It's just hot." But even you don't sound convinced. Neither of them says anything right away. You all keep walking and you don't dare look back.

It suddenly feels like you're very, very alone, as the crowd thickens the closer you get to the central quad. Jake has started chattering beside you again, walking a step ahead just so he can turn and face you with that boyish grin. "So then I was thinking—after your econ class, you come back with us. We'll order from that place you like. The one with the overpriced pasta. Sunghoon's paying."

"Am I?" Sunghoon says flatly from your other side, barely looking up from his phone. "Yes, because I paid last time and I don’t even think she’s seen her credit card in a hot minute." He points his thumb at you. “Hey!” You shove at his shoulder, “It’s okay, princess. We like spending our money on you.” You offer a weak smile, eyes flicking around again. You can feel people staring, you're not imagining it this time. It's in the way they don't just glance, they linger. A few of them lean into each other to whisper. You almost think you hear your name, or maybe you don't. You wrap your arms around yourself, stepping slightly out of Jake's reach when he goes to grab your arm. He doesn't catch the shift at first. But he does the second time you do it.

He stops mid-sentence. Frowns. "Hey..." His voice softens just slightly. "What's going on?"

You don't answer right away. You feel both their eyes on you now. Jake reaches for your hand this time, slower, gentler—and you hesitate before you let him take it. Only for a second. You pull it away under the pretense of adjusting your bag strap. You look at them both, then down at your shoes and then up again. "They're staring," you finally say. The words are small. Almost swallowed. "People are...looking." Jake blinks at you, like he's trying to understand something that doesn't make any sense. "So?" His voice is light but it holds something sharper underneath. A note of come on threaded through. "So," you repeat, eyes flashing up to him, "it's not just glances, Jake. It's—people are probably saying things. About me. About...us."

Jake exhales. Not quite a sigh, not quite a scoff. "Okay? Let them. Who gives a shit?"

"Jake," Sunghoon warns, quiet and even. Jake looks between you two, his jaw ticking. "What? I'm serious. We’re not doing anything wrong."

"That doesn't mean it's easy for her," Sunghoon says, more to Jake than to you. "She's clearly struggling. Let's talk about it tonight." He steps closer to you, brushing his knuckles against your cheek in a way that makes you want to close your eyes, if only for a second. "You're okay," he murmurs. "Alright? We'll figure it out." Then he leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead. You don't push him away this time. You let him. Jake still looks tense. Like he's trying to hold back a million things he wants to say. But he keeps quiet, watching you carefully as you shift your weight on your feet, hands tucked in the sleeves of your sweater now.

You give a small nod. "I'll see you guys later," you say, already backing away toward the path that leads to your building. "Text me when you're out," Sunghoon says. Jake doesn't say anything. You turn around to walk away. Two steps away, just as you're passing a line of trees along the sidewalk, you feel a sharp little pinch right where your skirt ends. You nearly jump. You spin around and Jake's already grinning like he didn't just grope you in public.

"Mine," he mouths, poking at his chest. You flush instantly, whipping back around, and walking fast—heat rising up your neck, and somehow, a little lighter than before.

The rest of your day unspools in a blur. Your econ class dragged on longer than it had any right to, the professor's voice somehow more monotone than usual, each slide heavier with graphs you couldn't focus on. You kept blinking at the same sentence in your notes, rereading it until the words lost meaning entirely. Yunjin still hadn't replied to any of your messages. Not even the short one you sent during your break, Can we talk later? Just us. It stayed marked as delivered. The silence sat with you all day like a knot behind your ribs.

Jake, on the other hand, had sent you seven messages before your class even ended. “hey pretty” “people suck” “but i love you” “sunghoon says i'm being annoying” “but he's cranky, maybe he's hungry” “i miss you rn” “you miss me?” Meanwhile, Sunghoon had sent one. “You okay?”

That was it. Just two words. But you stared at the message for a while, and somehow it made your chest ache in a different way.

And now here you are, exactly where you knew you’d end up again today—melted into the center of Jake and Sunghoon's couch, Jake sprawled entirely on top of you like a human-sized heat pack, half-crushing your lungs while he scrolls through videos with the volume too high. His chin is resting on your chest, legs tangled with yours, one arm wrapped lazily under your back like he never intends to move again. "I'm going to suffocate," you murmur, voice muffled against his shoulder. "No you're not," Jake replies without looking up. "You love this." You do. You hate how much you do. Sunghoon's voice drifts in from the kitchen. "Jaeyun, get off her. You're going to fold her in half."

"I’m like her weighted blanket," Jake replies, one leg tightening around you like a boa constrictor. Sunghoon sighs but doesn't argue further. "I'm ordering," he says over his shoulder. "Same thing as last time?"

"Yes," you say. "Please." He glances over at you, eyes scanning from where your arms are wrapped tightly around Jake's back to the way your ankles hook around his hips. He shakes his head once. Jake grins and kisses your chin, finally looking up. You smile faintly. "You're heavy."

"And warm," he adds. "And comforting. And sweet. And sexy."

"I didn't even say any of that." You roll your eyes and bury your nose into the soft fabric of his shirt, ignoring the fact that the last twenty-four hours felt like emotional whiplash. Right now, right here, you're okay. Sandwiched between chaos and calm, with Jake's weight grounding you and Sunghoon's voice surrounding the space you’re in. You let yourself breathe.

The food arrives with a knock at the door and a soft "thank you" from Sunghoon as he takes the bags. You and Jake are still tangled up on the couch until the smell of your favorite order drifts into the room, and you already know what's about to happen. You feel it in the way Sunghoon lingers a little too long in the kitchen—organizing containers, silently placing utensils beside napkins. He's thinking about what to say. He's going to ask. He's going to start that conversation.

So you beat him to it. "What's the deal with Yunjin?" you ask suddenly, sitting up straighter, brushing Jake's hair from your face. Jake pauses—his entire body freezing like someone hit pause on the app he was scrolling through. He lifts himself off you slowly, sitting up beside you now, looking over at Sunghoon like he's waiting too. Like this part isn't his to answer. Sunghoon doesn't look surprised. He sighs, quiet and composed as always, reaching for one of the containers and placing it in front of you. "Don't worry about her," he says evenly, sliding a fork into your hand. "It's not important." Jake nods like that's final. "Seriously. She's not a problem."

"She kind of was yesterday," you say gently. "And no one's telling me why." Sunghoon's eyes flicker to Jake's, something unspoken passing between them, but neither of them says anything else. It's like hitting a wall. One you didn't know was there until you crashed into it. So you nod once, deciding to let it go for now. But it turns out you can't let go of everything. Because Jake, still trying to smooth the air, says softly, "About earlier—when you said people were staring."

"I just—" you start, but it's like the dam breaks before you can control it. "What is this?" Both of them look at you. Jake stops mid-bite, brows furrowing. Sunghoon sets his drink down, posture straightening slightly like he already knows where you're going. "What are we doing?" you continue. "Like, what is this even supposed to be? Am I...your girlfriend? Am I both your girlfriends? Are you my boyfriends?" Sunghoon blinks slowly, lips parting—but nothing comes out just yet.

"Because sometimes it feels like I'm a pet or something," you say quickly, before either of them can answer. "Like, you feed me and you cuddle me and you both say you want me—but no one's saying what this actually is. And I get it, I do, this started as a mess—but I just need to know."

"Pet?" Sunghoon repeats under his breath, tone unreadable. Jake makes a small, soft noise beside you. Almost like a laugh, but not quite. There's something guilty in it. "Like I'm just something cute you feed and play with and keep around for your convenience," you say, voice shaking a little. "I don't know what I'm allowed to call this. What I'm allowed to feel. You both keep—fucking me, touching me, taking care of me but not saying anything. And I've just been going along with it, but now people are talking and I don't even know what to say to myself, let alone anyone else." Jake raises both his hands a little, a weak smile pulling at his mouth. "Well, you fuck us too, baby."

You whip your head toward him. The glare you give is cold enough to shut him up immediately. Jake winces. "Okay. Bad timing." You blink hard, trying not to cry. "I'm serious." Sunghoon steps in gently, always calm, always composed. "We know." Jake shifts uncomfortably. "She's right. We should've said something. We've been...we've been enjoying it too much to pause and check in. That's on us."

"I need to know," you whisper. "Before this goes any deeper than it already has." Sunghoon reaches across the table, brushing your knuckles with his fingers. "You're not a pet. You're not some thing we keep around. You're someone we care about. Deeply."

Jake's voice comes in low, sincere. "And if you need it defined, then yeah. You're our girlfriend. Mine. Sunghoon's too.” He looks at Sunghoon, who nods once, no hesitation. "You're ours. And we're yours," Sunghoon says simply. "If you want that." Jake leans in again, resting his chin on your shoulder, quieter this time. "And if anyone gives you shit about it...let us handle it." The silence that follows feels different now. Like an exhale. You're still unsure, still scared—but at least you're not alone in it. Jake notices you starting to crumble again, your arms still wrapped around your legs like a shield, your forehead resting on your knee like you're trying to disappear. You've stopped talking, but your eyes are wet, and the silence is loud. So he does what Jake always does when emotions get too raw—he leans in with a grin and says something that makes you want to both kiss and strangle him.

"Okay, but if you were just our pet or our toy or whatever—would we let you ride us like that?" You blink. "Jake—"

"I'm serious," he grins, full of teeth now. "The way you get on top? That shit's not recreational. That's religious. Cowgirl of the century. If we were just using you, you'd be flat on your back all the time."

"Jake," Sunghoon says, without looking up from his container. "Read the room."

"I am reading the room," Jake shrugs, nudging you again. "It's tense. I'm easing it." You shoot him a look that's somewhere between exasperated and fond. "And the way you moan?" he keeps going, ignoring Sunghoon's sigh. "Half the building probably thinks we're filming amateur porn. And I'm not even mad."

Your cheeks flush instantly. Then Sunghoon finally glances up, chewing slowly. "You done?" Jake looks over at him, unbothered. "Not even close.” But when he sees the heat rising in your cheeks—your breath caught in your throat, lips parted but silent—he backs off just a little, gaze softening as he runs his thumb over the spot he touched.

"I'm just saying," he says, a bit quieter now. "Don't say we're using you when you fuck us like you own us."

You look at him. Then Sunghoon adds, so dry it's almost funny, "And you call me possessive." Jake just smirks and shrugs. "She started it." You're sit there, stunned and blushing, legs curled up beneath you as Jake licks his lips like he didn't just casually obliterate your emotional stability with his mouth. Sunghoon's watching you both now, quiet but not in that unreadable way he always does, he's leaned back with one arm thrown over the back of the couch, chewing slowly as if he's giving you space to recover. But his eyes don't leave you. You don't even realize you're staring into your lap until Jake shifts again beside you. The warmth of his hand on your lower back is grounding this time, not teasing. When he speaks again, his tone is lighter. Not softer exactly—but easier.

"Okay. Let's change the subject before Sunghoon murders me." Sunghoon just lifts a brow. Jake grins at him, then turns back to you. "What do you think about us going away next month?" You blink. "What?"

"For Sunghoon's birthday," he clarifies. "It's just after midterms. I figured we could do something—just us. Like, leave the city. Rent a cabin. Go up north. Or maybe a beach town if the weather isn't shit." You turn your head slowly. "It's your birthday next month?"

Sunghoon nods as he chews, like it's not a big deal. Jake scoffs. "See? He wasn't even going to say anything. He never does. He hates celebrating, but I think that's mostly because no one's ever done it right." Your eyes linger on Sunghoon. He's looking at the coffee table now, suddenly preoccupied with peeling a label off the water bottle he hasn't even opened. There's the faintest tightness around his mouth. You realize with a quiet kind of ache that Jake's probably right. "I didn't know," you say, quiet.

Sunghoon shrugs. "It's not important." Jake mutters, "It is to me." There's a pause. Jake leans forward slightly, voice losing its usual lilt. "It should be to you too." Your chest tightens. "Of course it is. I didn't mean—" You stop. Breathe. "I just didn't know." Sunghoon nods once. "Now you do." Jake leans back, brushing his hair out of his face. "So? What do you think? We go away for a few days, just the three of us. No classes. No campus. No one watching us like we're weird."

You nod before you can talk yourself out of it. "Yeah. I'd like that." Sunghoon doesn't say anything at first. Then he murmurs, "We'll see how midterms go." Jake rolls his eyes. "Don't act like you're not already ahead in every class."

"I'm not failing," Sunghoon allows, glancing at you now. "You?"

"I'm managing," you say, and it's true—but just barely. It's hard to focus with everything going on. Yunjin's silence. Campus whispers. The heaviness that lingers even when you're safe on their couch, fed and warm and wanted. Jake nudges your side gently. "Then we're going. You need a break, birthday boy needs attention, and I—" He grins. "I'm just trying to see you in a bikini." Sunghoon scoffs, but you catch the way his mouth twitches. Jake keeps going. "We'll get a place with a hot tub. Or one of those outdoor tubs. Imagine the three of us in that. Steam. Moonlight. Maybe a bottle of wine."

You raise a brow. "Who's bringing the wine?"

"I'm twenty-two," Jake says, smug. "I can get alcohol."

You snort despite yourself. Sunghoon finally smirks.

And for a second, it's just quiet again. Easy. You settle back into the couch. Jake picks up a fry. Sunghoon pulls the food containers closer. And for the first time all day, the weight in your chest feels a little lighter.

You don't know what you are to them. Not yet. But you know they want you here, they're not letting go, and maybe for now, that's enough. Jake starts going on about beach towns and hot tubs and "aesthetically pleasing coastal interiors," but his excitement is infectious. The way he grins as he talks about planning something for Sunghoon—for the three of you—makes you feel warmer than the wine in your glass. Sunghoon's leaned back into the couch cushion beside you, watching Jake with that quiet fondness of his. Your bare knee brushes against his thigh when you shift, and he doesn't move away. "I want to show you something," he says suddenly, voice low but certain.

You look at him, curious. "Right now?"

He stands. "Yeah. Come." Jake raises an eyebrow. "Are we about to witness a murder or a surprise?" You follow Sunghoon anyway, trailing behind him through the apartment with Jake padding along behind you, still chewing on the last of a chocolate-covered strawberry like this is some late-night drama reveal.

It feels a little strange, walking into Sunghoon's room again. You haven't been in here since the three of you had sex on that very bed two nights ago. The room looks the same at first glance, neat and clean, the sheets are changed now, curtains drawn halfway and his nightstand exactly as minimal as you remembered. But then you see it. Against the far wall, in the corner that used to be empty, right next to his bed, stands a newly assembled vanity mirror. Soft, diffused bulbs line the frame. The surface gleams. And on top of it—your favorite skincare bottles, your foundation and lip oils, the mascara you lost weeks ago. There's even a small gold dish with your rings and earrings placed just right.

You take a slow step closer, stunned. Jake leans against the doorframe behind you. "He made me go with him to pick out that mirror. Swore the first one was 'too cheap-looking.' We've been hiding this for, like, two days." Sunghoon, still behind you, shifts a little awkwardly. "It's for... when you're getting ready here. Or, I don't know. If you wanna leave your stuff. Or—"

"Or if you just wanna live here," Jake finishes easily. "With us." You blink. "Wait—what?" He shrugs. "This is us being emotionally responsible adults. You already stay over like five nights a week, baby." Sunghoon nods, but he's quieter. "You haven't been in my room since...that night. So we figured if you did come back in, we wanted it to feel like yours too." Your throat tightens. You look back at the vanity—at how thoughtful it is. How deliberate. "I don't even have a drawer here," you mumble, a little breathless.

Jake laughs. "Yes, you do. Sunghoon emptied half his closet for you." Sunghoon shrugs like it's nothing, but his ears are a little pink. You turn toward them, voice soft. "You guys did this in two days?"

"We would've done it in one," Jake says, "but someone had to rearrange the lighting three times."

"I wanted it to look good," Sunghoon mutters. You don't realize your eyes are glassy until you blink down and one tear slides to your cheek. It's not sadness, not exactly—just that unbearable feeling when people love you with more care than you know how to process in the moment. Jake's already stepping forward. "Hey—hey. You crying?" You wipe at your face quickly, laughing through it. "No. Yes. I'm fine. It's just—this is really... a lot."

"It's okay," Sunghoon says, stepping closer too. "It's meant to be." He reaches up to tuck your hair gently behind your ear. You lean into the touch before you can stop yourself. Jake wraps an arm around your waist from behind and rests his chin on your shoulder. "So? Wanna move in, baby?" You look at them—your quiet, steady Sunghoon. Your chaotic, tender Jake. The mirror. The space. Your heart answers before your mouth can. "Yeah," you whisper. "Yeah. I do."

Jake's arm stays wrapped around your waist, fingers tapping lightly like he's buzzing with unused energy, when he pulls back just slightly to grin at you. "So," he says, dragging out the word. "Who wants to shower with me?" You open your mouth, ready to tease him for being predictably himself, when Sunghoon's phone buzzes in his pocket. He checks the screen, and for a split second, something shifts in his expression, a subtle flicker of recognition that tightens his jaw just a bit. "I'll be back," he says quietly, already turning away as he answers the call. "Hey, Heeseung." It's faint, but you catch the way he murmurs the name low under his breath like he didn't mean for you to hear. He walks out of the room with the phone pressed to his ear, voice dipping even softer as he disappears into the hallway. Your brows knit together for just a second. Heeseung?

But before you can dwell on it, you feel Jake's hands slip under your thighs, and with a sudden lurch, he's thrown you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing.

"Jake—!" you squeal, laughing as the blood rushes to your head. "Put me down!"

"Nope," he says, marching toward the bathroom with all the determination of someone carrying a trophy. "You're showering with me. You cried a little and now I have to bathe you like a princess."

"Is that the rule?" you protest, squirming as he smacks your thigh playfully. He hums, nonchalant. "That's my rule. Plus, you smell like strawberry body lotion and decision-making fatigue." He kicks the bathroom door open and steps inside, still holding you like a sack of sugar and setting you down gently on the countertop. His eyes scan over you with a rare kind of softness. "You okay?" he asks, voice quieter now, thumb brushing over your knee. "Really okay?" You nod, the earlier emotion still lingering like warmth in your chest. "Yeah. I am."

"Good," he murmurs, already reaching behind you to turn on the shower. "Let me take care of you a little."

There's a beat, a quiet moment between the sound of water filling the tub and the faint echo of Sunghoon's voice somewhere deeper in the apartment, still on that call. And you can't help but wonder. What was that about? But right now, Jake is tugging at the hem of your shirt with that boyish grin he always gets when he's about to undress you like it's a present he's unwrapping. And for now, you let the questions go and step into the tub holding Jake’s hand. The water is warm, scented faintly with eucalyptus and something sweeter, probably one of the overpriced oils Jake had tossed into the basket when he dragged you through the skincare aisle last week. You didn't expect to use it like this, not tonight, not like this, not with Jake pressed up behind you in the oversized bathtub, your spine resting against his chest and his arms looped around your waist like he's anchoring you there.

He hums low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your back as he presses a lazy kiss to your shoulder. You feel his fingers skim across your arms and settle over your hands, gently guiding them to float over the surface of the water. "Relax," he says, softly. "You've been tense all day."

"I've had a weird couple of weeks," you murmur, voice dry. "I think I'm allowed to be tense." Jake chuckles behind you, his nose brushing against your neck before he plants another kiss there. "Fair." His fingers interlace with yours underwater, and for a long minute, neither of you says anything. He just holds your hands in his and lets the water cradle you both, his thumbs brushing slow, thoughtful circles against your knuckles. "Hey," you ask after a while, voice quiet. "How do you guys even afford this place?" Jake doesn't answer right away. He exhales slowly, his chin resting on your shoulder. "Sunghoon's dad bought it for him. His 21st birthday gift. He actually owns the whole place." Your eyes widen a little. "Wait, he owns it?"

"Mhm," Jake hums. "Straight up. Title deed and all. I just moved in junior year because my last apartment had a black mold problem and I was too lazy to apartment hunt."

"Of course you were," you mutter.

"Hey," he says, laughing as he splashes water against your side. "It was life or death. I was being slowly poisoned." You lean back against him, more relaxed than you've felt all day. He keeps kissing your neck in quiet intervals, like he's reminding himself you're real and here and his. "Okay," you ask again, slower now, "How did you and Sunghoon... start?" Jake's hands pause just slightly, but then he resumes the soft movements, this time sliding his palms up your arms in long, comforting strokes. "Freshman year," he says. "We were in the same dorm building. Total strangers. I thought he was an asshole at first—he barely talked, always wore headphones."

"Sounds like him."

Jake grins. "Yeah. He caught me making out with someone in the stairwell and said something like, 'You know the walls are thin, right?' Thought he was judging me. Then two nights later, he kissed me at a party." You blink. "Wait—he made the first move?"

"Surprised?" Jake says, tilting his head.

"Yes?" Jake laughs again, pressing a hand to your stomach and gently pulling you closer to him in the water. "Yeah, he kissed me first. I think he was just curious, honestly. But it wasn't a one-time thing. It turned into more." You stay quiet for a second. "Do your parents know?"

"Mine don't ask questions," Jake says, tone losing some of its earlier playfulness. "I don't think they'd care much as long as I keep up appearances. Sunghoon's... kind of complicated. His dad is—well. He wouldn't be thrilled." You frown at that, looking down at where your hands are still tangled in his beneath the water. Your chest tightens just slightly. You tilt your head back a little more, resting it against his collarbone. His skin is warm, and his breath stays steady against your neck, like he's completely at peace.

"You said it started freshman year," you murmur. "Just the two of you. So when did you start... inviting girls into your bed?" Jake's fingers still on your waist for just a moment. Then he smiles softly against your skin. "Not just girls, baby," he murmurs. "Guys too."

You blink, surprised. "Oh...right. Sorry."

"No need to be sorry," he says gently, reaching for your hand under the water again. He's tracing along your knuckles now, thumb moving slow. "It's not something we talked about at first. It kind of...happened. One time at a party, it always starts at a fucking party, we found out this girl was flirting with both of us at the same time."

"And you didn't mind?" you ask.

Jake huffs out a laugh. "Nope. If anything, it kind of turned us on? We realized we didn't care about sharing. At least not like that. So it became a thing — a little game." You're quiet, processing that. You think about how they are with you, all teasing, overwhelming, indulgent. But also careful. Also...real.

Jake nudges your chin with his nose, coaxing you back into the present. "You okay?" he asks. You nod slowly. "Yeah. Just... it makes sense. I guess I never really thought about it." He's quiet for a beat. "We weren't looking for anything serious," he says, voice softer now. "Not until you." Your chest stutters a little at that.

"And you're both...?"

"I'm pansexual," Jake says easily. "And Hoonie’s bi."

You chew on that for a moment, staring down at the water, the way it ripples with the movement of your legs still loosely tangled with Jake's. He doesn't press you. Just kisses your shoulder again and waits. "Have you ever thought about being with a girl?" he asks finally, tone light but curious. "Like, would you ever—?"

"My first kiss was with a girl," you say before you can stop yourself. Jake jerks slightly behind you. "Wait. What?"

You laugh a little, shrinking down in the water. "It was in middle school. Truth or dare. We were twelve."

"Oh my god." Jake sounds absolutely delighted. "Why is this the first I'm hearing of this?"

"Because it's not a big deal!" you say quickly, cheeks warming. "It was just a kiss."

"Still," Jake says, turning your face toward his. He's grinning like you just told him the most interesting thing in the world. "I feel like this changes everything."

You roll your eyes. "It really doesn't." Jake leans in and kisses your cheek anyway. "Tell me everything," he says, still smiling. "Name, zodiac sign, where is she now—" You splash water at him and he yelps, laughing, pulling you closer again like he can't help himself.

You sigh, content and warm against him, the water lapping gently against your skin. His arms are lazily wrapped around your waist, one hand trailing idle circles over your stomach as the other continues to play with your fingers underwater. "Can I tell you something kinda embarrassing?" you murmur. Jake hums, his lips brushing your shoulder. "Always."

"I used to hear all these rumors about you and Sunghoon on campus...before I even knew either of you." That perks him up. You can sense his smirk forming before you even glance back. "Oh yeah?" he says, already amused. "Like what?" You grin. "Like how you two were rich and lived in some crazy off-campus apartment with a private elevator and heated floors."

Jake snorts. "Okay, yeah, it’s just an elevator. Heated floors, though... only in the bathrooms." You giggle a little. "I still can’t believe he got an apartment for his birthday?" Jake nods like it's normal. "He wanted a Ducati. His dad said no. So, apartment." You blink. "That's...not how my parents work." He chuckles. "Same." You nudge his thigh with yours, warming up. "And they said you drive a Jeep Wrangler—red—with custom rims. Supposedly a reward for agreeing to study business." Jake actually throws his head back and laughs at that.

"I wish," he says through laughter. "I do drive a Wrangler, but it's clearly blue. And I got it for my high school graduation, not because of some lame agreement. My parents still think I'm gonna take over my dad's law firm one day." You grin. "So the business degree is...?"

"Mostly for show," he shrugs. "And to keep them off my ass." You turn your head a little, looking up at him. "Okay, but there was also this one rumor about how you and Sunghoon were like...always hooking up with people. Together. Like some weird team." Jake pauses. Then slowly raises a brow. "I mean... that one's not entirely false." You lean your head back again, smiling up at the ceiling. "Okay, wait, there were so many."

Jake chuckles behind you, arms still snug around your waist. "I'm listening." You start ticking them off on your fingers. "There was one that said you and Sunghoon had a no-dating policy because you didn't want to catch feelings and ruin the—quote—dynamic."

Jake laughs low in your ear. "Okay, that's dramatic. We just didn't want to deal with drama. If someone got clingy, it was a hard no. But no official policy. We're not a corporation." You hum. "Someone once told me Sunghoon broke up a couple because the girl hooked up with him and her boyfriend got jealous." Jake snorts. "That one's true. Not even Hoon's fault though. She lied. Said she was single." Your jaw drops. "He broke up a whole relationship?!"

Jake shrugs. "To be fair, the guy should've been mad at her, not us. Hoon didn't even remember her name the next day." You giggle, letting the warm water slosh a little as you shift. "There was this insane rumor that you—you—ran a finsta where you used to post thirst traps for Sunghoon just to mess with people." Jake breaks into a full grin. "Okay. That one's only a little true."

"WHAT."

He laughs, smug. "I didn't run a finsta, but I did post some stupid clips of Hoon dancing or shirtless after the gym. Just for fun. Girls in the comments used to fight over him. He hated it."

You gasp, delighted. "That's evil." He kisses the side of your neck, smirking. "I'm misunderstood." You continue, "Someone said you two once threw a party where you only let people in if they were hot enough, and you made out with two different people at the same time on the couch." Jake's shoulders shake with laughter behind you. "That party was a disaster. Sunghoon got drunk and made everyone leave because someone puked in his room. And that three-way kiss wasn't planned. They just... went for it."

Jake tilts his head, grinning at you. "What else did they say, hmm?" You bite your lip, pretending to think. "That you only ever go for people you can't have."

He quiets for a beat. His arms tighten slightly around your waist, and when he speaks next, it's softer. "Guess I broke that one too."

"Okay, but this one? Someone told me you guys had a third roommate that no one ever saw but was apparently just there for sex. Like, they called her your house pet." Jake nearly chokes. "Oh my god—what?! That's so fucked up."

"You're not denying it fast enough."

"I'm laughing too hard to defend myself!" he said, voice still warm with amusement. "That's complete bullshit. We didn't even have a third roommate, let alone a pet girl. Sunghoon would never let just anyone into his space like that. What do they think we were doing—running a harem out of a student housing lease?"

You tilted your head, smirking. "I mean..." He lightly bit your shoulder and you squealed. Jake grinned into your neck. "Don't get smart, baby. You're not a pet in this house now, remember?" Your stomach fluttered. "That...somehow doesn't make it better."

"Admit it," he said, voice lower, more teasing, "you'd have believed it if I hadn't told you otherwise."

You turned your face toward his. "Oh, I totally believed it." His grin was shameless. "You still do." You didn't answer, and instead just let your fingers float in the water—because maybe you did. Just a little. Because now that you were here, inside this impossibly expensive, stupidly sexy apartment, with Jake all over you and Sunghoon's voice faint in the hallway...none of it really felt like a rumor anymore. It felt real, cause you were in it now, and you knew they wanted you to stay.

You’re trying to hold back a grin as you continue talking. "There was another one that said you both had fake names on Tinder and used to catfish freshmen just for fun." Jake raises his hands like he's offended. "Now that is slander. I didn't even use dating apps. That was always Hoon's department." You snort. "Oh yeah? Cause I heard Sunghoon only swiped right on people who had either modeling portfolios or mutuals at Ivy Leagues."

Jake pauses. "Okay. That one might be true." You both break into laughter. "Someone said you once skipped a midterm because you got invited to Cannes."

Jake stretches lazily behind you. "Nah, it was the Canary islands. And it wasn’t like we were randomly invited. It was my brothers wedding." “Plus it was after midterms”

"Okay. Well that makes more sense"

"Exactly." You blink, turning to glance at him again—but just then, the bathroom door opens.

Sunghoon walks in, without a word, dropping onto the closed toilet seat, thighs spreading as he rests his elbows on them. The motion draws your eyes before you can stop yourself, gaze dragging to the vee of his hips and the way his muscles flex under his skin. He notices. He always notices.

"Do you guys ever use your bathroom?" he asks casually, voice low and warm with amusement. Jake doesn't look away from you, but he grins. "Yours is bigger."

"Mm," Sunghoon hums, eyes flicking to you now. "That why she always ends up in here looking like this?"

You swallow, cheeks hot again. You feel Jake's smile against your shoulder. Sunghoon leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees now. His eyes drag over your bare shoulders, your wet hair clinging to your collarbone, the way you're pressed against Jake's chest in the water like you're trying to disappear—but not really. "You're so fucking beautiful," he says it like a whisper, like it's not the first time he's thought it today. Or the fifth. Your breath stutters in your throat.

You try to look away but you can’t and neither does he.

Jake's arms tighten around you, a little possessive. A little indulgent. His voice is softer when he speaks, like he already knows what Sunghoon's words did to you.

"She is," Jake murmurs, brushing a kiss behind your ear, and then down the slope of your neck. "So perfect." And the air shifts—warm steam and something heavier threading between all three of you. The kind of quiet where want lives, curling slow and inevitable at the base of your spine. You can feel the weight of Sunghoon's gaze like fingertips against your skin, almost like a promise. You're still flushed from Sunghoon's compliment when you hear the faint sound of fabric being peeled away—the unmistakable rustle of clothes hitting the floor.

You glance up and Sunghoon's undressing, slow and unrushed, pulling his shirt over his head like it's no big deal that you're both watching, because it isn’t. He tosses it to the side before pushing his sweats down, stepping out of them with a calm, practiced ease. And then he heads toward the standing shower opposite the tub like this is the most natural thing in the world. Jake kisses your cheek as if he didn't just tighten his hold on you again. Your eyes follow Sunghoon shamelessly—the strong line of his back, the clean muscles of his thighs, the way he turns the water on and steps under the spray without even glancing back.

"Do you guys ever fight over dick size?" you blurt, half-giddy, half-curious. There's a beat of stunned silence. And then Sunghoon barks out a laugh. Like, actually laughs. Full-bodied, head tilted back, water pouring down his chest as he scrubs body wash into his skin. Even Jake snorts behind you, chin resting on your shoulder. "Oh my god," Sunghoon says between little breathless huffs, rubbing his hand down his face like he's trying to compose himself, "what the fuck, why would you ask that?"

You're giggling now, hands covering your burning face. "I don't know! You guys are both hot and stupidly confident. It's a valid question!" Jake chuckles against your ear. "We haven't fought about it, no," he says with faux solemnity. "We've definitely compared, though."

Sunghoon hums, lifting his brows under the spray. "Weird way of saying I won."

"Please," Jake scoffs. "We're basically the same size."

"Exactly," Sunghoon replies smoothly, rinsing his chest, "and I'm taller, so it looks bigger." That earns another laugh from you, and Jake presses his face into your neck with an affectionate groan like this is his life now.

The water's still a little warm when Sunghoon reaches out a hand for you. "C'mere," he murmurs, voice low and gentle. You let him help you out of the tub, fingers curling around his forearm for balance as he steadies you. Jake's already in the shower by the time your feet touch the floor, letting the spray soak through his hair. He reaches for you the second you're close enough, tugging you under the water between them. It's quiet, almost tender—the rinse off. Just soft hands gliding over your skin, fingers brushing your shoulders, your waist. Sunghoon kisses your forehead at one point. Jake rubs shampoo into your scalp with the gentlest touch, humming something low while water slicks down your back. Afterward, Jake wraps a thick towel around you like it's second nature, tugging it snug and pressing a kiss to your cheek with a little "you did good, baby," like you just ran a marathon instead of... taking a bath.

By the time you're settled in front of the new vanity, in Jake's oversized shirt that hangs halfway down your thighs and Sunghoon's boxers peeking out beneath, you feel extra warm in more ways than one. "This is still crazy," you mumble, eyes sweeping over the glossy surface, the perfect lighting, the neat rows of your favorite products already set out like you've lived here forever. "I didn't even know you two noticed what I use." Jake's sprawled out on the bed beside you, chin resting on his forearm, watching you like he's studying a piece in a museum. He reaches lazily for a bottle near your elbow. "What's this one?" he asks, holding it up to the light. "Retinol," you mumble through a layer of moisturizer.

"What's that do?"

"Helps with texture, aging, breakouts..." Jake squints at the label, then back at you. "You don't need it. Your skin's already perfect."

You roll your eyes, smiling as Sunghoon strolls in from the en-suite bathroom with his iPad in hand, his hair still damp from the shower and slightly curled at the ends. "So," he says, casual but decisive, "if we're doing the trip for my birthday, we need to start looking now. Summer houses go fast—especially the good ones."

You glance at him in the mirror. "Should I pitch in?"

Jake doesn't even let you finish the sentence before he lets out this loud, incredulous laugh—one of those half-snorted ones where he buries his face in the bedspread like he can't believe what he's hearing. "Oh my god," he wheezes. You blink. "What?" Jake props himself up on one elbow, smirking at you with faux seriousness. "Baby. Sunghoon would rather die. Like, full-stop, cease to exist rather than let you drop a cent on something." Sunghoon doesn't even deny it. He just stands there, arms crossed, and lifts a brow like, obviously. You narrow your eyes, trying to fight back a smile. "That's not really fair—"

"It's not about fair," Sunghoon says calmly. "It's my birthday. My trip. And I want to pay for it." Jake nods solemnly behind you. "He's been rich and repressed since birth, princess. Let him use his trauma the way he wants." You giggle despite yourself. "But I can contribute—"

"No," Sunghoon interrupts, voice a touch firmer, but his gaze is soft. "You don't have to. That's the whole point." Jake whistles low under his breath. "You're not gonna win this one. He's gonna book some insane beach mansion with like...six bedrooms, two hot tubs, and a private chef, and you're just gonna have to sit there looking pretty and being spoiled." He grins like he lives for that visual. Sunghoon meets your eyes through the mirror, tilting his head. "Exactly."

And yeah, it's hard to keep arguing when they both look at you like you're the best part of every plan they've ever made.

The warm light glows softly against your skin as you sit at the vanity, carefully patting essence into your cheeks, lips slightly parted in focus again. Sunghoon is now pacing slowly across the room with his iPad in one hand, thumb scrolling as he mumbles something about beach rentals and peak season prices. You're only half-listening to Jake's little rant about why citrus scents are superior to woody ones in candles when the thought blurts out of you, calm and curious. "What's your body count?" Jake groans like he's been wounded, falling back onto the mattress with a dramatic flail. "Jesus, baby. You've been on a roll with these questions tonight."

Sunghoon just looks up from his iPad, lips quirking into a small smile. He doesn't speak right away, just watches you for a second, like he's unsure if you're being serious or poking at them again. "I'm just curious," you hum, flipping open your lip mask container, totally nonchalant. Jake shifts onto his side, watching you. "You curious or you looking for a reason to judge us?" You smirk at his tone, deliberately slow as you apply the lip mask. "Why would I judge? I already know you were a menace." Sunghoon makes a soft snorting sound behind you.

You glance over your shoulder at him. "Well?"

"I think I liked it better when you asked if we ever fought over dick size," he replies dryly, eyes back on the iPad but the edge of his mouth betrays a smile.

Jake's still watching you, lips twitching up but still withholding the answer. You roll your eyes and pout at the mirror. "Fine. Mine's three."

The room goes silent. You glance back just in time to watch Jake's face fall. His smile slips first, just a twitch of confusion that spreads into something heavier. His brows draw together, mouth parting. Sunghoon doesn't even move at first, doesn't blink—he's frozen mid-scroll, his eyes flicking up to you.

Jake is the first to speak. Quiet, disbelieving. "Th—Three?" And Sunghoon, voice low, strained, "Who was the third?" You stare at them both, blankly for a second, before, "Oh my god," you burst out, laughing as you spin around on the stool. "I'm joking!"

Jake exhales so hard he practically deflates, his palm dragging down his face. "You—holy shit, that's not funny." Sunghoon finally sets the iPad down, closing his eyes with a visible exhale of tension. "Don't do that." You're still giggling, covering your mouth. "You should've seen your faces. I've never seen you two panic that fast." Jake groans again. "Don't say three like that. You really scared me."

"Well, I didn't know you cared," you tease, stretching your foot to where Jake is on the bed and he grabs it, just like you knew he would. Sunghoon walks past the end of the bed toward the mini-fridge in the corner, murmuring, "It's not about caring. It's about...statistics."

"Statistics?" you echo, raising a brow. "Yeah," Jake mutters beside you, eyes closed as he drops back again. "Statistically, if there was a third, one of us missed something big." You lean your chin into your hand, watching them both fondly. "You guys are—I don’t even know." Sunghoon returns to his pacing, water bottle in one hand, iPad in the other, and then suddenly turns on his heel. "Okay, what do we think of this one?" he asks, stepping toward the bed. He walks over to you and Jake and crouches just enough to tilt the screen toward you both. On display is a photo of a stunning beach house—sleek, modern, with huge windows and a private pool overlooking the ocean. The kind of place that makes you instinctively lean forward and say, "Wait, what?"

Your eyes widen, immediately suspicious. "This is gorgeous. But..." You squint at the corner of the screen, where Sunghoon's finger is very deliberately planted. "Why is your finger covering the price?" Jake lets out a low chuckle beside you, already sensing where this is going. Sunghoon's mouth pulls into a faint, sly smile. "Do you like it or not?"

"Sunghoon."

"I'm serious. Just say if you like it."

"I do, but—how much is it?"

"That's not relevant." Jake actually laughs this time, dropping his head back on the mattress with a soft thud. "Oh, he's doing that thing again." You glance between them. "What thing?" Jake lifts a hand toward Sunghoon, still chuckling. "The thing where he hides the cost because he knows if you see it, you'll freak out and say no, and he'd rather just book it and deal with your protests later." Sunghoon doesn't deny it. He just gives you a long, measured look. "It's a nice house. Very private. Ocean access. You won't have to see a single stranger all weekend unless you want to."

"But how—"

"Do you like it or not," he repeats, firmer this time but still calm. You gape at him, baffled and kind of impressed by the level of audacity. "I mean, yeah, it's beautiful, but—Sunghoon, seriously, how much is it?"

He just blinks, completely unfazed. "Would you rather stay in a motel with sand in the sheets and a rusty AC unit?" Jake raises a hand in mock surrender. "He's got a point." You shoot Jake a half-hearted glare, but he just grins at you lazily, clearly enjoying the whole exchange. Sunghoon finally relents with a small smirk, standing back up. "Look. If you hate it, we'll find something else. But I want you to relax. This trip is supposed to be good for us." Jake hums in agreement, nudging your ankle with his foot. "Yeah, no stress. Let richie rich do his thing." You narrow your eyes. "I feel like I'm being manipulated." Sunghoon leans down just enough to press a kiss to the top of your head as he murmurs, "You are. Now pick out a swimsuit or something." Jake snorts into his arm. "She's not even packed yet and you're telling her to pick out swimwear." Sunghoon shrugs, walking back toward the desk. "Manifesting." Jake shifts a little closer on the bed, pulling out his phone with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Alright," he says, unlocking it, "if Hoon's gonna bully us into luxury accommodations, I think it's only fair I get to pick your bikinis."

You blink. "My bikinis?" He smirks. "For the trip. You're gonna need some new ones, right?" Before you can protest, he's already scrolling through some sleek, minimalist swimwear site—gorgeous models, sun-drenched beaches, and little strings that don't look like they'd cover much more than a scrunchie. You sigh but lean in anyway, your shoulder brushing his, your chin nearly on his shoulder as you settle beside him. "Okay fine," you murmur, cozy, the back of your hand skimming his thigh as you try to keep up with the screen. Jake grins when he feels you cuddle into him. "I knew that'd get you." He scrolls a bit more, swiping through a few options until one catches his eye—a baby blue bikini, simple but flattering, with gold rings on the sides. "Ooh, this one would look good on you—what's your favorite color, by the way?" He raises his voice slightly. "Hoonie, come check this one out." From the desk, Sunghoon glances up briefly, mildly curious but still scrolling. "Send it to me."

Jake doesn't get the chance. Because you go very still beside him, eyes narrowing at the price listed under the bikini set. "Jake," you say flatly. "Why are the bikinis two hundred and fifty dollars?" Jake pauses mid-scroll. "Huh?" You reach over and point, jabbing the screen. "That. Right there. That's the top. Just the top. It's one hundred and thirty-two before taxes." Jake blinks, then slowly turns his head to you with a sheepish little grin. "Should I have hidden the prices too?" You gape. "What do you mean too?!"

Sunghoon, without even turning around, mutters, "I warned you." You groan and drop your head into Jake's shoulder. "You guys live in an alternate reality."

Jake laughs, deep and warm, sliding his arm around your waist to tug you closer. "Yeah, well, welcome to it." You shake your head, still appalled. "Two hundred fifty dollars for something that covers maybe three square inches."

Jake grins. "Two inches if I'm lucky."

"Jake."

"I'm just saying." He holds the phone up again, brows raised. "So... you like the blue one or should I keep scrolling?" You sigh but nuzzle deeper into his side, warm and soft against him. "Keep scrolling." Sunghoon finally gets up and walks over, standing behind the two of you. "Get her the black one," he says casually, pointing. "It'll look better with her skin tone."

You look up at him. "Do I get a say in this?"

"No," they both say at the same time. You groan again but it's drowned by Jake's quiet chuckle and the gentle way Sunghoon's fingers come down to brush your jaw for a moment, his voice a little softer now, "It's gonna be a good trip."

Midterms came and went in a whirlwind of caffeine, group study sessions, and the constant shuffle of flashcards and highlighters. The apartment felt more like a war zone than a shared living space with Sunghoon's untouched protein shakes gathering condensation beside his laptop while he grumbled over math formulas, and Jake flopped dramatically on the living room rug muttering, "If I get a single A this semester, that'll be my miracle."

When results finally came in, Jake stared at his laptop in disbelief for a good ten seconds before deadpanning, "I think I actually got Cs on all of them. Which is kind of impressive, in a way." He was mostly kidding, he passed everything, but not by the margins his parents would've hoped for. He celebrated anyway, calling himself a smarty pants while Sunghoon shushed him from across the room.

Yunjin still wasn't speaking to you. Not when you passed her in the library. Not when you held the elevator for her. Not even when you sent her a short, cautious message letting her know you'd be out of town for a few days. She'd read it, left you on delivered for a day and then read, but never replied. And maybe that was fine. Maybe it wasn't. Either way, there wasn't time to sit with it for too long.

The week passed quickly, and then suddenly, it was Thursday. The morning of the trip bloomed early and bright. You packed the last of your things before sunrise, half-listening to Jake and Sunghoon move around the apartment like shadows. There was laughter, a few yells about someone forgetting the charger or where the sunscreen was packed, and a loud debate about whether to bring the little Bluetooth speaker. You left just after 10 a.m. Jake's Jeep Wrangler waited outside like something out of a summer movie—top off, back loaded with bags and coolers, Sunghoon's sunglasses already perched on his nose as he leaned against the passenger door checking the GPS. Jake wore a sleeveless white tank and black cargos, all golden skin and lazy smiles as he helped you into the front seat like it was some kind of ritual. Your dress—a soft, floaty sundress with thin straps and a neckline that made Jake do a double take—billowed slightly in the breeze.

"Got everything?" he asked, sliding into the driver's seat. "Yep," you nodded, adjusting your sunglasses.

"You look like trouble," he grinned, and when you rolled your eyes, he added under his breath, "The best kind." The road stretched out endlessly ahead, smooth and wide and sun-warmed. You passed gas stations and tiny roadside diners, the hum of tires and the low thrum of music from the speakers wrapping around you like a slow lullaby. It was loud sometimes—Jake drumming on the steering wheel, Sunghoon reading out Yelp reviews for lunch spots in voices that made you giggle—but there were soft moments too. Fingers brushing your knee. Jake tilting his head back to soak in the wind. Sunghoon stretching out his arm to rest over the backseat casually, turning to look at you both when he thought you weren't paying attention.

Three hours in, you stopped for gas and iced coffee. Sunghoon traded places with Jake—who immediately beelined for the passenger seat and pulled you with him. You were still blinking sleepily from the lull of the drive, half-curled into the corner of the front seat when Jake caught your wrist gently and tugged you down.

"C'mere, baby," he murmured, spreading his legs slightly and settling you between them. His shirt was bunched behind your back now, arms wrapped around your waist like a seatbelt as he got you comfortable in his lap. "Shouldn't I be wearing a seatbelt?" you mumbled, nose brushing his throat. "Nah," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss just behind your ear, "I've got you." He smelled like sunscreen and leather and the faint citrus of whatever body wash he used, and you sighed into him as the Jeep started moving again, the road stretching farther and the sun tilting golden through your sunglasses. Wind tangled your hair. Jake's hand smoothed over your thigh lazily, his other arm looped around your waist as he hummed to the music. You dozed like that for a while, safe and warm in his arms, your sundress brushing the edge of his shorts, your head tucked under his chin, Sunghoon's voice a calm rhythm in the background as he drove.

And just like that, the weekend had begun. Sunghoon's birthday was only two days away. The vacation was waiting. The waves. The slow, decadent hours that would stretch between now and Monday. You didn't know what was coming yet. But for now, in that Jeep, sun-soaked and held like something precious, everything was still whole. The house was huge, washed in soft ivory paint and modern wood accents with high windows that opened to a view of the ocean so blue it looked stunning. It sat perched on a soft cliffside, where a private wooden path led down to the sand. Inside, the space was open and breezy, clean, modern, but cozy too. You all wandered room to room, calling dibs and tossing bags around, the boys marveling at the sound system and built-in grill while you gasped at the oversized bathroom mirror.

Thursday evening passed lazily. You all sat out on the back patio with drinks and takeout from the only decent place you could find nearby. Jake turned on music from his phone and danced around with a glass of Coke while Sunghoon grilled shrimp skewers and told you both to stop acting like children. You stayed up past midnight, bare-faced, barefoot, skin glowing from the salty breeze, and not a care in the world. Now it was Friday afternoon, and your vibe was completely different. You were standing in front of the mirror, a bright green bikini top clinging to your chest like a second skin. It was cuteor it would've been if it fit properly. But it was a full two sizes too small. You'd only just now realized that the sizes on the site had been in European metrics. All of them. Every single one Jake had ordered with you. The bottoms were worse—low rise and barely-there, and the top? Let's just say one good wave and you were going to be the entertainment for the whole beach.

Downstairs, you could hear the impatient tapping of flip-flops and Jake's familiar voice calling out, "Baby? Seriously? The sun's gonna set before we get there if you don't hurry." You panicked. "Can you guys come up here?" your voice carried, laced with confusion and mild distress. A beat passed before the footsteps and then Jake's voice again. "Why? What's—oh. Oh." He stopped in the doorway. You turned around slowly, crossing your arms over your chest instinctively. "They're all like this," you muttered. "All the bikinis. Every single one is...I don't even know how." Jake blinked at you like he couldn't decide whether to laugh or melt into the ground. "I—okay. Wait. Wait. Let me see."

"Jake—"

"No, seriously. I just...I need a second." He stepped in fully, eyes wide, gaze raking over you, then darting away. "Oh fuck." At that moment, Sunghoon appeared in the doorway too. "What's taking so—" His words cut off the second he laid eyes on you and he visibly froze.

His hand tightened on the frame of the door, and his brows lifted just slightly before he glanced at Jake and then back at you. "Is that the one I picked?" he asked carefully. You blinked. "They're all like this." A long silence passed. Then, Sunghoon, lips twitching like he was fighting back a smirk, looked straight at Jake and deadpanned, "Did you do this on purpose?" Jake barked a laugh. "No! Obviously not. Do you think I want her to get heat stroke because her ass is basically out?"

"You don't seem that mad about it," you said, narrowing your eyes. "I'm not mad about how it looks," Jake said shamelessly. "I'm mad we're going to be late because now I'm thinking about pushing the whole beach day back until tomorrow." Sunghoon walked in slowly now, finally getting his composure back, though his eyes still lingered. "You're not wearing that out there," he murmured, reaching forward to tug one of the straps gently, watching it snap back into place with a disapproving shake of his head. "You'll be on some guy's Snapchat story before you even touch the sand."

"But we don't have anything else," you groaned. "And the stores here are so overpriced—" Jake was already pulling out his phone. "We can order you something express. Overnight delivery. Worst case, we drive into the town in the morning." Sunghoon exhaled and nodded. "For today...you can wear one of our shirts and your shorts to the beach. That way you still get sun, and you don't have to worry about this whole wardrobe malfunction thing." You huffed. "I was supposed to be hot today." Jake leaned down, pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder. "You are hot today." Sunghoon's voice, quiet and amused, "Too hot, actually." Jake sighed dramatically. "Okay, beach. Let's move.

The beach was almost eerily perfect, in a way that made you feel like you were dreaming, it was secluded, sun-drenched, and quiet save for the gentle lap of waves and the occasional distant laugh from another couple several cabanas down. The air smelled like coconut sunscreen and salt, and the sand was warm enough to sink your toes into without flinching. Sunghoon had splurged on the fanciest cabana available, of course—sleek wooden framing, gauzy white curtains, plush daybeds. It looked like something out of a magazine editorial, and Jake had immediately stretched out on one of the loungers like he owned the place. You'd barely set your tote down before Jake grinned and took off running. "Jake—!" You blinked, startled, before chasing after him barefoot through the sand, laughing as you ran. Sunghoon didn't say a word, just shook his head with a rare, fond smile and then took off behind you both, his long legs easily overtaking yours. Jake was first and Sunghoon let you win.

You all collapsed on the sand, breathless and red-faced from laughter. You caught a glimpse of Sunghoon genuinely laughing, his head tipped back, hair messy from the ocean breeze, and your heart hurt a little. You didn't realize how rare it was for you to see him like that. "I don't run unless I'm getting paid," he muttered, sand stuck to his chest and forearms. You eventually made your way to the water. Sunghoon didn't wait, he came up behind you, arms around your waist, and with an effortless lift, carried you into the ocean. Your legs instinctively wrapped around him, and he grinned, saltwater dripping from his lashes.

"This is cheating," you whispered breathlessly, hands tangled in his wet hair. He kissed you once, then again—slow, easy, like you weren't waist-deep in ocean water. When you pulled back, dazed, you noticed Jake watching from a few feet away, not with jealousy or anything of the sort, but with admiration. He looked like he was thanking every god for this getaway and it drew you to him, kissing him too, this one more playful, mouths smiling into each other, noses bumping. His hands were warm on your back despite the chill of the ocean. It didn't take long before both boys were getting competitive again, scooping sand in their palms and chasing you up the beach with it. You shrieked, half-laughing, half-running, but they were faster, and grinning so evil when they caught up. Two sandy handprints landed square on your ass, one slightly higher than the other. "Seriously?" you gasped.

"Matching set," Jake grinned, brushing more sand onto the curve of your hip for symmetry. Later, you found out Jake had posted a picture on his private Instagram story—just your back, bikini bottoms, and two very clear sandy handprints with no caption. The sun was setting when the three of you made your way back up the private trail to the beach house on foot, flip-flops dangling from your fingers, towels wrapped lazily around your waists. You were sandy and soaked and sun-drunk. The sky was pink now. Sunghoon opened the door for you, but you were already tugging your bikini straps down under Jake's shirt before you even crossed the threshold. "I am not getting sand all over this house," you muttered, stepping out of your bottoms and shaking them out before dropping them by the door. Jake laughed from behind you, watching you shimmy out of your bikini top, wearing nothing but his oversized shirt from earlier in the day.

"Hmm," he hummed, walking up behind you. You barely had time to register the heat in his voice before his hands were on your waist, pulling you back against him. Sunghoon lingered in the corner, towel slung over one shoulder, watching quietly, but his eyes were dark, tracking the way Jake kissed down your neck, how you arched a little when Jake's hands slipped under the hem of his own shirt. "You're really just—doing this right here?" Sunghoon asked, but his voice was low, interested, not judging.

Jake glanced back at him, smirking. "What, you're shy now?" He asked as he drags you to the couch, and pressing you there, it's deliberate with his knee between your legs and his hands in your hair. His lips are warm and persistent, tongue sliding against yours like he's coaxing you open for him, like he has all the time in the world and he's planning to use it. Sunghoon's still nearby. You feel his presence before you feel his touch, his arm brushing against yours as he settles in behind you. His hand finds your bare thigh, warm and steady, sliding up just enough to make you breathe a little harder. Jake breaks the kiss to look at him. "You're just gonna sit there?" Sunghoon smirks a little. "You were busy."

"She's not just mine, you know?" Jake says, turning back to you, his mouth already hovering close again. "Let him kiss you, baby." You blink up at him, flushed, and then turn your head to Sunghoon. He doesn't ask. Just leans in and kisses you, slower than Jake, deeper, like he's learning you all over again. His hand rests on your cheek, fingers brushing your jaw. When Jake's hand slides under his shirt, teasing your nipples, Sunghoon deepens the kiss, swallowing the sound you make in your throat. Jake laughs quietly. "So obedient," he murmurs against your neck, biting gently. "You always let him kiss you like that when I'm watching?" You can't even answer. Their hands are everywhere now, Jake is palming your breast, Sunghoon's thumb stroking your thigh, pushing the hem of your shirt higher, higher. You shiver. Sunghoon pulls away just enough to look at you. "You okay?"

You nod quickly. "Yeah. I—yeah." Jake's grin sharpens. He leans in again, brushing his lips against your ear.

"Wanna show him what you got him for his birthday?"

You go still. Your breath catches hard in your throat. "Jake—" Sunghoon looks confused at first. "What?" Jake's voice is low now, hot against your ear. "Come on. Don't be shy. He's been so good today. You know he'll love it." You hesitate, heart pounding, your skin prickling as heat floods through you. Jake's fingers trail down your spine, featherlight.

"You said you wanted to be his gift, his birthday is in a few hours," he whispers, "so give it to him." You glance at Sunghoon. He's watching you closely now, his expression a mix of curiosity and hunger, like he's not sure what you're about to do but he wants it. Badly. So you shift on your knees, above Jake, and with shaky hands, you pull down the waistband of your shorts just enough. Enough for him to see it. The soft, glinting edge of the buttplug catches the light—delicate, blush pink, shaped like a bow. It fits snug between the curve of your cheeks, resting there with perfect intention. You shift slightly, thighs pressing together, back arched just enough.. "Is that...?"

"You can fuck her here, baby," Jake says behind you, tapping your ass cheek with one finger, his voice proud as he brushes your hair off your shoulder so he can kiss your neck. "Kept her like that all week. For you." Sunghoon doesn't move for a second. He's stunned. And then he exhales, almost like a groan, dragging a hand through his hair as his gaze drops to your ass again. "You're kidding," he mutters. "You actually..."

"She wanted to," Jake says, dragging his hand down your back, then squeezing. "She asked. You should've seen her last week, all squirmy and shy and so fucking wet the second I put it in. Had to eat her pussy so she'd stop whining." Sunghoon looks dazed. "Holy shit." You feel Jake smile against your shoulder. There's a long pause. Then the pad of Sunghoon's thumb trails lightly down the curve of your spine, featherlight, until he reaches just above the plug. He doesn't touch it. Not yet. He just lets his hand rest there.

"You've never done this before." It's not a question. He already knows. You shake your head, glancing at him over your shoulder. "No." Something in his expression shifts—something slow and low and almost solemn, like he's trying not to break something delicate in front of him. Jake watches him carefully. "Well?" he prompts. "You gonna thank her, birthday boy?" Sunghoon smiles faintly. It's crooked, quiet, full of everything he doesn't say out loud. "With you sitting over there like a smug little shit?"

Jake just grins wider. "Then come get your girl, Hoon."

"Told you he'd like it, baby." Jake says, nuzzling his nose in your neck. "Best birthday ever?"

"Best fucking birthday ever." Sunghoon muttered as he got on his knees, behind you, pressing you further into Jake so you were perfectly arched, with your ass and pussy directly in his face. He stared at the buttplug for a second longer before pulling it out slowly, watching how your body reacted to the object being removed from you. And audibly groaning at the whimper you make. The moment his tongue made contact with your dripping heat, your entire body tensed, a quiet gasp slipping from your lips as your nails dug into Jake's shoulders. "Shit," he hissed under his breath, his voice vibrating against your skin. "You're unreal."

Your lashes fluttered as you melted into the feeling, a soft moan escaping while your hips instinctively rolled toward his mouth. Sunghoon shifted lower, tongue diving deep before dragging back up slowly, deliberately. Then he started mouthing at you—messy, open-mouthed kisses that left your thighs trembling. His tongue circled your clit lazily, then slid back down again, tasting everything. "I didn't even know I wanted this," he murmured, voice husky, sending a chill up your spine. One of his hands splayed across your lower back, gently coaxing you closer to Jake, who held you steady like an anchor in the storm.

"Easy," Jake whispered, brushing a kiss to your temple. "Just breathe, baby."

Then Sunghoon's tongue slipped somewhere new—somewhere you thought the plug had prepared you for. A startled cry ripped from your throat as your body jolted, clutching at Jake in shock. The sensation was foreign, startling, and then the pleasure began to bloom. Sunghoon held you open with both hands, tongue exploring without hesitation, while Jake's fingers found your clit and started working slow, maddening circles over it. "That's it," Jake murmured, watching your expression melt. "That's my good girl. You like that?" You tried to respond, to say anything, but then Sunghoon pushed deeper, his tongue breaching you completely, and a broken, helpless moan tore free from your chest.

"Ah—Hoonie!" The feeling was indescribable—so intense and overwhelming, your mind could barely keep up. He moved between your openings with practiced ease—one second his tongue was circling your tightest rim, the next he was dragging a slow, obscene lick down to your soaked pussy. A low groan rumbled from his chest, lips slick as he devoured everything you gave him, like he couldn't get enough.

"Can I use my finger?" he asked, voice rough with want. You nodded with a shaky inhale, and Jake brushed another kiss to your cheek, his fingers still rubbing tight, unrelenting circles over your clit that made your thighs tremble.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Sunghoon muttered, one slick-coated finger gently circling your puckered entrance, playing with the sensitive muscle but holding back from fully pushing in—just yet.

When your body finally softens against Sunghoon's, he eases a finger in, pushing just past the entrance before pausing. "Do you want me to stop?" he asks, his voice quieter than usual, checking your reaction. Your answer was muffled, your face buried in the curve of Jake's neck, a quiet, shaky, "No." Jake lifts his head to speak for you. "She said no." Sunghoon's finger presses in deeper, slick with your arousal as he gently works you open. His movements are slow, precise, and devoted—though the way his jaw clenched betrays just how badly he wanted to lose control. He lets out a sharp breath through his nose as he watches the way your spine arcs, your body pressed close to Jake's, the tight clench of muscle around his finger making his cock twitch in anticipation.

"Just like that," he murmurs. You inhale sharply when a second finger slips in beside the first, stretching you further. The sensation is unfamiliar, even bordering on too much—but his patience grounds you. Jake's fingers lazily circle your clit while his mouth trails along your collarbone, muttering soft praise against your skin. "Perfect, baby. You're doing so perfect." The moment Sunghoon is confident you're ready, and satisfied with how pilant you've become, he withdraws with shaking hands and fumbles at the waistband of his shorts. His cock sprang free, red and swollen, the tension in his body palpable as he positions himself behind you. One hand sliding to your lower back, gently pushing you down into Jake's chest while his mouth ghosted over your shoulder.

"Go slow, Hoonie," Jake whispers, tilting your face to his and licking at your bottom lip in a sweet distraction. Sunghoon gives him a subtle nod, and for a moment, it really looked like he'd listen—until his palm lands hard across your ass with a sharp slap. "Ah!"

"You've been walking around with a plug in you all week like a filthy little slut," he growled. "You knew I'd lose my mind over it, didn't you, baby?" One hand grips your waist firmly while the other guides his cock to your entrance. The first press of him inside has you whimpering instantly. Jake was quick to soothe you though, brushing his lips against your ear. "It's okay, princess," "it's gonna feel so good real soon, I promise." He lowers his head to capture your nipple in his mouth, gently sucking as you try to catch your breath. Behind you, Sunghoon groans, full-bodied and desperate. "Fucking hell. So tight—Jesus Christ." His restraint was unraveling by the second. Jake's hand trails down, spreading you wider to give Sunghoon better access, and the sound that tears from him is downright feral. "Oh, fuck—Jake—yeah, just like that."

Jake doesn't stop. One hand holds you open while the other resumes slow, deliberate circles over your clit, making your thighs tremble. "Yunnie—" you gasp, voice cracking as you whine his name into his ear.

He smiles against your cheek. "Yeah, pretty girl? You like that?" "You like Hoonie fucking your tight little hole open?" You nod frantically, eyes glassy and unfocused, pleasure washing over your features like a   fever. Jake coos sweetly, lips ghosting over your cheek.

"Aww, does it feel good, baby?" he asks, fingers never slowing on your clit. Your voice comes out barely above a whisper, breathless and shaky. "Faster..." That one word sends a ripple through the air. Neither of them ask who you're talking to—both of them just react. Jake's fingers quicken, pressing tighter, circling faster, more precise. Behind you, Sunghoon grunts low in his throat and adjusts his grip on your hips, driving into you with sharper, deeper thrusts now, dragging loud moans from your throat with every push. The stretch has your legs trembling, your body sandwiched between them, completely overwhelmed. Jake kisses the corner of your mouth, not breaking rhythm for a second. "So needy, huh? You want both of us to ruin you, is that it?"

Sunghoon's fingers dig harder into your waist. "Look at her," he rasps. "Can barely keep her eyes open." Your breath stutters again as Jake slides two fingers into your mouth, letting you suck them automatically. "That's it," Jake whispered. "Good girl. Just take it."

Sunghoon's hips snap harder now, every thrust making your body jolt forward into Jake's chest. He hisses at the feel of you clenching, practically growling through his teeth. "She's squeezing me so tight."

"Because she's close," Jake smirked, pulling his fingers from your mouth to pinch your nipple. "Aren't you, pretty baby?" You can't even speak—just another frantic nod, a sob of pleasure tearing out of your throat as the pace refuses to let up. It's too much, but you don't want it to stop. You can't even imagine asking them to stop. And neither of them plan to. Just as your legs begin to shake, as the pleasure surging to unbearable heights, Sunghoon grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks you upright off Jake's chest with startling ease. You gasp, dizzy from the sudden movement, your body still fluttering from the stimulation. "Open your mouth, baby" he orders, voice dark and low. "Suck Yunnie off." Jake's eyes widen for a split second, but he was already pulling his shorts down, cock flushed and leaking. He guides it to your lips, and the second you part them, he groans—loud, shameless, head tilting back as he sinks into your warmth. "Fuck—so obedient, baby," Jake pants, cupping your face as you take him deeper. "God, you're perfect. Just like that." You moan around him, tongue swirling, letting him fuck into your mouth with shallow thrusts. But the moment is cut sharp when Sunghoon's palm lands on your ass again—hard and punishing. You jolt, muffled whimper vibrating around Jake's cock. "She's so good," Sunghoon mumbles behind you like he can't believe it, voice wrecked, hips slamming into you now with barely restrained aggression. "Tight little hole—fuck, I can't..."

Your body is bouncing between them, stretched, full, completely claimed. Jake is panting through gritted teeth, hands trembling as he tries to control himself. "She's gonna make me cum—shit, you're gonna make me—" Sunghoon growls, wrapping an arm around your waist and driving into you so deep your entire body shudders. "Don't you dare finish before her." Jake groans like it physically hurts to stop but pulls back slightly, just enough for you to suck the tip, desperate and messy, while Sunghoon fucks you into the edge.

"You close, baby?" Sunghoon asks, voice broken. "You gonna cum all over my cock like a good little slut?"

Your moan is the only answer he needs. Sunghoon reaches down himself to circle your clit with practiced fingers and you absolutely break—body tensing, legs trembling, a high-pitch cry escaping past Jake's cock as your orgasm rips through you like a violent wave. "That's it," Jake whispers, watching your eyes roll back, "Good girl, fuck—look at you."

Sunghoon curses under his breath, hips stuttering as he finally lets go, spilling deep inside you with a loud moan, his forehead pressed to your shoulder. You're a trembling, boneless mess between them—used, adored, completely undone. But your mouth never stops sucking Jake off, his grip tightens in your hair as your lips work over him, cheeks hollowed, eyes glassy from overstimulation. He was already close—your tongue too eager, your mouth too warm, and your throat too obedient. "Fuck—gonna cum," he says, trying to pull back, but you suck harder, moaning around him as if daring him to finish there. "Wait—baby, swallow it—like I like—" Too late. You already were. Your throat bobs with each swallow, taking every last drop before he even finishes the command. Jake stares down at you, chest heaving. "Jesus Christ," he breathes, his cock twitching in your mouth. "That was so fucking hot."

When he finally slips free, you look dazed, lips swollen and glossy with spit, eyes fluttering as if trying to hold on to consciousness. Sunghoon still has you gripped by the waist, slowly pulling out, and you whimper from the sheer sensitivity, his cum immediately beginning to drip from your hole. Your legs give out but they catch you before you hit the floor, gently guiding you down onto the couch. You collapse sideways, chest rising and falling fast, totally limp, dazed and trembling. Neither of them speak for a second—both staring at the way Sunghoon's cum leaks from your freshly used hole, trailing slow and thick down your thighs and onto the leather. Jake adjusts himself, sweat-slick and still catching his breath, watching you like you were art. "Fuck," he whispers. "That's—Fuck."

Sunghoon stays crouched beside you, thumb brushing gently over your hip. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just watches. Quiet and intense with his jaw clenched.

Your breathing is shallow now, your body utterly spent, limbs heavy and tingling from the overstimulation. The room is silent save for Jake's slow, steady breaths where he's slumped back against the couch, almost half-asleep and completely blissed out. Sunghoon doesn’t say anything at first. He just looks at you—really looks at you, eyes slowly sweeping over your trembling frame, the marks on your hips, the slick mess between your thighs. Then he moves gently, one arm sliding beneath your knees, the other curling behind your back.

You can’t even protest as he picked you up, bridal-style, tucking your head against his chest. "Are you sore?" he murmurs as he carries you into the bathroom. His voice has lost all its edge, soft and concerned now, like every piece of him is now tuned to you. "Do you need anything? Water?" You shake your head sleepily, just clinging to him. He kisses the top of your head pulling you into the warm shower. He’s so careful with you, moving slowly, running his soapy hands down your back and legs, washing your hair, and massaging your scalp, whispering how good you were, how proud he is of you. You barely say a word, just hum softly and lean into him, letting him take care of everything.

Afterward, he towel-dries you with gentle strokes, slips one of his oversized shirts over your head, and helps you into bed. He comes back out into the living room freshly showered in only his sweats, glancing over at the couch where Jake is still out cold. "Jake," he calls, voice low but firm. "Go shower. Come to bed." Jake grumbles, half-laughs, but drags himself up, muttering something about needing ten minutes and a gallon of water. By the time he joins you both in bed, the lights were dim, and Sunghoon has you cradled against his chest, your body finally starting to relax in the warmth and comfort of his hold. Jake slides in behind you, arm draped lazily over your waist. You blink up at Sunghoon, your lips brushing his cheek in a slow, grateful kiss. "Happy birthday, Hoonie." He stills. And then he smiles—soft and rare, a kind of vulnerable happiness blooming in his eyes as he looks down at you. "You really are everything, baby." He whispers back.

The light spilling in through the white linen curtains is soft and golden, the kind that only happens near the ocean—quiet, slow, and drenched in warmth. You wake to the scent of salt and boyish musk, buried between the two people you've come to crave like breath. Jake is sprawled on your left, arm thrown haphazardly around your waist, his cheek smushed against the pillow. Sunghoon is to your right, chest bare, lashes fluttering ever so slightly as he sleeps. You feel the dull ache between your thighs—the kind you've come to love, the kind that reminds you of everything they did to you the night before. It's intimate, almost sweet in its soreness. Like a love letter written in bruises and breathless moans.

Carefully, you shift to sit up, brushing your hair from your face. But in your movement, your hand slips just slightly across the waistband of Sunghoon's boxers, pressing against the very obvious morning effect there. He groans softly through a smirk, eyes still closed. "Didn't get enough yesterday, pretty girl?" His voice is deep and gravelly with sleep, thick like honey. You flush but smile, heart fluttering. Leaning down, you kiss him gently, your lips brushing his like a secret. "Happy birthday, baby," you whisper, fingers brushing his hair back. He finally opens his eyes, they're glassy with sleep but locked on you. One hand snakes around your waist and pulls you down so you're flush against his chest, sprawled on top of him. "Thank you," he murmurs, hands splayed across your back. "You're the best gift I've ever gotten."

Behind you, Jake groans and stretches, the sheets rustling. "Ugh, what time is it?" he mumbles, voice muffled against the pillow. Then he turns, eyes still half-shut, and reaches over your body to cup Sunghoon's jaw. He leans in and kisses him, lazy and affectionate. "Happy birthday, babe," he mutters, his voice low and warm. Sunghoon chuckles beneath you, the vibration rippling through your chest. "Best way to wake up," he says. You're wrapped up in limbs and heat and love—one boy beneath you, one boy beside you, both of them looking at you like you're theirs. And you are, you can tell in the way  Sunghoon's fingers are lazy where they trace patterns on your bare back, and you're still laying on top of him when he speaks, voice muffled slightly by your hair. "So," he hums, "what should we do today?" You lift your head just a little, looking down at him, lips brushing his jaw. Jake's arm tightens around your waist from behind, like he doesn't want to give you up just yet. You hum too, thinking, but Jake's the one who answers first.

"We could invite a few of our friends up," he says casually, his voice still thick with sleep. "Just something chill. Intimate." Sunghoon snorts beneath you. "No one's gonna drive six hours to celebrate my birthday." You stifle a laugh and mumble, "I don't even have any friends," your tone a little too dry, the snort at the end giving away how little you care. Jake groans like you've personally offended him. "That's not true," he sighs, leaning up on one elbow to look at you, brow furrowed. "You have us." You twist around to meet his eyes and raise a brow. "You're not my friends." Your tone is calm, almost thoughtful. "Actually, I've been thinking...I kind of want to make new ones. Maybe girls, I need to be around less testosterone."

There's a pause. Sunghoon grunts underneath you like he's just been stabbed, his hands tightening ever so slightly on your hips. Jake scoffs. "You say girls like we'd allow it be guys."

"Jungwon's cool," Jake adds after a beat, tone a little brighter, like he's offering a genuine solution. "We could all hang out more with him when we get back." That earns an actual laugh from Sunghoon, sharp and smug. "Why are you pushing this Jungwon agenda so hard?" Jake's head snaps to him. "Because he's sweet," he says, almost defensive, like he's ready to argue. "And normal. He's not weirdly obsessed with stock prices or adrenaline or—" he gestures toward Sunghoon, "—being emotionally constipated." You groan and start crawling over Sunghoon's chest, pushing your hair back as you rise up on your knees. "I'll pass on Jungwon, I want girlfriends, " you say with a sigh, standing at the edge of the bed and stretching, "also because I can't even look him in the eye without picturing you—" You turn and point at Sunghoon, "—bending him over." Jake chokes on a laugh while Sunghoon groans, covering his face with a pillow. You grin wickedly, bend at the waist in full theatrical performance, and moan, "Sunghoon—ahh, fuck, right there!" tossing your head back dramatically like you imagine Jungwon must've. Jake loses it, flopping onto his back in laughter, and Sunghoon pulls the pillow off just to glare playfully at you.

"Minx," he mutters. Jake props himself up against the headboard, sheet sliding low on his hips, eyes still a little puffy with sleep but already gleaming with mischief. "Okay but seriously," he starts, raking a hand through his hair. "If we do invite people, it could be fun. Just a small thing. Jay, maybe. Jungwon. Heeseung, obviously." my Sunghoon groans again. "Obviously." Jake shrugs. "And I guess that means Yunjin would have to come too," he tacks on, his voice dropping into something heavier—flat, reluctant, with a bitterness he doesn't bother hiding. You pause mid-stretch in the doorway, your hand frozen on the bathroom doorframe. The annoyance bubbles up before you can swallow it. "Okay, can one of you just say it already?" Jake lifts a brow, watching you. You cross your arms. "What is it with you two and Yunjin? You act like she poisoned your drinks every time her name comes up." Sunghoon doesn't answer—just makes a face and throws his arm over his eyes like he can't even deal with the subject.

Jake, on the other hand, doesn't miss a beat. He stretches both arms over his head, tone dry, "Aside from the fact that she called you a whore to your face and is a raging cunt?" He glances at you, all faux innocence. "Not much, really." Your jaw drops a little. "Jake."

"What?" he says, eyes wide. "You were there. You heard her." Sunghoon lifts his arm from his face just to mutter, "He's not wrong."

Jake points. "See? Thank you." You roll your eyes and walk back over to the bed, standing at the foot of it now, arms still crossed. "She's my cousin."

"She's a bitch," Jake corrects smoothly, laying back against the headboard again. "Family ties don't exempt her from that." Sunghoon nods in agreement, lips tugging into a little smirk like he's secretly enjoying your disbelief. Jake squints at you, suddenly more serious. "You know we'd never say anything if it wasn't about you. You're too nice to call her out, so someone has to." You blink, caught off guard. Their protectiveness always hits a little harder when you're not expecting it. Jake sighs dramatically, kicking the sheet off his legs. "Just think about it, okay? Birthday gathering. Limited guest list. Preferably minus raging narcissists."

Sunghoon chimes in, eyes still closed, "She can come. As long as she stays six feet away from my girl and doesn't speak unless spoken to." Jake lifts his hand like he's making a pact. "Seconded." You mutter under your breath, turning for the bathroom again. "I can't even deal with you two right now." And from behind you, with a laugh in his voice—Jake calls out to you, "Baby! Come back!"

Turns out Jake was right—there is a very short list of things people wouldn't do for Sunghoon. Even driving six hours just because Jake sent out a half-assed invite to a beach house birthday? Not off the table, apparently. Only a handful of people came—it was still intimate, just louder now. Warmer. A little more chaotic. Heeseung showed up first, of course, with Yunjin clinging to his arm and sunglasses on despite it being overcast. You'd said hi to her, trying to be polite, trying to keep things smooth, and she didn't not respond...she just sort of tilted her head and said, "Bold outfit choice," before letting her eyes skim you up and down like you were something she'd never choose from the rack. And when you'd mentioned casually that Sunghoon had picked it out, she made that face. The one that was all tight-lipped and pinched like she'd just bitten into something sour and needed everyone to know.

Jake had seen it too. Of course he had. And he'd pulled you away before you could respond, guiding you across the patio by the small of your back with a too-sweet, "Let's get you away from the rotting energy, yeah?" He introduced you to Jay next—smirking a little as he did it, like he was proud to show you off. Jay had been polite, chill, charming in that low-effort way that felt like it came naturally to him. You liked him instantly. Then Jungwon pulled up, a little later, looking tan and soft and friendly, and you weren't sure what you were expecting—but it wasn't the way he smiled when he saw you. It was easy, bright, like he actually wanted to be there. Like he wanted to talk to you. He complimented your outfit right away. "You look amazing, by the way," he even asked how you were like he meant it. And you wanted to like him. You almost did. But every time he looked at you with those kind eyes, all you could think about was Sunghoon's hands on him, Sunghoon's mouth on his neck, the sound he must've made when he came and that was the problem.

No matter how nice he was, you couldn't unsee it. You couldn't unknow it.

It’s well into the afternoon now, the sun has started its slow descent over the ocean, and the birthday energy has shifted from sleepy and sweet to loose-limbed and sticky with alcohol. You're at the drinks table trying to stop Jake from going too hard, fingers wrapped around his wrist as he sloppily pours a round of shots he doesn't need. "Jake," you murmur, half-laughing, half-serious, "no more." He grins at you with that dangerous twinkle in his eye, the one that always means trouble, and holds a full shot glass just out of your reach. "But it's a celebration," he says with a mock pout, swaying slightly as he clutches the edge of the table for balance. You reach up to snatch the glass, and just then, he accidentally tilts it forward, spilling cold liquor straight onto your bare chest, where the low-cut neckline of your bikini top leaves skin exposed. "Oh nooo," he says, faux-gasping with a shit-eating grin before he dips his head low, mouth hot and wet against your skin as he licks the shot clean with a giggle. "Can't waste good tequila."

"Jake!" you squeal, swatting at him while laughing. You're barely able to regain control of the situation when Sunghoon appears at Jake's side, calm and unimpressed as he hands him a bottle of water. "That's enough," he says, low and even. Jake—drunk and flushed and still grinning—immediately drops the shot glass and takes the water with a nod, like Sunghoon's word is law. "Okay," he says softly, like a scolded dog who doesn't mind being scolded. He flops down onto a nearby stool, still sipping, and you follow, your fingers brushing gently through his hair. He hums under your touch, his lashes fluttering. Then, out of nowhere, he mumbles, "I love you. So much." It's quiet but genuine, a little slurred but certain. You smile, brushing his bangs off his forehead, your chest warm with it. But then out of the corner of your eye you see her. Yunjin. Leaning a little too close to Jay on the terrace chairs, her fingers brushing his arm like she doesn't even realize she's doing it. Her legs crossed just so, laughing a little too loudly at whatever he said. And Jay's not exactly pulling away either. Your gaze shifts instinctively and catches Sunghoon's. He's already looking, but not at you. His eyes are locked on Heeseung, who's walking toward the pair now with a stiff jaw and a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

He comes to a stop in front of them, looking down at Jay like he's trying to make sense of it. "Dude," Heeseung says, his voice casual but cold, "why are you so all over my girlfriend?" Jay blinks up at him, smile faltering. And just like that, the tension at the table spikes—sharp, quiet, and full of all the things that haven't been said yet. Jay's eyes flick to Heeseung's, expression hardening into something mean and brash, so different from the charming guy you met just hours ago, the one Jake had introduced so proudly. "I'm all over your girlfriend?" Jay scoffs, standing now, his tone loud and sharp enough to cut through the sound of the waves. "She's the one who came onto me. She always comes onto me." There's a shift. A drop in pressure like the air's been sucked out of the house. Jake, still perched on the stool beside you, squints and lets out a half-drunk, "Uh oh." You slap your hand over his mouth without even looking.

Heeseung's jaw flexes. "What the fuck do you mean always? She always comes onto you?" Jay throws his hands up, exasperated. "Come on, Heeseung. Everyone knows your girlfriend is a fucking slut. You're just the only one too blind to see it." Gasps break out like shattering glass. Someone actually says "Oh my god." The music comically stutters to a stop. And Yunjin? She just blinks but doesn't even deny it. Your pulse is thudding in your ears as Jay keeps going, eyes lit up like he's been holding this in for way too long. "Why are you even coming after me?" he snaps, stepping forward, "You didn't seem to have a problem when she threw herself at Sunghoon too."

Silence. Your feel your body go ice cold, turning your head slowly toward Sunghoon, your mouth dry, your breath caught somewhere deep in your throat. But he's already looking at you. Already shaking his head, already panicking. "Baby," he says, voice trembling for the first time ever, "I swear—it didn't happen. She tried, yeah, but it didn't fucking happen." He turns to Jay, eyes wild. "Jay! Are you fucking kidding me right now!?" But it's too late. Heeseung steps back like he's been physically hit, eyes wide and locked on Sunghoon now. "Are you fucking serious?" he breathes, voice deadly quiet. "You knew?" You can feel it, the moment the entire mood shatters—cracking open into something ugly and raw. Everyone's watching now. No one's moving. No one dares to breathe. And you’re standing there, still stuck on that single, damning word. Tried.

Jake, still half-drunk and slow on the uptake, lets out another one of his too-loud, too-poorly-timed laughs. "I mean...Yunjin is kind of a slut," he mumbles with a shrug, like that'll somehow ease the tension. It doesn't. Yunjin snaps her gaze to him so fast her sunglasses nearly fall off. And that's when it breaks. That last thread holding her in place. "I'm the slut?" she hisses, taking a step forward and jabbing a finger in your direction. "Not my cousin who you and Sunghoon turned into your fucking sex slave?" The air splits. Everyone flinches. Jake immediately sobers like someone dumped a bucket of ice water over his head. He stands, voice low and sharp, "Watch your fucking mouth." Sunghoon's right behind him, jaw clenched. "Don't you dare talk about her like that." But you're already stepping back. Heart pounding. Face burning. Stomach lurching. The words crawl under your skin like fire, because this—this sick, twisted narrative—is what they've been hiding. What they've been keeping from you. Your voice comes out clipped, shaking. "Don't. Don't defend me."

Yunjin smirks like a predator who's smelled blood. "Ooou," she purrs mockingly, "look who finally grew a spine. All it took was getting dicked down, uh?" Your fists curl at your sides, and Jake growls something under his breath, but Yunjin's not finished. "You're so fucking pathetic," she spits. "You let them touch you. You let them fuck you after everything they did. You think that makes you powerful now? Makes you special? Please. You were a joke before, and now you're just a joke who moans." There's a second where no one says anything—where it feels like the whole world tilts, and even the ocean forgets to crash. But then someone speaks, "Come on, Yunjin." Jungwon. Calm, smooth, and a little amused. Arms crossed. Leaning casually against the side of the bar like he's been watching a game unfold. "You're just jealous," he says with a laugh. "You couldn't have either of them if you tried." He smiles, then adds, just to twist the knife, "And turns out—you did."

Jungwon’s words don’t seem to stop her though, it seems like she can’t stop, like she’s smelled your weakness. Spitting venom with a bitter little smile, fully convinced that out of everyone here, you're the easiest to break. "You act so fucking innocent," she snaps, taking a step closer, "but you're just as desperate as the rest of us. Probably worse. Newsflash, cousin—being passed between two guys doesn't make you liberated. It makes you a fucking whore." For a beat, it seems like no one will say anything, no one will move. But you do. You calmly step forward and Yunjin barely has time to react before your hand flies across her face, hard and open-handed. The crack of the slap echoes over the stunned silence of the house. She gasps, stumbling slightly, blinking like she can't quite believe it happened. But she recovers quickly, her face twisting in fury as she lunges at you, teeth bared, hands reaching like claws. Sunghoon is faster than her though, throwing himself between you just as she lashes out, his back turned to her. She slams her hands against his shoulders, but he doesn't budge. His only focus is you. His eyes find yours instantly, wild and pleading. "I can't believe you," you whisper, voice low and shaking and full of heartbreak. Then you turn and walk away. "Baby—wait, Y/N!" Sunghoon calls after you, voice cracking. He spins to follow, panic flooding his face. Jake plants a hand on Yunjin's shoulder and shoves her back, firm but not cruel. "Get a grip," he mutters, then glances toward Heeseung, voice low. "Get your girl." But Heeseung just lets out a short, bitter laugh. "I'm done with this bitch," he says, already walking toward the edge of the deck. "Jay can have her. Or Sunghoon. Or whoever the fuck else she tried to fuck while we were together." He doesn't look back. Just walks straight toward the path that leads out of the house. And behind you, everything collapses.

The drive back from the beach house feels interminable. You're curled up in the back seat, forehead pressed to the window, headphones in, eyes trained on nothing. Every few minutes, Jake glances at you through the rearview mirror. Sunghoon tries to look back, but you never meet his eyes. The tension is so thick it might as well be physical, like a wall separating you from them. They try though, Jake's voice is quiet at first. "You okay back there?" You don't respond. "Do you want something to eat?" Sunghoon adds. "We could stop somewhere."

"Not hungry," you mumble. Jake sighs after a long pause. "Princess, come on. Just talk to us." You don't, you plug your headphones in tighter and shut your eyes, trying to tune them out. And the silence stretches all the way home. Arriving at the apartment, you still don't say a word. You're out of the car and up the elevator before they've even made out of the car. You beeline for Sunghoon’s bedroom, flinging open the closet, and yanking clothes off hangers, fast and frantic. Your suitcase hits the bed with a thud. Shoes. Pajamas. Toothbrush. Anything you might need. "Wait—baby," Sunghoon's voice rushes in from the doorway. "What are you doing?" You don't answer, you don't even look at him. "Don't do this. Please," he says, stepping closer, voice almost cracking just a little. "We can talk about it. We can work through this."

Jake appears behind him, brows furrowed. "Don't let what Yunjin said get in your head. She's just jealous. Jungwon said it—she was trying to get a rise out of you." You freeze, your back to them. One breath. Then another. "It's not just about Yunjin," you snap, spinning around. "It's everything." They both fall silent. "We’re about to go back to school and you think people won't talk? You think they won't look at me like I'm just some kind of—" your voice breaks, "—some kind of toy you two share?" Sunghoon flinches. Jake's eyes go wide. "There was never any time for me to adjust. I was just—thrown into your world. Your friends, your rules, your dynamic. And I thought I could keep up. I really did." You're breathless now. Holding back tears. You zip up your bag with trembling hands. "I just—" you whisper, barely audible, "—I just need space to figure things out."

Jake takes a step forward, jaw clenched. "You can't do that." But before he can finish, Sunghoon cuts in gently, "Where will you go?" His voice is full of worry. "You can't seriously be thinking of going back to your apartment. Not with Yunjin still there—"

"I'm going to my parents'," you say.

You're zipping your overnight bag when you feel their eyes on you again. They don't say anything at first. Just watch you move, like they still can't believe this is happening. Sunghoon breaks the silence. Quiet. Heavy. "Fine." Jake snaps his head toward him. "Fine?" You can’t look at either of them. Jake steps forward. "For how long?" he asks you, voice low, desperate. "A few days? A week? What does space even mean?" Before you can respond, Sunghoon speaks again—steady, but restrained, like it's costing him something. "I'll drop you off at the train station." Jake turns on him. "Are you kidding me, Sunghoon?"

Sunghoon doesn't waver. "She said she needs space." Jake scoffs, almost laughing in disbelief. "So that's it? You're just gonna let her leave?"

"She's not a prisoner, Jake," Sunghoon says, and for the first time, there's a faint edge in his voice. "She said she needs space, so we give her space." Jake doesn't reply. His jaw tightens, like he's fighting the urge to yell, cry, beg—maybe all three. You swallow the lump in your throat and finally lift your eyes. "Thank you," you whisper to Sunghoon. He nods once, jaw clenched, eyes never leaving yours. Jake's arms fall to his sides. He looks so small all of a sudden, like he knows it’s been decided.

You genuinely don't remember much of the drive to the train station. Not the hum of the engine, not the silence in the car, not the way Sunghoon kept glancing at you like he was memorizing you for the last time.

You just remember the feeling. That sinking ache in your chest like guilt and grief wrapped into one, mix with the fear that you were doing the wrong thing, even though every part of you screamed that it was the only thing you could do. Sunghoon carried your bag to the platform. Jake didn't come. When your train pulled in, Sunghoon hugged you so tightly you could barely breathe, and whispered, "Please come back soon," like it physically hurt him to let go. You cried quietly the whole ride home, cheek pressed to the cold window. Your phone buzzed the moment the train started moving.

yunnie: I'm sorry. Please don't shut me out. We love you. I love you.

You didn't respond, just cause you didn’t know what to say. When your parents picked you up, it was like nothing had happened. Like you hadn't fallen apart. Like you weren't carrying pieces of your broken heart in your duffel bag. They were warm, soft and so blissfully unaware. Your mom made your favorite dinner that night. Your dad teased you about how pale you looked. They smiled. They laughed. They welcomed you home. And for a second, you almost believed you could pretend again. That none of it had happened. That you were just a girl coming home from school for a break. But then you lay in your old bed, and the tears came again. Every night, you scrolled through their messages—Jake's in the beginning, desperate and unfiltered. Sunghoon's every single day without fail, soft voice notes whispering I miss you, angel. I miss you so much. Sometimes he told you what he ate that day or he’d tell you a memory that reminded him of you. Other times he just said goodnight.

You read every word. Listened to every audio. And then, you locked your phone, turned your face to your pillow. And let your heartbreak sit with you like a ghost in your childhood room.

It's been weeks, maybe. Jake has lost track of time.

Sunghoon marks every day by your silence. You're gone—and everything's gone quiet in the worst way. The apartment feels too big without your voice, without your footsteps, without the soft way you'd call for one of them from the kitchen or the bedroom or the shower. Without you, it all feels cold. Stale. Off.

Sunghoon texts you every morning and every night.

He sends voice notes sometimes—soft, unpolished things that trail off at the end because he doesn't know how to stop talking to you without hearing something back. You rarely reply. When you do, it's polite. Surface-level. Enough to let him know you're alive, but not enough to let him in.

Jake tried too, at first. Tried calling, texting, joking, even begging. The first few days, he camped out on the couch, checking his phone every five minutes, voice breaking whenever he mentioned your name. He left your favorite snacks on the counter, like you'd somehow walk through the door and see them and forget everything. But after a week of silence, he started to withdraw. Got quieter. Moodier. By the second week, he stopped texting altogether. He still keeps your contact pinned at the top of his phone—still opens your thread sometimes just to stare at the last message you sent—but he doesn't send anything new.

Sunghoon notices. They don't say it, but something in them has started to split. They used to move in sync—choreographed without trying. Now, they barely speak unless it's about logistics. Dinners are eaten in silence. The living room feels colder, they both start sleeping in their own rooms instead of choosing one randomly to sleep in like when you were around. You were the thing holding it all together and now that you're gone, nothing feels right. It seems like neither of them know how to fix it without you.

The apartment is dark when Jake stumbles in, the front door clicking shut behind him with a careless thud. He kicks off his shoes, jacket half hanging off his shoulder, cologne and alcohol clinging to him like a second skin. Sunghoon is on the couch, still awake. The TV is on, but the screen's silent—just soft blue light casting shadows across his face. His jaw clenches when he hears Jake. "What time is it?" he asks, not turning his head. Jake scoffs, sways a little as he heads toward the kitchen. "Relax, dad."

"You've been out every night this week." Jake yanks open the fridge, grabs a water, slams it shut. "So?"

Sunghoon finally stands, voice sharp now. "Jake. What the fuck are you doing?" Jake turns to him, eyes glassy but burning. "What do you mean what am I doing?"

"You're spiraling," Sunghoon bites out. "Coming home drunk, ignoring everyone, ignoring me—" Jake throws his hands up. "Oh my god, fuck off."

"What happened to fighting for her?" Sunghoon's voice cracks around the edges. "What happened to not giving up—?"

"She left, Sunghoon!" Jake explodes. "She abandoned us. You think I'm acting out? No. I'm reacting. To the fact that the girl I love walked away and she's probably not fucking coming back!" Sunghoon flinches. But he holds his ground. Steps forward. "We can't give up." Jake laughs bitterly. "We already lost her. You just haven't admitted it to yourself."

"No," Sunghoon snaps. "You're giving up because that's easier than sitting in the pain. Because if you stay fucking drunk and distracted, you don't have to feel how much it hurts. But I do. Every second of every day." Jake says nothing, he truly can’t. And for a long moment, the only sound in the apartment is both of them breathing hard, like they've been fighting for hours. Like the heartbreak is something they're choking on. "She's not gone," Sunghoon whispers finally, more to himself than Jake. "She's just...figuring things out." Jake doesn't respond. He just walks past him and disappears into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. Sunghoon's eyes fall to his phone on the coffee table, where one more message sits unsent. He hits send anyway. "Goodnight, baby. We miss you."

Sunghoon loves Jake. He really does. But these days, he can barely look at him without feeling like he might snap. He knows Jake's hurting too, but it's different. Jake hurts like a wildfire—chaotic, messy, scorching everything in its path. Sunghoon's hurt is quieter. Slower. The kind that sits in the corners of a room and never really leaves. He now spends most of his days avoiding the apartment. There's a small café down the street—one with frosted windows and chipped mugs, where the baristas don't ask questions and let him linger too long. He sits there for hours, headphones in, untouched coffee cooling in front of him. Watching people walk by the window. Wondering if you're eating enough. If you've made new friends like you said you wanted to. If you miss him. He wonders what he could’ve done better, over and over, until the memory of Jake's voice in the middle of that fight resurfaces, she left, Sunghoon. And he hates it—because maybe Jake's right. You did leave and maybe you're not coming back. He's staring blankly at his phone when it buzzes against the tabletop. One message. Your name. Your contact photo. His breath catches, his heart slipping straight to the pit of his stomach. He fumbles unlocking the screen, hands shaking so badly he nearly drops it. And there it is.

You: hi hoonie.

Two words is all it takes to make the whole café blur, to make his vision fog, dissolving the noise and shifting his entire world back into place—just two words. He stares at the screen like it might disappear if he blinks too hard. Then he types back, trembling, teeth clenched, breath caught somewhere in his throat.

Hoon: hi baby. god i missed you.

And for the first time in weeks, he feels like maybe he's not drowning anymore. His fingers are flying to type the second your reply comes in.

You: i missed you too. and jake. how's he been?

Sunghoon stares at the screen, his chest tight. His thumb hovers, unsure how to answer. He could lie, he could protect Jake a little. But he knows you deserve more than that.

Hoon: not good. we're not good without you.

He hesitates a little before adding typing more,

Hoon: i've been missing you so bad, baby. did you listen to the messages?

There's a pause. He watches the three dots blink in and out for what feels like hours. Then your response lights up the screen:

You: yes. i listened to all of them. every single one.

And then another message comes in

You: if you still want me, i think i'm ready to come home.

His breath catches so hard it almost hurts. He doesn't even realize he's already typing, his hands trembling, a sound of pure relief breaking in his chest like a dam cracked wide open.

Hoon: of course baby girl. yes. yes please. come home. please. what time should i come get you from the station? i'll be there early. i'll wait. just tell me.

He stares at your name on the screen, eyes glassy, smiling like he hasn't in weeks. For the first time in what feels like forever, the ache in his chest finally eases cause you’re coming home.

The train hisses behind you as it pulls away, the last trace of your long, quiet ride home vanishing down the track. You stand there on the platform, suitcase at your side, arms wrapped tightly around yourself—not because it's cold, but because your heart is beating so hard, it needs something to hold onto. You see him before he sees you. Sunghoon steps out of his car and into the station, black hoodie pulled low, hands stuffed into his pockets. He looks around like he's searching for air. His eyes are sharp, darting across the crowd with a kind of frantic hope. You watch him scan the line of waiting people, his lips pressed into a tight line, until his gaze catches on you. And it looks like everything in him melts. His shoulders drop, face softening instantly, mouth parting slightly as he takes a single breath and then starts walking—fast. Not running, but fast, like he's afraid you'll disappear if he takes too long. You don't move. You just watch him close the distance, watch the way his eyes don't leave yours even for a second. And when he reaches you, he doesn't say anything right away. He just pulls you in.

His arms are around you in a heartbeat, strong and warm and all-consuming. Your feet barely stay on the ground. His hand is at the back of your head, fingers slipping into your hair like he's trying to relish the shape of you again. And then his lips are everywhere.

A kiss to your cheek. Another to your forehead. Then your jaw, your temple, your nose. Each one broken by a breathless whisper, "I missed you." "I missed you so much." "God, my baby—I missed you." You feel it in your throat, the way your eyes sting, your whole chest pressing into his like it's desperate to get even closer. You don't even realize you've started crying until he pulls back just enough to look at you and says softly, "Don't cry, baby. It’s okay." Sunghoon barely makes it out of the station parking lot before his hand finds yours again. It's like he can't help it—like the distance from your skin is unbearable now that he's got you back. His palm covers yours on your thigh, his thumb stroking gentle lines across your knuckles. And then, as the car slows at a red light, he lifts your hand to his lips and kisses it softly, like it's something sacred.

He doesn't let go after that. One hand on the wheel, one hand curled around yours, fingers laced tightly together like if he lets go, you'll change your mind. You glance at him from the passenger seat, your heart already softening all over again. He's smiling, really smiling. Not the tight, polite one he wore when he dropped you off at the station. Not the sad, faraway one you imagined he wore every time he texted you and heard nothing back. This one is warm open and alive. "You look prettier than I remember," he says suddenly, stealing a glance at you. You laugh softly, looking away, but his grip on your hand tightens gently. "I'm serious," he says. "You were gone so long I started thinking I made you up." You shake your head, lips parting to say something but then he speaks again, quieter this time. "Jake's gonna lose his mind when he sees you." That makes your stomach twist. You look down at your joined hands, and Sunghoon must feel the change in your silence because he turns toward you slightly, his voice soft. "He's been...not himself, without you. He's gonna be really happy. We both are."

You nod slowly, chewing on the inside of your cheek, and Sunghoon lifts your hand again, pressing it to his chest, right over his heart. It's beating fast, you can feel it. "We're gonna fix this," he whispers, eyes on the road. "All of it." And he squeezes your hand like a promise.

The underground parking lot is dim and quiet, the hum of Sunghoon's car engine the only real sound as he pulls into his usual spot. He shifts into park, and the headlights click off. You stay seated for a moment, just looking out at the elevator in the distance, heart suddenly thudding in your chest like it knows something your brain hasn't caught up to yet.

But then you feel it—Sunghoon's fingers slipping between yours again, warm and almost overwhelming but grounding. "You ready?" he asks softly, eyes gentle.

You nod. He leans over the center console to kiss you—slow and smiling, like it's the first kiss of a new chapter. Then he's getting out, grabbing your suitcase from the trunk and waiting patiently as you slide out of the car. It's quiet as you walk together toward the elevator, your suitcase wheels echoing softly across the concrete.

In the elevator, Sunghoon stands behind you, arms circling your waist from behind, resting his chin lightly on your shoulder. He rocks you side to side a little. "Jake's gonna freak out," he murmurs, lips brushing your skin. "He's been such a mess." You smile faintly. But your palms are sweating. The elevator dings and it almost makes you flinch. Sunghoon pulls you toward the apartment with that same soft excitement from earlier. He's already pulling out his key, fumbling a little because he's balancing your suitcase and trying to be quick about it. "You want to shower first or eat? I can order while you—"

He opens the door and everything changes. The hallway is dim, the apartment lit only by the yellow glow of the kitchen underlight. At first, it's quiet—almost deceptively so. But then you hear movement. The soft shuffle of hurried footsteps. And Jake's voice, low and rushed, "Wait—hold on, just grab your stuff."

Sunghoon's body stiffens in front of you. You try to peek past him, heart in your throat. Then you see him.

A shirtless Jake, hair sticking up like he's been in bed.

A red scratch blooming fresh across the side of his chest. And behind him, a girl, half-dressed, tangled in a button up shirt that clearly isn’t hers, carrying her shoes in one hand and her phone in the other, head ducked like she's trying not to be seen.

Your breath leaves your body like you've been hit. Not pushed—hit. The girl brushes past Sunghoon with a muttered "Sorry" and ducks around you too fast to even register your presence. Jake hasn't even seen you yet. His eyes are locked on Sunghoon. Wide. Caught. Guilt flashing so hard it nearly knocks the color from his face. Then he sees you. And it’s like his entire world collapses in on itself. He doesn't say your name. Doesn't dare breathe it. He just stares. Horrified.

Your whisper is small. Fragile. Like glass held up to a storm, "Oh my god."

His mouth opens. "No—no, no, no—fuck—you weren't supposed to—," he stammers, stepping forward, eyes begging, chest rising and falling fast. "I didn't—fuck, this isn't—it didn't mean anything—I swear to God, it didn't mean anything—"

You haven't moved. You can't seem to. You're standing there in your little travel outfit, bag rolling gently between you and Sunghoon, and all the warmth you gathered in the car, in the elevator, on Sunghoon's lip drains out of your body in one awful, slow wave. Jake is still stammering. Still frozen half-naked in the middle of the room like he hasn't decided whether to run or fall to his knees. And Sunghoon hasn't looked at you yet. He hasn't looked away from Jake. He's standing stone-still in the doorway, the suitcase handle loose in his hand. The hurt in his face is so quiet, so deep, it almost doesn't register at first. But then you see the way his jaw is locked, how his throat bobs when he swallows, the way his fingers tremble around the suitcase handle. He steps forward. Slowly. Eyes still locked on Jake like he's trying to force an explanation out of him with just his stare. "Tell me this isn't what it looks like," he says, voice sharp with warning, but soft underneath, cracked at the edges. "Tell me you didn't do this." Jake takes another half-step forward, still frantic. "I didn't know she was coming today—Sunghoon, fuck, I wasn't thinking, I didn't plan this, it just—she texted me, and I said yes without thinking, and—" He falters. Because Sunghoon finally turns to look at you.

And your face. Your face absolutely ruins him, it’s not because you’re crying or yelling—you’re not. You just look like someone blew a hole through your chest and walked away. Like something broke open in you that will never close again. And all Sunghoon can do is whisper your name.

"...Baby." You blink once, taking one small step back.

And he follows. "Wait—no—baby, please—" That's when he drops the suitcase handle and everything begins to unravel. Your shoes make almost no sound as you turn and walk out the door. It's not fast or dramatic. You just...leave. Like your body is on autopilot, like if you stay even one second longer, your chest might actually crack open. But you don't make it far. The hallway is dim, humming with ceiling light, and you're maybe ten steps from the apartment door before you hear him.

"Y/n—" Sunghoon's voice. A rough, broken thing. "Y/n, wait, please—" Then arms around you. Strong and warm and trembling. He turns you gently—carefully—and pulls you into his chest, both arms locking around your back like he's trying to hold the pieces of you together. You resist at first, trying to push him away.

But he doesn’t let you. "Shh—no, no—please—please don't do this—just let me—please let me hold you," he begs, voice cracking as he buries his face into your hair. "I didn't know. I didn't fucking know. I swear to God, baby, I would've told you. I would've never brought you back if I knew—" And that's when you break, right there in the hallway. You shatter—into him, onto him.

A sob rips out of you, ugly and raw, and your fingers claw at his hoodie as he pulls you tighter against his chest. Your legs shake, your shoulders heave, and you can barely even breathe through the sound of it. Sunghoon holds you like he's never going to let go again.

"I didn't know," he keeps whispering, over and over, like maybe if he says it enough, the truth will rearrange itself. "I didn't know. I didn't fucking know." You're still sobbing. Still trembling. He moves both of you toward the wall, pressing your body gently there, shielding you from the rest of the world with his own.

"I don't believe it," he murmurs fiercely, like he needs you to believe him. "I can’t believe he did this. He was broken without you—he couldn't even look at your stuff, he was crying all the fucking time—he loves you. He loves us. There's no way he'd—"

"But he did," you whisper, and your voice isn’t loud or sharp, it’s just final. Sunghoon pulls back to look at you. And you see it, finally—his tears. Silent and warm, streaking down his cheeks like he didn't even notice they were falling. You shake your head, barely able to get the words out.

"How could he do this…to us?" Your voice breaks on the last word. Sunghoon's lip wobbles a little as he cups your face, thumbing away the tears that just keep coming. "I don't know," he whispers. "I really don’t know." And for a moment, neither of you say anything.

There's just the sound of your breathing, labored and broken, and the way your tears soak through the front of his hoodie as he holds you. "I can't—I can’t go back in there," you whisper. "I know."

"I can't even look at him."

"I'll take you somewhere," he says immediately. "Anywhere. A hotel, my parents house—I'll get the car, right now, I swear—" You shake your head again. "Just...please don't leave me alone."

"I won't," he says, voice steady despite the tears. "Never again." And he doesn't let go. Not for a long, long time. He doesn't let go of your hand. Not as he leads you down the hallway, not as you both reach the elevator in silence, not even when the doors close and the dull hum of descent wraps around you. You're shaking. Still numb and in shock. But he keeps his fingers tangled with yours like it's the only thing saving him. When the elevator hits the underground level, he walks you carefully to the car, opens the door for you like he always does. But before getting in himself, he hesitates. "I'll be right back, okay?" he whispers, brushing your cheek with the back of his hand. "I'm just gonna grab your suitcase." You nod faintly. He runs. Actually runs back toward the elevator, disappears inside the building again. You wait. Five minutes. Maybe seven. And then the trunk thumps shut and Sunghoon's slipping into the driver's seat beside you, breathing a little hard but managing a quiet, "Got it."

He starts the engine. Drives. Doesn't ask where you want to go, he doesn't need to. The silence in the car is thick. You don't look at him. You don't look out the window either. Just stare at your lap like you can still see the image burned into your eyes—Jake's face, his bare chest, the girl's body slipping past you, the disbelief on Sunghoon's face. He keeps glancing at you.

Keeps checking to see if you're okay. Keeps seeing that you're not. It's a long drive, longer than you expect, and it isn't until he pulls into the circular driveway of a hotel, glass exterior glittering under city lights, that you even realize where he's brought you. He parks. Hops out quickly. Rounds the car to open your door for you again. Still doesn't let go of your hand. Inside, the lobby is quiet, marble floors echoing beneath your feet. The concierge says nothing when Sunghoon pulls out his wallet, only asks for your name and smiles gently at your silence. "Six nights," Sunghoon tells him firmly. "Maybe more. We'll see."

You're in another elevator again. He's holding your suitcase with your hand is still in his. Neither of you speak. The hotel room is warm with neutral tones, high thread count linens and soft lighting. But it all feels far away, like a set from a movie you're not in the mood to watch. Sunghoon wheels the suitcase inside. Sets it beside the closet, watching you sit on the edge of the bed, still not speaking or crying. Until you are, like it just hits you all at once. A sob punches its way out of your throat and you fold over, shoulders curled in, hands digging into your lap as the tears crash down. You don't even try to stop them. It's too much. Everything feels too much. And he's beside you in a second dropping to his knees in front of you, arms around your waist, pressing his forehead to your stomach like he’s going to fall apart too. "Princess," he whispers, voice already breaking. "Please—please don't cry. I can't—I can't handle it—"

But you do. And he lets you. He shushes you gently, murmuring soft little promises into the curve of your waist as his hands rub your back, as he slowly coaxes you sideways onto the bed. You curl into him instinctively, face hidden in his chest. He pulls you closer, wrapping himself around you. One hand cradling the back of your head, the other strokes slow, steady circles into your spine. "It’s okay," he whispers. "You're okay. I've got you. I'm not leaving." You don't know when you stop crying. You don't even remember falling asleep. But when you eventually do, you're warm. And Sunghoon's arms are still around you, his lips still brushing your hair, his chest rising and falling under your cheek like you're the only thing keeping his heart beating at all.

You wake to silence. A thick, weighted kind—the kind that makes you feel like the world has stopped turning while you slept. Your clothes are still the same from yesterday. Wrinkled, cold and you feel them stick to your skin when you shift slightly under the hotel blanket, cheeks stiff and tight with the dried remnants of your tears. Your head is buried in Sunghoon's chest.

His shirt is damp where you cried. His arms are still around you, the hand on your back still gently cupping the curve of your spine like he never loosened his grip all night. You stir and he doesn't move, doesn’t flinch.

But you can feel the tension in his body. The way he holds his breath. Like he's afraid that if he moves too quickly, the whole thing might shatter all over again.

His eyes are open, red-rimmed and tired. Fixed on the ceiling above, jaw clenched, lips pressed into a thin, unreadable line. You shift a little more, trying to sit up. He doesn't stop you, but his arm stays loosely wrapped around your waist. The room smells faintly of hotel soap and skin and sadness. You whisper, "Did you sleep at all?" He finally looks at you.

And that's when you see how broken he looks. Like someone carved a hollow right into his chest and filled it with silence. "No," he murmurs softly. “Couldn’t." You nod faintly, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. You cling tighter. Like you know something's coming. And you’re right. You can feel it in the shift of his breathing. His throat bobs, and then he says, barely a whisper, "I need to talk to him." You blink up at him, brows drawing together. Your throat aches like you're about to cry again, but the tears haven't reached your eyes yet. "Oh."

"I just—" His voice is soft as he sits up, finally pulling away from you, though it's reluctant. "I need to make sense of this. What happened. Why he did it. How it even happened." You just look at him for a moment. Then you say, "I don't want to be alone." His expression crumples at that. He reaches for your hand again. Grips it tightly. "I won't be gone long," he promises, forehead pressing to yours. "Just an hour or two, baby. I'll come right back. I swear."

You bite your bottom lip, nodding slowly. He kisses your forehead, your temple, the side of your nose—soft, lingering kisses like little apologies for leaving. Then he pulls away again. And this time, you let him go. The door closes behind him with a dull, final-sounding click. And you're alone, wrapped in a hotel comforter, in the aftermath of something you're still trying to understand, while down the hall or across the city already Sunghoon walks into the fire. Into Jake, into whatever comes next.

The drive home is a blur for Sunghoon, he doesn't even remember closing the hotel door behind him. Doesn't remember the walk through the lobby or the way the valet stared at him like he recognized the storm cloud brewing behind his eyes. The world outside the windshield flies past in streaks of color, but he isn't really seeing it. He's trying to make sense of the situation at hand. Jake. Jake. He must've misunderstood. Maybe she was a friend. Maybe it was a mistake. But no. There was nothing accidental about what they saw.

The girl was buttoning her shirt—Jake’s shirt, as she walked out of his bedroom. Jake was shirtless, wide-eyed and guilty. It wasn't a maybe. It wasn't a blur. It was a fucking betrayal. And Sunghoon can't stop thinking about the way you crumbled in his arms—how you cried into his chest like the air had been stolen from your lungs. He parks the car in a daze and makes his way upstairs. Every footstep down the hallway echoes louder than the last. The door isn't locked, as he just walks in to find Jake on the couch. Head bowed. Shoulders slumped with his phone in his hand, talking softly into the speaker.

Sunghoon hears it just before it stops recording. "...I know I fucked up, but I swear I love you. I love you. Please just—just come back." Jake's thumb hovers over the send button. But he doesn't press it. He knows he can't. Not now. Not after what he's done. He looks up when he hears Sunghoon close the door. But he doesn't say anything, he doesn't try to explain. He just looks... ruined. Like a child caught red-handed, trembling and ashamed, waiting to be punished. Sunghoon stares at him for a long moment, "You couldn't even wait?" His voice is ice. Jake flinches a little, his eyes dropping again. He doesn't try to fight it. "I thought she wasn't coming back," Jake says quietly. "I thought—" Sunghoon cuts him off before he can finish. "So what? You thought she wasn't coming back, so you stuck your dick in the next girl you saw? That's your excuse?"

"I felt abandoned—" Sunghoon slams his hand down on the back of the armchair. "I was abandoned too!" he yells. "She left me too! Jake. You think it didn't break me? You think I didn't want to give up every night while texting her because I didn't know if she'd ever respond? You think I didn't miss her so fucking bad I couldn't sleep?"

Jake's chest rises and falls rapidly. "I know—"

"No, you don't," Sunghoon spits. "You don't fucking know, because instead of hurting and staying loyal, you went and fucked someone else. You cheated. On us."

Jake's lower lip trembles. His fingers are digging into his knees like he's trying to keep himself from collapsing completely. "It didn't mean anything," he whispers. "I was out of my mind. I—I regretted it the second it happened."

"Yeah?" Sunghoon snaps. "Too bad regret doesn't make her unsee it. Doesn't undo what you did." Jake wipes at his eyes, sniffling hard. "You think I don't hate myself for it? You think I'm not dying inside?"

"You don't get to die inside," Sunghoon growls. "She gets to die inside. We do. You made that choice. We live with the fucking aftermath." Jake tries to say something, tries to open his mouth, but no words come out. He looks like he's seconds from collapsing. From crumbling into nothing. But Sunghoon doesn't care. Not right now. Because he remembers the way you sobbed against his chest. The way your voice cracked when you whispered "how could he do this to us?" And no amount of guilt can take that back. Jake doesn't move, he sits there like a kicked dog, face blotchy, hands shaking, eyes rimmed red with guilt. He opens his mouth to speak, but Sunghoon cuts in before he can even try. "No," Sunghoon says sharply, chest heaving. "You don't get to do this, Jake."

His voice isn't loud, but it's dangerous now. Cold and trembling and laced with too much grief to contain. "I texted her every single day," he says through gritted teeth. "I left her voice notes every morning and every night, telling her that I missed her, that we loved her, that it was safe to come home. I promised her, Jake. I begged her to believe that everything would be okay."

Jake stares at him, lips parted. Breathing hard, like he’s on the edge of shattering. "I brought her back," Sunghoon continues, voice cracking. "I kissed her hand in the car and told her how happy you'd be to see her. I told her we'd protect her better this time, that she wasn't alone anymore. And the second I opened that door, you were standing there—shirtless, with some girl rushing out of your room." He pauses, nostrils flaring, trying to collect himself. "You don't know how hard I had to stop myself," Sunghoon whispers, eyes sharp and glassy. "From dragging you out into the hallway and beating the fucking life out of you right then and there."

Jake lets out a strangled sob. He brings both hands up to his face like he's trying to block the words out, but they keep coming—because Sunghoon can't stop. "She cried herself to sleep," he says, quieter now, more broken. "On a fucking hotel bed. In the clothes she travelled all the way back to us in. I had to hold to her while she did, and keep telling her it would be okay even though I knew it wouldn't."

Jake lets out a breath like it hurts to exhale. "I can fix it," he chokes. "I swear—I can fix it. Please, Hoon. Things can still go back to normal—" Sunghoon laughs, but it’s not funny. It's bitter and dry and devastating. "Can they?" he spits, stepping closer. "Can they really?"

Jake doesn't answer. He just sits there—pathetic, ashamed and drenched in regret. And that look of utter helplessness, of you tell me what to do and I'll do it, like he's not the one who burned it all to the ground, that’s what finally breaks Sunghoon completely. His voice drops. Barely a whisper. "If she doesn't come back to us—" he swallows hard, tears stinging at his eyes. "If she never forgives us..." Sunghoon's jaw clenches. "I will never forgive you," he says, eyes glassy. "Do you hear me?" Jake doesn't respond but his shoulders shake with the force of his sobs. "Not ever," Sunghoon breathes. "Jaeyun." Jake flinches at his name like it's some curse. And Sunghoon stares at him one last time, broken, furious and devastated before turning and walking away.

The hotel room is dim—just the golden lamp on the nightstand casting a soft glow over the bed. Sunghoon is lying next to you now, one arm folded behind his head, the other resting limp beside yours. He hasn't said much since he got back, just quiet sighs now and then, like he's still trying to sort through everything swirling in his chest. It's nighttime now and you reach out without a word, slipping your fingers into his, your thumb brushing over his knuckles gently. It's not a grand gesture, but his breath hitches when you do it.

He squeezes your hand—tentative, "I missed this," he says softly, like a confession. "Just being able to touch you." You swallow hard, your voice a whisper. "Me too." There's a long silence after that. A kind of peace that's not perfect, but quieter than it's been in days.

Then Sunghoon speaks, voice low and tired. "Did you...make any new friends while you were home?"

You actually let out a soft laugh, dry and almost shy. "No. I didn't really leave the house. I barely left my room. I think my parents were getting worried I was turning into a ghost." Sunghoon's smile is faint but real. "They're probably just happy to have you close."

You nod, your voice quieter now. "They were. I missed them so much." He glances over at you. His thumb rubs along the side of your hand again, slower this time. You hesitate before speaking again, "Jungwon texted me." You feel his body go still. "When?" he asks, trying to keep his voice neutral. "Couple days after I got home," you murmur. "He just...asked if I was okay. Said Jake told him I left."

Sunghoon sighs heavily, but not in surprise, more of acceptance. He stares up at the ceiling for a moment before turning his head to you. "You don't have to be friends with Jungwon if you don't want to," he says quietly, with a sort of tired conviction. "Not after everything. I know he's Jake's friend, but you don't owe him anything." You nod. "I know." He squeezes your hand again, tighter this time. Like he's silently vowing to protect you from all of it—Jake's betrayal, Yunjin's cruelty, even the pieces of yourself still bruised from everything.

You lie there in the quiet, his hand still held in yours, warm and grounding. The room feels suspended in time—just the two of you tucked into this little pocket of the world where nothing hurts quite as loudly, where the betrayal and the heartbreak and the ache haven't disappeared, but at least, for now, they're muffled. You shift your head on the pillow, angling your gaze toward him. His jaw is tight, his lashes casting soft shadows on his cheeks as he blinks slowly at the ceiling. You speak gently. "What about you?" His eyes flick to yours. "What did you get up to? Other than all the things you told me...the café, your parents..." you trail off. He hesitates, his mouth parting just slightly before closing again. Then, he exhales slowly through his nose, voice hushed and vulnerable. "I didn't really...get up to much." Your fingers tighten slightly around his.

"I tried, at first," he says, "to keep moving. To keep pretending like I was okay." He lets out a humorless laugh. "But my world kind of...slowed. When you were gone." Your heart tugs painfully in your chest. "I'd wake up and just—lie there. For hours sometimes." He swallows. "Didn't even want to shower. Or eat. I'd sit in that café down the block like I told you, every afternoon. Just staring out the window."

"Waiting for me to text," you whisper. He nods once, eyes still fixed on the ceiling like looking at you might break him. "Yeah." There's something so quietly devastating about the way he says it. Like existing without you took everything out of him, left him hollow in a way no one else could fill. You lean a little closer, pressing your forehead to his arm. "I missed you every second." His eyes finally meet yours. They're glossy again, but he blinks the tears back, determined not to cry this time. "Don't leave again," he whispers. "Please."

"I really don't want to," you say softly. "But how do we even get past this? We're in a hotel room right now, Hoon." He nods like he knows, stroking his thumb over the back of your hand. The silence between you is soft now—no longer heavy with pain but full of something else, something tentative and warm, like a newly bandaged wound. Then, out of nowhere, he murmurs, "You lost weight." You pout, looking up at him "Huh?"

He frowns a little. "Your face...and your arms. You feel smaller when I hold you." You roll your eyes. "Oh wow, thanks."

"No," he says, turning toward you, serious. "It's not a compliment, baby. I don't like it. You're gonna eat more." You snort. "Well, I wasn't exactly in the mood for takeout and ice cream while crying into my pillow." He shakes his head, already sitting up and stretching a little. "No, no, that won't work. I'm putting you on a schedule. Three meals a day. Snacks. Maybe I'll cook. You want pasta? I'm ordering pasta right now." You watch as he starts patting down his pockets for his phone, already mumbling about how much he's going to make you eat. "Something creamy. High calorie. Carbs. Dessert too—maybe cake or like a pie? Yeah, we'll start slow." You laugh quietly, heart swelling a little at his chaotic determination. But then there's a knock at the door and it interrupts the moment, making you both halt.  The sound is polite but firm. One knock. Two. Then silence. You glance at each other. "You expecting someone?" he asks, brow furrowed.

You shake your head. "No. You? Could be room service?" Sunghoon slowly rises to his feet. He hesitates, then quietly pads toward the door, shoulders tensing as he approaches. The hotel room is quiet, and your own breath seems too loud in your ears. He looks back at you once, a cautious warning in his eyes, then reaches for the handle and opens the door. And there Jake is. Standing in the hallway, hands in the pockets of his jeans, face pale, jaw tight, eyes rimmed red—but dry, for now. You sit up slowly. Jake doesn't even look at Sunghoon at first. His eyes seem to be trained on you as if he didn't dare believe you were really behind that door until now. Sunghoon's body shifts in front of the threshold like a quiet barrier, unmoving. Jake finally blinks, mouth twitching like he wants to speak but doesn't know where to start. "I'm not here to fight," he says softly. "I just... I just need to talk to her."

Sunghoon's hand grips the edge of the door just a little tighter.

"How did you even know she was here?" he asks, voice low, cautious. Jake doesn't flinch, or even blink. "I've always had both your locations," he says, eyes still locked on you. "Since the beginning. I just...never stopped checking." Sunghoon's jaw tightens. He doesn't say anything for a moment. You can tell he wants to slam the door shut—protect you, protect whatever little peace you've managed to find here. But after a long beat of tense silence, he sighs. And steps aside, letting Jake walk in like a ghost. Like someone quietly being lowered into a grave. His shoes barely make a sound on the marble floor. His hands are still shoved deep into his pockets like he's trying to keep himself from shaking. And still, his eyes never leave yours. He stops a few feet in front of the bed, like he knows better than to come closer.

"I won't take long," he says, voice thin, tired. "You don't have to say anything. You just have to listen."

Your throat feels tight. You don't trust your voice even if you wanted to say something. "I'm sorry." Jake's voice cracks on the second word. "I'm sorry for doing this to you. For hurting you. For hurting Sunghoon. I don't have anything to defend myself with. There's no excuse. I was scared. I was selfish. And I was fucking stupid." "There isn't a version of this story where I'm the victim, I know that." His hands come out of his pockets now, trembling at his sides.

"If there's even the smallest chance, a one in a million chance that you two can be happy without me, then I won't get in the way. I'll let it happen. I'll walk away. You should take this chance. You should be with Sunghoon." Sunghoon shifts behind Jake, still by the door, but watching, listening. Jaw locked. You can feel the weight of his silence too. Jake's eyes fill with tears, but none fall. He blinks fast and swallows hard. "He said..." He continues glancing back toward Sunghoon for just a moment, like it hurts to even repeat it. "He said he'd never forgive me if you didn't come back to us. So please..." He looks at you again, eyes wet and raw. "Forgive him. Just him. Even if you can't look at me again, even if I'm the last person you ever want to see, please don't shut him out because of what I did."

You feel your chest splinter under the weight of his words.

He takes a single step back. "I'll disappear from both your lives forever if that's what it takes. But don't make him pay for my mistake." Jake's voice is quieter now. Smaller. Almost as if each word is chipped off a block of pain lodged deep in his throat. "You should come back to the apartment," he says, not meeting your eyes this time. He stares at the floor like if he looks at you too long, he might break apart right there in front of you. "I'll move out. I've already been looking at places—just shitty little studio listings bookmarked in a folder like that's gonna fix anything but...I don't care. I'll go."

He swallows hard. The muscles in his throat twitch as he forces the next words out. "Just come back. Be with Sunghoon. You two can still have something beautiful. Real. I mean..." he lets out a bitter, breathy laugh and finally glances back at Sunghoon, "You always deserved better than me anyway. He is better. You love him and he really does love you." You press your palm to your mouth like it'll stop the ache from leaking out. Jake sees it, sees the tremble in your fingers, and rushes to finish before he breaks apart completely. "No one will look at you weird. No one will whisper anymore. It'll be normal. Easy. Just the two of you. You can have a happy relationship without people talking or judging or wondering how it all happened."

There's silence. Heavy and full. Jake shakes his head once, tears threatening again, and wipes at his face like he's disgusted with himself for crying at all. "Please..." His voice cracks. "Just don't throw it all away because of me." And then, quietly, so broken you almost don't hear it. "I already lost you. I won't survive knowing I cost him you too."

There's a long, soul-crushing pause. Jake stands there, waiting, breath caught like a thread in his throat. The silence screams in his ears—no crying, no yelling, no footsteps chasing after him. Just silence. So he takes it for what it is—understanding, maybe not forgiveness, but acceptance. Resignation. And it's enough for him to turn. He starts to walk away, but your voice, quiet and trembling, slices right through him. "But..."

Jake freezes. You take a shaky breath, eyes brimming.

"I don't want to be without you, Jake." He turns slowly, stunned. His face twists in confusion at first, like he can't believe what he heard—but then he sees you stepping toward him, the tears sliding freely down your cheeks, and he breaks. The tears he's been holding back finally fall, trailing hot and fast down his cheeks. His lips part like he wants to say something, but you're already speaking again. "I don't want to be with just Sunghoon." Your voice is louder now, clearly and it cracks, but not from doubt—from honesty. "I love both of you." Jake's mouth opens just slightly, like the words hit him so hard he forgot how to breathe. "I'm so mad at you," you whisper through the sobs you've been holding in. "You really hurt me, Jake. You hurt Sunghoon too. You almost ruined everything."

He nods like he's ready to take the hit, like he knows he deserves it. But you're still walking closer. "But I still love you," you say, tears choking every syllable. "God, I love you so much. And the thought of my life without either of you—that's what hurts the most." He takes a step forward, eyes glassy, lips trembling, hands half-raised like he's scared to reach for you, scared he'll shatter this moment. "And if—if you're willing to work through it with us," your voice trembles again, "if you're willing to fight—really fight for me and for Sunghoon..." You reach him. Your hand brushes his chest. "Then we can start from somewhere. At least."

His face crumples. And without another word, he pulls you into his arms like his whole life depends on it—because it does. You fall into his arms without thinking, the distance between you evaporating the second your body presses against his. His breath catches, chest rising sharply beneath your touch, and for a moment he just stands there, frozen, as though your embrace is the last thing he ever expected—but the only thing he's ever wanted.

He wraps his arms around you with a desperation that nearly steals your balance. One hand grips the small of your back, the other trembles against your shoulder, holding you to him as though the weight of your grief might pull you both under. His face buries in the crook of your neck, breath uneven, and you feel it—the warmth of a tear against your skin, quickly followed by another. "I'm sorry," he whispers, the words cracked and hoarse, spoken into your collarbone like a confession into church pews. "I'm so fucking sorry."

You pull back just enough to see him. His face is flushed and tear-stained, eyes glassy, wide with disbelief. You cradle his jaw gently, your fingertips brushing over the ridges of his cheekbones, thumb wiping away the tears he hasn't stopped shedding since you walked into his arms. He leans into your palm as though it steadies him. "Jake," you murmur, voice barely formed.

His gaze locks on yours, heavy with every unsaid word, every sleepless night, every regret that's burned through him since the day you walked away. Your foreheads touch. Then your noses. And when your lips meet, it's a slow unfolding—painful in its tenderness, soaked with everything you've both endured. He doesn't rush. He doesn't pull. He just kisses you—soft and reverent—his lips moving with the ache of someone who still can't believe he's allowed to. The kiss tastes of salt and apologies. Of longing that never stopped growing. Of love that never left, even after everything. But it deepens before you can even think. It's not so soft anymore. It's heat and ache and months of silence collapsing into motion. Jake's hands roam, no longer trembling but gripping—your jaw first, then sliding down to your neck, the pads of his thumbs brushing your skin. He kisses you again, and again, and again, mouth moving with bruising need, barely giving you room to breathe.

His fingers slip beneath your jaw, tilting your head just enough to fit his lips better against yours. Your hands fist into the fabric of his shirt, clutching him tightly. His touch grows more frantic, less careful. One hand cups the back of your head, holding you still, while the other traces down to your waist, gripping there like the thought of distance is unbearable. There's an audible exhale when he presses closer, chests flush, and he pulls away only for a second—just enough to whisper, "I missed you so fucking much," voice rough, breaking apart in the center. Then he's kissing you again, and this time you feel it down to your knees. He kisses you like he's starving.

Like he spent every night since you left trying to remember how your mouth felt against his. He kisses you like the world ended and this is the only piece of it left that he still wants. And you let him. Because you missed him, too. Because despite the pain, despite the betrayal, there's something magnetic and familiar in the shape of him pressed to you, in the way his breath stutters every time you touch him back. You moan into his mouth when he sucks at your bottom lip, hands climbing his chest, slipping into his hair. He groans softly at the feeling, hips barely shifting forward before he stops himself, foreheads pressed tight. "I shouldn't—" he starts, breathless. But your fingers tug at his shirt. "I want you to."

You don't hear Sunghoon approach at first. You only feel the tremble in Jake's breath as it fans across your cheek, his lips hovering over yours. Then Sunghoon speaks softly behind him, voice tight with concern. "Are you sure you want this?" Jake freezes. His head dips, forearms braced against either side of you, almost holding himself up. He doesn't say anything, doesn't look back—he's too afraid the answer will break him.

Sunghoon continues, stepping forward until he's close enough that you can feel his presence wrap around both of you. "We can wait. For as long as you need. This was never about the sex. You know that, right?"

You turn your head, catching Sunghoon's gaze from over Jake's shoulder. His eyes search yours—not for permission, but for peace. And there's nothing but reverence in them.

You give him a smile. Not a trembling one, not one born of pressure or uncertainty. It's steady and soft. The kind that says I know what I want. Then your fingers drift to the hem of Jake's shirt. You tug gently.

Jake glances down, stunned, until you meet his eyes again and whisper, "I want it." Your fingers trail up his bare skin as you lift the shirt off him, your gaze flicking between his and Sunghoon's. "I missed your hands. Both of you." Jake lets out a broken sound, something between a sigh and a groan, like the weight of your forgiveness is too heavy to hold and too sacred to drop.

Sunghoon's chest rises, then falls with a shaky breath.

Jake's forehead presses to yours again, eyes squeezed shut. There's no more rushing, only three people breathing each other in like air after drowning for so long.

Jake's breath hitches the moment he feels Sunghoon's lips against his neck. It's gentle at first —a brush of mouth over skin, nothing more. But Jake still jolts, gasping softly, muscles tense under your palms. You're still pressed against his chest, your hands dragging slowly over the ridges of his abs, the curve of his waist, but his eyes flutter shut only when Sunghoon speaks.

"I should hate you," Sunghoon murmurs into his skin, voice raw and low, every syllable burned into the space between Jake's ribs. "You really fucking hurt us."

Jake's knees nearly give. You watch it happen, how his body caves just a little between your hands, how his throat bobs with a swallow, guilt rising like bile. His mouth parts, ready to apologize again, but Sunghoon doesn't let him speak. "But tonight," Sunghoon says, breath hot and firm on Jake's neck, his tone sharpening to something unshakable, unmovable, "you're going to do whatever she says." It's really not a request. Jake exhales a trembling sound, so affected by the command it comes out closer to a whimper than a breath. His hand instinctively finds your hip, squeezing like he needs to hold onto something real. His other arm tries to reach back, grasping at Sunghoon's thigh, but he can't find purchase. Can't find anything at all.

He's unraveling, your hands don't stop moving. They coast up his chest, over his heart, one curling around the back of his neck while the other trails lower, teasing the edge of his waistband. Forgiveness tastes strange when it's this tender. When it's handed to you wrapped in heat and hunger, in soft lips and firmer words. Sunghoon's mouth is still pressed to Jake's throat, kissing softly now, possessively. His palm slides down Jake's spine, slow and steady. He’s caught between your warmth in front of him and Sunghoon's control behind, blinking up at the ceiling like he's not sure this is real. He feels dizzy with it. Drunk off the way you touch him, how soft your lips are when you kiss the corner of his mouth, how your forgiveness feels like salvation. He lets out a broken, shaking sound and doesn't even realize he's nodding. "Yes," he whispers, barely audible. "Anything."

"Anything?" you echo, tilting your head with a small, breathy laugh, soft but taunting, sweet but sharp. Jake swallows hard, noticing how your voice has teeth now.

You brush your fingers across his chest, nails grazing where his heart is hammering beneath skin. He's trembling under your touch, still catching his breath from Sunghoon's mouth on his neck, but you keep your eyes on his, watching every flicker of emotion that passes through him—the regret, the longing, the want.

"Anything," he repeats, voice hoarse, and it makes you smile, even though it doesn't quite reach your eyes. "What if I told you..." You lean closer, lips brushing his ear, voice a whisper now. "That I didn't want you to touch me at all?" You never thought it was possible to watch someone break in real time, to watch the weight of that sentence crush him from the inside. His shoulders sag, chest tight and heaving, mouth parting in a stunned silence. He wants to speak, to beg, to say something that might undo the sentence, but nothing comes out. And then Sunghoon sinks his teeth into the side of Jake's neck—hard, causing him to help. “Ah!”

It's not pain though, not really. It's submission in its purest form. The sudden rush of breath he takes in is sharp and desperate. Sunghoon pulls back slowly, his lips stained red from the pressure, a blooming bruise already forming beneath the skin. You coo, cupping Jake's face between your palms, stroking your thumbs along his jaw. "Oh, poor baby," you murmur, soft and almost mocking. "That hurt?" You take a step back, fingers still curled around his chin, guiding him until he stumbles forward, pliant and stunned. "Get on the bed," you say simply. Jake obeys. It's not graceful. He trips a little on the edge of the mattress, palms catching himself as he falls onto it. His knees follow, sinking into the sheets, wide-eyed and breathless and completely undone. The mark on his neck already deepening in color.

Sunghoon steps behind you, his hands warm at your waist, watching with a quiet, unreadable intensity as Jake looks up from the bed, mouth parted, eyes shining, completely at your mercy. Then you reach for Jake's waistband, slow and deliberate. "If I say you don't get to touch me...you won't. Understood?"

Jake nods, instantly. But it isn't enough, especially not for Sunghoon, "Use your words," he murmurs from behind you. Jake breathes out, broken and obedient.

"Yes. I understand." You turn away from Jake, slowly, deliberately, your body still humming from the control you'd just exerted over him. You tilt your head up to face Sunghoon, lips parted, voice soft and honey-sweet.

"Wanna ride you, Hoonie," you murmur, eyes full of something heady and bright. Sunghoon's lips twitch into a smile that barely hides the hunger behind it. His hands are already on your waist, sliding under your shirt, touch reverent and greedy all at once. "Yeah?" he breathes, eyes darkening as he leans in, mouth brushing against yours. "Anything you want, pretty girl."

His kisses are deep and languid, like he wants to make you feel everything at once—his hands moving with purpose, stripping you bare with a kind of ease that only comes from knowing you. He peels the shirt off your shoulders, your bra next, then bends to mouth at your collarbones. You giggle when he lifts you clean off the floor with a low grunt, effortlessly strong, still kissing you like he can't get enough. He spins you gently in his arms, your laughter catching in your throat as he lays down beside Jake, pulling you into his lap so your legs straddle his hips. The shift in the room is immediate—charged with heat. Jake's eyes are glued to you, still kneeling on the bed, chest rising and falling with sharp, uneven breaths. His hands are clenched into fists on his thighs. He doesn't speak—but the look in his eyes, the desperation and hunger, says everything.

You lock eyes with him. And while holding his gaze, you reach down between your bodies, hook your fingers into the waistband of Sunghoon's pants, and tug them down just enough that his cock springs free—hot and hard, flushed a deep red. Your breath catches.

You shift your panties to the side, slowly, letting Jake watch everything—your fingers slipping under the fabric, revealing your wetness, your want. His jaw tightens as his gaze flickers down, then back to your face. You line Sunghoon up, the head of him brushing against you. Still holding Jake's stare, you whisper, "Watch me."

Then you sink down. Sunghoon groans, head falling back against the pillows, hands tightening around your waist—but your eyes don't leave Jake's, not for a second. He looks ruined already, lips parted, chest heaving, pupils blown wide as you start to move slowly, rolling your hips in small circles, your hands planted on Sunghoon's chest for balance. His eyes are locked on your face, mouth parted in awe, the way your lashes flutter when he hits the deepest part of you already making him groan. "Fuck, Yunnie," you breathe, barely able to get the words out through the sheer fullness, "Hoonie’s so big—it's too much, he's stretching me out—"

Sunghoon lets out a choked laugh, hands sliding up your back, keeping you grounded as you bounce slow and sweet. "You can take it, pretty girl," he says, breathless, "you always take it so good." Then he turns his head, eyes finding Jake across the bed—Jake, who looks completely undone, lips bitten raw, arms tense in his lap as he watches you fuck Sunghoon right in front of him. "You remember, don't you?" Sunghoon says, voice low and dark, words dragging like smoke. "How fucking tight she is?"

Jake swallows hard, nodding cause he does remember, he knows. Sunghoon's hand moves to your ass, spreading you a little wider on his lap as he grinds up into you. "She's still that tight," he murmurs. "Still squeezin' around me like she doesn't know what to do with it." You whimper, head falling forward, your rhythm stuttering for a second from the delicious drag of him inside you. You look over at Jake, flushed and panting and visibly hard under his jeans. You see the way his fingers dig into the sheets now, holding himself back. "You remember, don't you, Jake?" you whisper, your voice laced with something wicked and wet and wanting. "You remember how good I feel?" He nods again—once, sharp, desperate.

You moan when Sunghoon hits the right spot again, and you can't help it, you start to ride him harder, bouncing now, your hands gripping his shoulders, head tilted back with every gasp. “Oh shit! Sunghoon!”

Jake can't tear his eyes away. "Please," he says, voice hoarse, finally cracking. "Please let me touch you."

Sunghoon growls under you, but it's not anger—it's something else, something dark and territorial and charged with the thrill of control. "You gonna be good?" he asks, eyes narrowing. "You gonna do whatever she says?" Jake nods again, this time slower, breath catching when your eyes meet his and you smile, "Then crawl over here," "and rub my clit," you tell him, barely more than a breath between gasps, and Jake obeys instantly, crawling in close, his hands almost shaking as he reaches for you. His fingers find you, and the moment he starts to move in slow, practiced circles, your entire body trembles. The pleasure is sharp and sudden, slicing through your core and making you moan louder. You clutch Jake's shoulders to stay grounded, your forehead resting against his as you shudder. "God," you whisper, nails dragging down his arms. "Just like that."

Jake's eyes are wide, hungry and reverent all at once. "I missed you," he says, voice cracking. "Missed you so much." Then you kiss him, desperate and unrestrained. Your mouths crash together, teeth clashing, breath caught in your throat as his hands never stop rubbing. Your fingers go straight to his waistband, fumbling with the button of his jeans, tugging at the denim, hungry to feel him again, every part of him. He groans into your mouth when you finally free his cock, hips twitching, his hands pausing for only a second before he goes right back to rubbing soft circles against your clit, coaxing another shiver from your spine.

Under you, Sunghoon's hands are on your waist, fucking up into you, watching with heavy eyes as you and Jake melt together in front of him—two puzzle pieces trying desperately to fit again, despite everything. "Are you gonna let him in?" Sunghoon murmurs low beneath you. "Or do you want to keep teasing him first?" You glance down at him, then at Jake, lips swollen and pupils blown, still panting like a prayer's caught in his throat. But then Sunghoon starts unraveling beneath you. His hands are gripping your waist tighter now, fingers digging in deep. Each thrust up into you is deeper, rougher, his hips snapping with a need he's been swallowing down for weeks. "F–fuck, baby," he gasps, voice guttural. "I can't... you feel so good—I'm not gonna last—"

You're trembling, dizzy, your hands scrambling to hold on to Jake's shoulders for balance, for anything, and he's still touching you, still rubbing soft, perfect circles between your thighs, watching you with wide eyes that burn with something deeper than lust. Worship. Longing. Love. "I—I can't," you whimper, your voice barely recognizable, caught somewhere between a sob and a plea. "It's—Hoonie, it's too much—"

"I've got you," he breathes. "You can take it. You're so good for me, baby." And when you cry out, breath catching sharp and sudden in your throat, both of them hear it—hear the way your voice shatters as you cum. You barely manage to warn them, half-choking out a "I'm gonna—Hoonie, I'm—" before your body locks up. Everything crashes. Your orgasm rips through you in waves—sharp, overwhelming, dizzying. Jake holds your hands tighter, whispering, "That's it, baby, so good," while Sunghoon helps guide your hips, slowing your movements just enough to keep you from falling apart completely, easing you through the tremors. You don't even know what's happening at first. One second you're clinging to Jake's shoulders, trying to catch your breath, trying to come down from the orgasm that shattered your whole body, and the next your thighs are shaking all over again. Sunghoon is still moving beneath you, slower now, grinding up into the heat of your overstimulated cunt like he can't stop, won't stop—not until he's buried so deep inside you he disappears.

"Oh my god—" you gasp, body jolting forward. You feel it before you even realize it's happening. A gush, a rush, a sudden burst of pressure that leaves your thighs soaked and trembling and your breath punched clean from your lungs. "Holy shit," Sunghoon mumbles beneath you, stunned, voice half-wrecked with awe. His grip loosens for just a second, and then he's dragging you back down hard onto him, hips snapping up, chasing his own high now, greedy for it. Jake stares like he's seen a miracle. His hand is still between your legs, slick and shaking, frozen in place until Sunghoon growls low in his throat and knocks it away. "She's mine right now," Sunghoon mutters, almost possessive, his eyes half-lidded and dark with something primal. He pulls you back against his chest and buries his face in your neck. "Just for a second—just let me—"

And he thrusts once more, hard and deep, moaning against your skin as he finally loses control, cumming deep inside you. You're both a mess—your body shaking, hips twitching from the overstimulation, and Sunghoon gasping through his orgasm, arms wrapped around your middle, holding you to him so tight you can feel the tremor in his spine. Jake's hands move to your back, rubbing you gently as he presses a kiss to your spine, voice rough as he whispers, "You okay?"

You nod, dazed, shaky and a little broken up. Trying to catch your breath when Jake leans in again, kissing your shoulder, your back, trailing soft apologies into your skin. His eyes are wide and desperate when they meet yours, like he's still afraid this will be ripped away from him because he doesn't deserve to be here.

Sunghoon catches that look too. And he smiles—slow and deliberate—before reaching over, curling his fingers around Jake's jaw. "You're not touching her again until she says so," Sunghoon murmurs, voice still thick and wrecked from how hard you just made him cum. "Matter of fact... you're not coming until we say so either." Jake's breath catches and his whole body tightens. You cup his flushed face between your hands, nodding slowly, your lips brushing his as you whisper, "We're gonna make you beg, baby."

And oh, does he beg. The night stretches out in sweat-slick sheets and bitten lips and whispered commands. Every time Jake gets close to cumming, one of you pulls away—hands vanishing, mouths retreating, leaving him cursing under his breath, pleading for more. You ride him just enough to ruin him, then slide off with a wicked little smile, watching the way he shudders. Sunghoon kisses him through the whimpers, soothing and cruel at once, murmuring, "Not yet. You don't get to cum yet. You don't get to cum until she says so."

Jake obeys. All night long he obeys. And when you finally let him cum, when you finally look down at him hours later and whisper "You can cum now, baby" he sobs with it and thank you, over and over again.

It's not perfect yet and it might never be. But it's good now, better now. There are still moments that hurt—old memories that sometimes sneak in without warning, a passing comment or a flicker in one of their eyes that reminds you how bad it once got. But it's not sharp anymore. The edges have dulled with time, with effort and love. You trust them again. And they trust you. Jake doesn't flinch when you pull away to gather your thoughts. Sunghoon doesn't shut down when he's overwhelmed. You kiss one, then the other, and neither of them cares who sees anymore. There are still stares, whispers, but you're truly past it. The world can look because you know what you have. And that's all that matters to all of you.

Right now, you're doubled over in a sun-drenched corner booth at a café you never thought to go to until Sunghoon took you there, it’s the same one he used to haunt when you were gone. Now it's your spot. Yours and Chaewon's. She's wiping tears from her eyes from laughing so hard, one hand holding her half-empty iced coffee, the other gesturing wildly as she wheezes, "No but actually—He said that? Like what does that even mean?" You're clinging to your stomach, giggling uncontrollably. "I don't know—I don't know why it's so funny—but it is!"

That's when a familiar voice hums warmly behind you.

"Hi baby." Sunghoon's fingers sweep through your hair as he kisses the top of your head, his palm settling on your shoulder with a light squeeze. You tilt your head back to up at him, already reaching for his hand.

"You ready to go? Jake’s outside." he says, then turns his gaze to Chaewon, eyebrows lifting curiously. "And who's this?" "Oh—!" You twist in your seat, eyes still a little crinkled with laughter. "This is Chaewon, from the seminar. Chaewon, this is my boyfriend Sunghoon."

Sunghoon gives her a small, polite smile. "Nice to finally meet you. I've heard nothing but chaotic things." Chaewon grins, wide and proud. "I plead the fifth." He chuckles, then glances down at you again with something that softens all the angles of his face. You know that look. He's happy. Happy you finally made that friend you were talking about, happy you're laughing again, happy you're here.

You suddenly hear Jake’s voice before you even see him approaching, "Baby," Jake calls out, spotting you across the café with a grin already tugging at his lips, "you still wanna go to the Canary Islands—?" He stops in his tracks as his eyes land on Chaewon. You can see the calculation happening behind his gaze. He blinks once, then points between you two. "Who's this?"

Before you can answer, Sunghoon wraps an arm around your shoulders from behind and offers coolly, "Chaewon. She's her friend." Jake nods slowly, glancing between you, Sunghoon, and the girl seated beside you. Then he says, deadpan, "Cool. Chaewon, do you wanna come to the Canary Islands with us?"

You and Chaewon both burst out laughing at the same time, hers more bewildered, yours fondly exasperated. "Jake—what?!" He just shrugs, smile stretching wider, unapologetically smug. "I already bought three tickets. What's one more?" Sunghoon sighs through his nose, pinching the bridge of it. "You're not supposed to just... collect people."

Jake throws a smile at Chaewon. "It's not collecting if she's fun."

"She is fun," you defend. "Also, you're insane." But Jake only smiles more softly now, like he's seeing something you haven't yet. "Yeah. But you're laughing again."

That shuts you up for a second. Because you are laughing, you’re whole in a way you haven't been in months. Sunghoon leans down, brushing your temple with a kiss. Jake slips into the booth across from you and steals a sip of your drink before wrinkling his nose. "You still drink this garbage?" Chaewon side-eyes you. "You're letting him bully your coffee order?" You shake your head with a grin and glance between the two boys—your boys. You know you'll still have days where things feel hard, moments when the past creeps up, nights where you'll have to talk it out again, cry it out again, try again. But you'll do it. All of you will.

Because this is what it looks like now. Jake pulls his phone out of his jacket pocket showing you the email confirmation. "The hotel has ocean views and a private plunge pool. I'm thinking we leave Wednesday, Well that’s when the flights are booked for anyway." Sunghoon rests his chin on your shoulder, murmuring, "You've always wanted to go." You smile at him and nod.

"Let's go to the Canary Islands."

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[smutoperator]

Red Hot

Shin Ryujin x Male Reader

Tags: anal, anal creampie, asshole fingering, cock and toy DP, dick sucking lips, dildo, dirty talk, doggy, pornography, POV, redhead, riding, sex on camera, sloppy blowjob, thong, throatpie

Word count: 4329.

You were trying to scout new girls for your adult entertainment agency, but you had been struggling as of late to find new talent. Things were dire, and the girls you had lately taken a look at weren't impressing you much; maybe the prospect of new talents was truly dire.

Until you saw a redhead Asian girl shaking her ass on stage and fell in love with her instantly.

"She's so good, I need to get her number," you said as you watched the tape of the redhead girl, knowing you needed to get her at all costs to film a scene for your studio. "Apparently her name is Ryujin," you said to a staff member. "I have to call her ASAP," you continued. It took a bit, but you finally managed to find a way to contact her.

"Do you want to film a scene with us?" you texted Ryujin. "Sure, but I think I'll need my label's authorization," she answered. "This has to be between us; I don't want anyone to decide for you," you told her.

Ryujin ended up accepting your offer to film the scene; she was initially thinking it was for some drama, but soon she would find out it was a different kind of scene.

As Ryujin entered the studio, she found you finishing a hardcore sex scene with a girl. At first, she felt embarrassed. But before she could say anything, you put your clothes back on and went in her direction.

"I don't know if I can do this. I thought it was going to be a regular scene, not pornography," Ryujin told you. "Relax," you said to her. "What if people close to me see it?" she asks. "Don't be afraid; you can use a stage name. How about 'Red Hot'?" Because that's what you look like with that hair," you said to her.

"Ok, that's a great name," Ryujin answered. "Go to the dressing room and take your favorite outfit from there; we can start as soon as you do," you answered her. "Alright," Ryujin replied, still trying to process what she had gotten into.

"Wow, oh my goodness," you said as Ryujin returned from the dressing room. She had truly chosen the skimpiest possible outfit: a G-string bra and thong along with high heels. "Looks like you are going to pull out an amazing performance today," you told her. "I always do; you can count on that," she said.

Ryujin started making sexy poses in the mirror and smiling as you looked at her beautiful, hot body. Soon, you got the camera rolling. "You like my outfit? I put it just for you," she said, licking the mirror. "It's incredible," you answered. She smiled again. It didn't take long for her to start talking dirty to you. "I've been thinking about your cock all day long; bet it's really hard for me," she said.

"I can't wait for that big cock to be deep in my pussy and my ass," Ryujin kept talking dirty to you. "How did you guess I was gonna fuck your ass?" you asked her as the camera zoomed into her body. "Well, I know most guys would love to," she said, shaking them in front of the camera just like she did in the concert.

"Your outfit is wonderful. Are you ready to be my naughty little kitty today?" You asked Ryujin, the camera zooming in on her boobs. "Of course, I've been so horny," she answered, pulling her bra to the side and letting you pour some slick lube on her cute tits for her to massage them.

"My nipples are so hard, I'm so excited and horny to bounce up and down on that cock," Ryujin said as she grabbed her boobs and played with her small outfit. "Such a nice pussy, I love it," you said as she teased you, playing with her thong that could barely contain it. "I'm so horny, I need that big fat cock, please, stroke it for me, show me how much you want it, get it hard for me," she said.

Ryujin turned around and slowly took her thong down, showing you her tight little holes. She bent over a little, massaging her pussy in front of you and putting a finger in her asshole. "Rub it in for me," you told her, pouring lube on her ass and making it shiny as she kept teasing you and shaking her ass just like she did at the concert. "Imagine that butt sliding down that big fat cock, up and down like this," she said, moving it to show it.

Ryujin truly loved to tease you, smiling from ear to ear as her body got you throbbing. You had filmed countless scenes with many naughty girls, but Ryujin truly had a unique charm. "Use me, use all of my holes," she begged, spanking her own ass. Soon, you took your turn, spanking her butt a bit. "I like that," she said, with a cute smile, before you set your sights on a different target and started rubbing your fingers around her asshole.

"Oh yeah, play with my tight ass. Oh, that feels good," Ryujin says as you start penetrating her butthole with your thumb. "You like that?" you asked her. "Oh, I love it," Ryujin said, letting you stick your thumb as deep as possible. "My ass is very tight," she said, and you could tell as it contracted as soon as you pulled out of it.

You feed your dirty thumb straight into Ryujin's mouth, her enjoying it a lot as she smiled at you, and you gave her a little choking too. She pulled her tongue out as you ran your hands over her body and pulled your pants down. "That cock is nice and hard and ready to fuck me," she said, touching it. "It's all yours today," you told her. "I can't wait to feel it inside me," she said.

Ryujin slowly stroked your cock using her very strong hands. "Look at that cock," she said, getting down on her knees and kissing the tip of it before going down the whole shaft. She teased you a bit with a few kisses and licks, paying special attention to your throbbing tip and making your pant sounds be loudly recorded.

"I love to kiss your cock," Ryujin said. "Can't forget about the balls," she continued, putting them in her mouth for the first time as she kept stroking your cock. You zoomed the camera into her pretty face and worked all over your sack. "That's incredible," you said as she spat on your cock and started finally taking it in her mouth.

Ryujin gave you a very slow-paced blowjob, but her dick-sucking lips were so incredible you were already on the edge. And she knows how to tease, rubbing the tip of your cock in her nipples a couple of times between her blowjobs. "Playing with those hard nipples," she said.

Ryujin sucked your cock like a champion, giving you a blowjob very few girls you had previously performed with had managed to. Her warm mouth, dirty talk, and strong strokes made for a lethal combination, putting you at the edge of your seat from the get-go. "That cock tastes so good," she said, taking it deeper and deeper in her throat. She was very sloppy, coating your shaft with her saliva and maneuvering every inch of it incredibly.

You tried to fuck her face, but Ryujin didn't relent, taking your cock with ease deep in her throat before retaking control of the blowjob. "I love blowing bubbles on that big cock, so big I need to use both my hands to stroke it," she said as she kept working them alongside her tongue to perfection.

You kept panting against the camera, Ryujin's blowjob making you use all your energy just to hold onto the cum that was begging to come out of your cock. She circled her smiling all over it, smiling as she didn't spare

It didn't take long for you to not resist Ryujin's incredible cock-sucking skills and blow your cum out prematurely, forcing you to cut the scene. "Damn, looks like you enjoyed me sucking your cock a lot," she said with the camera already off. "I definitely did," you said, getting on the floor for the next sequence.

"Get that cock hard and we can keep going," you told Ryujin, who promptly obliged as she didn't need much effort to put it back throbbing again, spitting all over your cock as you lay on the floor. "I can't wait to have it inside you," you said to her. Ryujin agreed, but first she needed to taste it a little bit more.

Ryujin dove between your legs, circling her tongue around your balls before moving down to lick your asshole. "Such a nasty girl," you said as the camera followed her face and Ryujin started to make sloppy sounds with her tongue deep in your rectum. She moved her face up and down as she worked her mouth all over your anus, spitting on your balls and licking them as you filmed that amazing point of view for the audience.

"So good," you told Ryujin, praising her incredible rimjob skills. Not every girl has the courage to get down and dirty, even among the best cock suckers, but Ryujin was taking her tongue inside your asshole with the same ease that she sucked your cock. She kept following the camera, looking at it very naturally.

"Are you ready for my tight pussy?" I want you to stretch all my holes today, my tight little pussy and my tight little ass," Ryujin said, looking right at the audience while stroking your cock. She was finally ready to climb on top of that cock as she prepared herself to ride it and got herself in position, but not before you gave her a few instructions.

"Rub it in your pussy," you told Ryujin, who promptly started teasing you, touching the tip of your cock against the entrance of her vagina. "I love that pussy grinding on my cock," you told her. She went a little further, rubbing your tip against her navel. "Can't wait to have it bulging under my belly," she said, also pressing your cock a little between her thighs before finally taking it down her pussy.

"Fuck, it's so big," Ryujin says as she starts having second thoughts, taking only the tip of you inside her pussy. You capture her priceless reaction to the size of your cock. "Oh, it's so big," she repeats, trying to get it deeper in her pussy, bouncing very slowly. "That cock feels so good inside me," she says.

"Do you enjoy watching it go up and down my pussy?" Ryujin asks as she slowly starts to get more comfortable with your cock. "I can feel it stretching me out," she says, your amazing girth filling her pussy to the fullest. She looks at the camera and starts making sensual expressions, grabbing her boobs as she moans riding your cock. "Ohhhh, ohhhh, you make my pussy so creamy," she moans.

Ryujin picks up the pace, you moving the camera to capture every inch of her body. "I love feeling that cock so deep inside me, oh yeah," she moans. You try to push upwards, but Ryujin quickly takes control, her sexy slow ride quickly bringing you to submission. You zoom the camera right into her crotch, capturing her riding your cock in a way the audience can feel fully immersed in the scene.

"Ohhhh, I love to feel every inch of that cock in my pussy," Ryujin says, riding your cock hard and deep just as you zoom around her pussy. She grinds and spins on your cock, riding it perfectly as she rubs her pussy for the audience. "Oh, fuck, oh yeah," she moans, quickly getting wet and dropping a huge load of squirt into the camera that makes her giggle.

Ryujin cleans the squirt from your shaft and your belly as she smiles. "It tastes so delicious," she says. "You're so naughty," you tell her as she sucks your cock and spits all over your cock. "Come here, baby, crawl for me like a kitty cat," you tell her, Ryujin obliging as you put your camera on a tripod and capture her crawling body, giving you a nice gift in the process.

"Ohhh, that's big, but I don't know if it's bigger than yours," Ryujin says as you give her a dildo for her to play with. She strokes and sucks it just like she did to your cock, your camera fully capturing her sexy moves while she plays with her pussy, making gag sounds all over the toy and deepthroating it. "You like sucking it?" you ask her. Ryujin smiles.

"OH MY GOD," Ryujin screams as you get behind her and shove your cock back inside her pussy. The camera captures her reaction perfectly. "OH FUCK," Ryujin screams as you pump her pussy hard as she performs a spit-roasting with the dildo, gagging hard on it as she gets pounded. "OH FUCK, OH YEAH," she moans, you pushing her body closer to the camera and grabbing her hair, relentlessly attacking her tight pussy.

"OH, THAT FEELS SO GOOD," Ryujin moans as you get fully in the frame, topping her with hard thrusts deep in her cunt. She gags all over the dildo. "OHHHHH," she screams as she pulls out of it, giggling and sucking it as you tell her about your next plans.

"I want to put this in your ass," you say to Ryujin, filming her hot body in full display. "Do you think it can fit?" she asks. "Of course, I know you can do everything I ask," you tell her.

Ryujin bends over on the couch, you adding some lube to the dildo as you watch her start shoving it down her butthole. "Oh, fuck," she moans as the dildo anally penetrates her. "Oh my God, that ass is so tight," she says, yet still manages to shove the whole toy in her anus, teasing you as you zoom into her backside to watch her play with it, Ryujin taking the whole 10 inches of the dildo up her butt.

Ryujin moans as the dildo continues to stretch her asshole. "I can feel that cock stretching my little tight ass; I know you want it too," she says. "OH MY GOD, IT'S SO BIG," she screams, but keep going, simulating an anal penetration in front of you to perfection. You capture her moaning face and her incredible ass, eventually not resisting the urge and shoving your cock back in her pussy.

"Oh yeah, fill both my holes," Ryujin says as your cock gets in and double stuffs her. She takes both the fake and real cock with ease, giving away that she's got some previous experience getting double penetrated. "OH FUCK, THAT FEELS SO GOOD," she says, your cock barely inside her as you keep thrusting, Ryujin matching your thrusts with the dildo in perfect sync.

Ryujin's tight pussy squeezes your cock even further now that she's got two massive toys in both her holes to play with it. She giggles as she pulls the dildo out of her asshole to taste it. "You want the real thing, don't you?" you ask her, not even giving her rectum a second to breathe as you already shut it back down with your massive cock.

"OH MY GOD, OH FUCK," Ryujin screams as you anally penetrate her for the first time, muffling her moans with the dildo. She shows she's not intimidated by your massive cock up her butt, moving her hips to meet your thrusts as your hand camera fully captures it for the audience. Moaning and gagging sounds come from Ryujin's mouth as your cock gets deeper in her ass, her shaking it nicely to take all of it while she gags all over the monster dildo, having fun with both her toys.

"OH YES, FUCK MY ASS, JUST LIKE THAT," Ryujin commands as you zoom briefly into her moaning face before giving the perfect view of your cock pounding her ass, immersing the audience almost as if they were the ones fucking her. "Do you enjoy fucking my ass?" Ryujin asks just as your camera zooms into her sexy face.

"Give me that big cock deep in my ass, use my hole, use my tight ass, oh fuck, use it to stroke that cock," Ryujin talks dirty as her tight butthole squeezes your cock to the fullest. "So nice," you tell her, Ryujin licking the dildo as you penetrate her butt.

"Ride my cock," you tell Ryujin, never pulling out as you get down on the couch. "Like this," you tell her as Ryujin starts squatting on your cock with her fit butt, you giving a full body angle to the audience of the incredible ride she's giving you, zooming into her ass just as she grabs her cheeks and spreads them for your cock.

"OH YES, YES, YES," Ryujin moans as she bounces on your cock like a pro, pushing you to the edge as the side of her cheeks hits your legs. Her flaming red hair waves beautifully, creating an effect that looks almost as if she's catching fire. You have to briefly pull out just not to cum, with how amazing she's performing. "Please, put it back in. I want you to use me like your sex toy," Ryujin says, begging like a baby girl to you.

"Put it back inside your ass, you earned it," you tell Ryujin as you recover your breath and hand your cock back to her. Ryujin promptly sits on it, you zooming your cameras as she shakes her ass on your cock sideways, giggling and moaning as she does so, you capturing her wide as close as possible while also taking a look at the reactions in her slutty face as she looks behind to watch herself getting impaled.

Ryujin goes all-in, riding your cock extremely well, taking it all the way deep with fast thrusts. "OH MY GOD IT'S SO FUCKING GOOD, I LOVE HAVING THAT BIG FAT COCK DEEP IN MY ASS," she says, you groaning again, her tight ass squeezing your cock more than ever.

Ryujin knows she's in the driver's seat, spanking her own ass as she squats hard on your cock. "OH, IT'S SO DEEP, MY ASS IS SO FUCKING TIGHT BOUNCING UP AND DOWN THAT BIG FAT COCK. OH FUCK, I LOVE RIDING THAT COCK," she screams as her bounces only get harder, the couch making noises as Ryujin makes you unload inside her ass. This time you don't cut it from the scene, just letting the audience enjoy the way she drained your balls.

"Looks like I'm winning it handily against you," Ryujin says off-camera as she watches you sit to take a little relief. It takes a bit for you to recover from her incredible anal ride, but as soon as you're ready, you pop your cock back in the screen for her to taste her ass. "Taste that dirty ass, baby, suck my cock," you tell her, Ryujin promptly bobbing her head, using no hands, just attacking your cock relentlessly with her dick-sucking lips as you try to fuck her face, but she's so strong she quickly prevails, spitting on your dick to sign her win.

"Lay on your back," you tell Ryujin as she spreads her legs on the couch and starts teasing you, bringing back the dildo into play as she shoves it in her pussy. You're still so numb from the last fuck session you drop the camera just as you were about to start filming her masturbating. "Oh, fuck, oh my God," she moans, her legs fully spread as you soon enter the scene, putting Ryujin in a feet position and pushing your cock back in her ass.

"OH FUCK YEAH," Ryujin screams as you thrust as hard as possible into her asshole. "OH YES, FUCK ME," she begs, pushing the dildo hard and deep into her pussy to match your intense penetration. She giggles and then shoves the dildo up her mouth just as you bring the camera and zoom into her body, giving the perfect view of her ass getting fucked with her pussy wide open, albeit not for long as Ryujin shoves the dildo back inside it.

"FUCK YES, YES, YES, YES, YES," Ryujin screams until she squirts all over the dildo, smiling to the camera as she tastes her juices from it. You stay focused, fucking her ass hard and immersing the audience just like a POV sex scene asks for, capturing all of Ryujin's sexy reactions as she fingers her pussy and facefucks herself with the dildo while you anally pound her. She puts a couple of fingers up her cunt, ready to squirt at any second.

"YESSSSSSS," Ryujin loudly screams as the juices of her pussy cover your cock after a massive squirting, some of it spilling into the camera lenses. "That felt so good," she says with that incredible smile that you already fell in love with. You adjust the camera, taking her into a slow round of ass-fucking, just admiring her beauty as you fuck her like your sex toy, just like she asked before, Ryujin sexy looking into your eyes and moaning beautifully.

"AHHHHH," Ryujin moans as you hit the depths of her asshole. You switch to her pussy. "Oh yes, fuck my pussy," Ryujin says as things get hotter and hotter, the red-hot girl making you want to go on forever. "USE MY PUSSY, YES," she begs. You choke her a bit and share some kisses, showing hot, passionate moments are possible even in the most hardcore scenes. "OH YEAH," Ryujin screams, her pussy getting wet as you fully top her, slowing down with your cock fully buried deep inside her pussy.

Ryujin starts losing her breath, the long pounding finally catching up to her. You sense her vulnerability and pick up the pace, kissing her as you thrust hard and fast inside her pussy, watching her get wetter and wetter. Her legs are so spread her high heels almost hit the camera, you grabbing it to capture her beautiful smile.

"Sit on my cock," you tell Ryujin, her obliging as you give a back view of her getting stuffed in her pussy. You grab her hot body and start pumping up her cunt. As soon as Ryujin gets your cock back inside her, the viewers enjoy her getting used by your massive cock with fast but very passionate thrusts. The only thing they can see is your legs and Ryujin's ass as you pump her hard and grab her butt. "OH MY GOD, OH YEAH, OH FUCK," she moans, losing her breath bit by bit as your hard pounding exhausts her, but despite that, she keeps giggling and smiling at all times.

You let Ryujin sensually grind on your cock, the viewers getting an incredible experience of her moving her pussy around your cock. Her puckered anus winks to them like a camera eye, Ryujin just letting herself get pounded nonstop as you attack her pussy like a madman, the only audible things on tape being her moans and the sound of your hips clapping against her cheeks.

"OH YES BABY, OH YES BABY, PLEASE FUCK ME," Ryujin begs as her pussy gets obliterated. She is tired now, her preparations for the comeback and all those performances at those university festivals that made you fall in love with her finally catching up to her. You stay with your cock inside her pussy, taking a little break to suck her cute tits and share some kisses.

"I want your cum," Ryujin says as she's ready to enter the final moments of the scene. You knew there was only one way to end this scene, as you put Ryujin's pretty face upside down on the couch and started fucking it balls deep, enjoying the saliva coming out of her face.

"Eat that ass," you tell Ryujin as you sit on her face to take a little break, her obliging and licking your asshole as you wipe it on her face and stroke your cock, Ryujin taking a slice of your balls to lick it as well. You quickly go back to pounding her throat, enjoying her coughing and gagging as your cock bulges under her throat while you grope her tits.

You switch the angle of the camera, attacking Ryujin's throat as hard as possible as you give the viewers a back view, Ryujin's throat getting stuffed like a pussy as saliva starts running down her mouth into her face, ruining it completely. You're now closer than ever and know only a few couple thrusts are needed for you to cum. "I want to fucking cum," you tell her, Ryujin gagging as a way to beg for it, her eyes rolling as her face is completely stuffed full of your cock now, loud wet noises coming out each time you hit deep in her throat, your cock all the way down it and even your balls now completely stuffed inside her mouth.

You unload inside Ryujin's throat, pulling out a bit to also shoot a couple of loads in her pretty face, the scene ending with her ruined face covered full of cum. "That was so good," she says just as you turn off the camera. "You're incredible, red-hot girl," you tell her. "Thank you," she says, smiling as you praise her performing skills.

As Ryujin gets ready to leave, you make another proposal to her.

"Come back tomorrow; I need to fill this pussy next," you tell her.

"Hell yeah, can't wait for you to cum multiple times in my pussy," she answers.

[luveline]

Hii jade idk if this is something you would be into but ive been reading all of ur hotch fics that include a relationship with jack and reader and i was wondering if you would be interested in writing for a hotch and ex!reader fic, where reader and jack have a really really close relationship and hotch even depends on her to look after him at times if necessary. I was thinking she comes to pick up jack at the office and everyone is like we didnt know you were seeing someone???? And hes like im not but theres very obvious tension and heart eyes being shared between the two.

thank you for requesting ❤︎ fem, 2k words

You don’t see any of the BAU agents that you’d recognise in the office today, but it's alright, ‘cos you’ve spotted your boy. Jack Hotchner sits at a crowded desk that could only be Spencer’s with a glass of water held in both hands. He tips it up, drinking feverishly, a stream of it dripping down his front to wet his raglan t-shirt. 

You haven’t come by the office in a long time. Not since you and Aaron were dating, it must’ve been a year ago or more the last time you made it up for a rare lunch date. It had been quiet, then, his new agent Emily sent with Spencer to do some work with their tech girl. You’d smiled at Derek on the way in, you remember. Laughed at his joke about your ring finger looking a little light. 

You hide your hands behind your back. “Oh, hey, sweet boy,” you say, your voice carrying. You’ve no need for false cheer —it’s been too long since you saw Jack. You have no excuses. 

His head comes up at the sound of your voice. When he finds you making your way to the desks, he slides his cup down over the table and slips from his chair, unspeaking as he crosses the room to fling himself at your thighs. 

You bend down to kiss his hair. “Hi,” you say, kissing it again. Two quick ones. “Hi, Jack.” 

“Hi,” he says, matching your quiet tone. He feels trembly and strange in your arms, like he’s shaking. 

“Hi.” You loop your arms around his shoulders. He’s slender as a bird, but taller than the last time you’d hugged him. The silence drags, Jack’s hands screwed into fists in your jeans. “Sorry it’s been so long since I last saw you,” you whisper, for his ears alone, “I didn’t mean to get so busy.”

“Everyone is busy.”

“I know. But it doesn’t mean I didn’t miss you.” 

Pleased with this, Jack pulls away from you, and when he speaks he’s regained some of his volume, “Dad said I can stay with you for a sleepover only if you want me to.” 

“I want you to.” 

He beams. Offering a hand for the taking, Jack pulls you to Spencer’s desk and retrieves his blue backpack from the chair, its front a bright plastic print of SpongeBob and Patrick. He makes you take it, and you swing it over your shoulder. 

“Let’s go,” he says. 

“Wait a second, you gotta go up and say bye to your dad.” You wish you could send him up alone, dread a solid rock in your tummy that shifts to hurt with every breath. “Come on, lead the way.” 

As you’re going, Emily and Rossi catch sight of you on their way back from the kitchen. “Who’s that?” Emily asks, to which Rossi says, “How should I know?”

“You know who she looks like? Hotch has that photo on his lock screen…” 

You miss the conversation that begins between them, a step behind Jack as he enters Aaron’s office without knocking. His dad quickly looks up from his laptop and gives the phone by his ear a readjustment. “I’ll call you back,” he promises, putting it down. 

Something cruel twists around in your gut wondering who it is. Could be anybody. Just as easily a colleague as a friend as a new girl. 

“Dad, we’re going.” 

Aaron stands from his chair. “Thank you,” he says to you, so obviously stuck as to what to say next that anger pricks the back of your neck. You swallow every last bit of it down. 

“I told you whenever you need me to, didn’t I?” You get a look at him. Eyebags darker than ever, he’s skinny, tired, everything you hate to see. “Are you taking care of yourself?” 

Where you’d expected to see anger, regret colours Aaron’s stance. He holds the back of his chair and sighs. “Of course I am.” 

You cross an arm over your stomach. That morning, getting dressed, you’d decided to wear something that might make him want you back, even though you know he wants you back. Something that might make him braver, then. Or kinder, more agreeable to what you need. You’re wearing the silver chain he bought you, just so he knows you still have it, over a leather-type jacket and his favourite pair of jeans. It felt good at the time and childish now, because he’s not doing any better without you, and you miss him so much you might fold first. 

“He asked to stay the night. What time do you want me to bring him back?” you ask. 

“What time were you thinking?” 

You let Jack drift into your hip. His small nose is surprisingly pointy. “I’d keep him forever if I could.” 

The stumble in your voice doesn’t go unnoticed. He smiles weakly. “Yeah, I know. You’re good that way.” 

Jack tips his head back to force your gaze on him, “Yeah, ‘cos dad says you’re good as gold.” 

Your smile wavers. “Does he?” you ask carefully. 

Aaron used to tell you that sort of stuff all the time. He had a way of picking a turn of phrase that you miss. He loved that one especially in his softest moments, tear stained and sniffling against him or smiling at something he’d said, he’d declare it, like everybody should’ve known it too. You’re good, he’d say, caressing your cheek, you’re as good as gold, honey. 

“Why don’t we say midday, honey?” 

“Okay.” You try not to give your own sermon on the way he uses the pet name, but it’s no use. He says honey like it’s yours, doesn’t matter that the last time you saw him you told him he doesn’t get to say he loves you, what use was that, any of it, when he wouldn’t step up to the plate. 

Listen, it’s not that you need to get married. There’s a part of you that thinks marriage is special, and there’s a part of you that knows it’s a license rather than any solid proof of things, but what you needed most from Aaron was commitment. Even if he promised it once out loud that you were permanent, and that he was going to be careful. But you’d asked and he’d hesitated and your reconciliation is about as near as a lily flower is to the arctic circle. 

“Jack, can you give us two minutes?” you ask, holding up two fingers. 

Jack looks out the door. “Can I go see JJ?” 

“Sure, sweetheart,” Aaron says, “come and give me a hug, okay? We’ll say bye now.” 

Jack does his flinging thing and ends up pulled to Aaron’s stomach. Rough hands spread over a short back, dulcet murmuring of love yous and miss yous lost in blonde hair. 

Jack leaves. Aaron is glad you’ve asked for time alone, it couldn’t be more obvious, with or without his training in psychic evaluation. You decide tiredly to take a seat in front of his desk, waiting for him to sit himself before you offer any more to him. 

He grips the edge of his desk between his finger and thumb.

“I didn’t mean to ignore your call,” you confess. Calls.  

He nods. 

“I was sleeping. Then…” 

“You don’t have to explain.” 

“I don’t want you to think I don’t want  to be with you, Aaron,” you say, careful again. “I want it a lot. And I’m angry with you because you don’t want it like I do.”

“You know I want that, too.”

“You don’t, though. I told you, either you start to look after yourself, or I go. And you aren’t looking any better.” 

“Well, missing you does this to me.” 

He says it with a sincerity that has you wincing.

“Don’t say it like that, like I’m making it worse,” you say, nearly glaring, “I’m trying to fix it. You work all the time and I thought I could understand it, but it’s not about missing you, it’s literally that you expect me to sit at home watching you work yourself to death, while Jack–” You cut yourself off short. Take a deep breath. “Sorry. I know you aren’t hurting Jack. Aren’t trying to hurt Jack, but...” 

Your murmuring sets off his own, “You can be angry with me, I deserve it.”

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this. You own up to your mistakes but you don’t change. I can’t– I don’t even know what this is, but I can’t do it forever. I need you to…” You stare down at your lap. “Need you to fix this.” 

“I’m–” He bites his tongue. Then opens his mouth, speechless for a time. “I will. I’ll fix it.” 

“Will you?”

“I’ll fix it.”

You feel like you could fall to pieces in his arms, but you need him to do what he’s promising you, and crying while he rubs your back won’t help. “I’m so angry at you,” you say.

“I know.” 

You want him to say he loves you. He braces his hand on the desk.

In the bullpen, JJ holds Jack on her hip and tries to direct his attention to her, while the rest of the team turn their ears to the open door, listening. 

“Not his girlfriend, then?” Emily asks. 

Aaron moves toward you. Through the window, they watch as he chucks you gently under the chin. You move your face from his touch, speaking too quietly to hear from down here. 

“Are they fighting?” Jack mumbles. 

“No, honey, they’re not fighting, just talking.” 

“I’m going with her to sleep there,” he says. “For a sleepover. Dad said so.”

“Wow! What are you gonna do at the sleepover?” 

(It’s brave of Aaron to try and touch you when you’re divided. You’re both being brave. You’re honest with him. Anyone looking at you both can see how badly you want to give in, which makes it tough to watch as you stand and gather yourself away from him.) 

Your smile is shaky as you descend the steps from the landing, but it strengthens when Jack perks up. 

“Hi,” you say, greeting the agents that have circled around him with some renewed timidity. “Ready to go, baby?” 

“Can I say bye to dad again?” he asks. 

JJ sets him down. “As many times as you want,” you promise. 

Jack rushes back to his dads office. You watch as he trips over himself, and as Aaron comes to meet him by the door for a hug that turns meandering. 

“Be good, okay? And remember what we talked about, yeah?” He strokes his hair back to meet Jack’s eye. 

“What did we talk about?” 

“That she’s not mad at you, Jack. Only me. Okay?”

You wish you could hate him, but all you have is love and the urge to block his number. At least you get a night with your boy, sweet as he is.

Aaron catches your eye from above. His wan face fills with a determination that has your heart in a tumble —it feels like a promise, like the next time Jack comes to stay, he could come with him. All Aaron has to do is take a break. 

(You take Jack’s hand again and lead him out of the offices, and Aaron dials Strauss’ number. He’s not stupid enough to think that a month of vacation days can fix the things that are hurting you, nor could the simple promise ring with the pear-drop diamond that sits hiding in his desk, but he has to start somewhere, and he has to start now.)

(In the car, Jack asks if you’ll be coming home soon. You’re brave enough to tell him any day now.) 

[grotesquevi]

HOLAAAA no se si todavía estás escribiendo prompts pero smut prompt #15 con ellie…? DEVORARÍAS AMOR😘 t amou

cw  # ellie's a pervert and a loser we. fucking. love. it. slight sub!ellie + mean reader, dirty talk, voyeurism, guided masturbation, fingering, dirty talk, as usual i hit a word count bigger than expected (2.8k), fuck drabbles these things are turning into full blown fics.

‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎ check out the 1k directory || listen to huggin & kissin

"do you always draw your fantasies with other girls or is this a pleasure reserved for me only?" your words makes her paralyzed for a moment when ellie arrives in her room and sees the tangible disaster like a low-budget movie reproducing in front of her eyes — "is that me? cause it looks like me."

neck deep. your girlfriend’s neck deep when she notices you comfortably laying in the middle of her bed, when her vision dallies against your figure like she’s never seen you enough times already, like she needs one more look to keep you burning alive in her memory for as long as her brain can keep you around. it's usually like this anyway, you're a distraction, the worst of all distractions in a nerd's world.

"what are you doing?" it's weird cause you don't know how to describe it at first: is she pissed because you’re stalking her little book? nervous? either way, ellie's quick when her hand grips the black sketchbook you're holding, shoving it behind her back like it would change the fact she's been horny-drawing her fantasies for months and you didn't see none of them until just now. "c'mon let me see. that was pretty realistic, you're hella talented."

"that's none of your business" she replies making you sigh in annoyance. it's not something you'll forget easily, not in circumstances like this i mean: it’s you the one who’s there in the pages of ellie’s book, your face — "those are not meant to be seen-"

"what- are you jerking off to your draws?" the way you laugh makes her skin shiver, when you're turning to look at her and she can see the physical expansion of your chest in the most mundane act "that's hella greedy els. thought you'd be using porn like the rest of us mortals or texting me when you get horny."

"i’m not-” she’s blushing cause it’s lame at this point, the biggest loser on campus who’s lucky enough to have the popular girl all over her. “you weren’t supposed to see them, this has a rational explanation.”

“yeah? how long does it take you to draw one? the one where i was eating you out- s’pretty accurate and holds insane detail.”

“oh christ,” you saw that? makes her curse at herself for the incompetence, the way she seems to malfunction for a second “i-uh, i think- dunno, three hours if i take my time with shading?” why is she even talking about that? let alone admitting something so personal? makes her brain stupid for a short span of five minutes, precious minutes you take advantage from the moment you notice how shy she suddenly is.

how did you end up like this anyway? invading her space like you’re a soldier of the crusade battling for holy terrain, quicker than she is when you're stealing her sketchbook again with one hand, using the other to keep ellie still under you, fingers burning right against her chest.

"why are you so nervous huh? you weren't nervous at all when you drew all of this, let me see more of your pervy mind."

like this ellie would agree to anything you want. like this she cares less about her inhibitions, the blush that makes her skin warmer as you're straddling her lap, pushing your weight against her pelvic bone to sit there in the perfect spot so she can feel your ass crushing her.

"three hours. if you invested three hours in each draw," her breathing hitches in the back of her throat at the observation, when you're placing her book right over her chest where your hand rested before, using her as a table "on each page there's at least a dozen-hour investment, how long you've been doing this? god. you're such a selfish gay."

"huh, turns out you can count" ellie teases, hands gripping your thighs, she squeezes the flesh of your legs when speaking, pushing you further down against her figure. "they're lame. most of them are just thoughts i get in the middle of the day."

"i do know how to count asshole, do not change the subject. you get randomly horny in the middle of the day?" you cannot help but marvel at the idea of it, how your girlfriend says it like it was the most simple thing in existence — "from just a thought?"

“yeah,” so its hard for ellie to keep the hands to herself when you're like this, when your shorts give her enough space to touch, to let her hands glide against your skin to leave her fingerprints in your inner thighs — "you don't?"

"i dunno. i do get sex flash-backs, nothing too extravagant. tell me more about this" you're too concentrated on her drawings to pay attention to her touch. discovering instead a piece of her mind, almost like she finally allowed you to carve into her brain: three hours? more like fucking six, suffering from more details that invaded her mind all of sudden, more and more stuff she wants to add: the lamp in your room, your favorite duvet, your set of rings. "what's your favorite one?"

its funny how minutes before ellie was close to dying of shame, sure you're going to call her a weirdo, some sort of horny freak, but instead she gets a much nicer treatment when you're giving her the greatest view of you comfortably seated on top of her, forgetting about personal space as she's pointing the last pages, some very detailed illustrations that make your brows furrow as you take the image in.

"i dreamt about this last week" your girlfriend explains like she's needs to say it out loud so long ago, eager to let you know what other filthy fantasy she's been having without you noticing "a lot. couldn't help it."

"am i-"

"yes," she knows what you're going to ask beforehand, and finally — fucking finally, she enjoys the success of making you nervous, of making your breathing shallow for a moment as a way of payback since you're all ellie can think about lately. "just like you are now, you're masturbating on top of me and letting me see."

the details are clear and the drawing could easily ban her from every social media platform. she remembers the naked details of your body; the parts you try to hide and that for her are so easy to manifest it in a few traces of graphite pen.

"shit. you're really good at this."

"at drawing you completely fucked? i know" so she's cocky for a minute, cant help it when her hands feel adventurous, when tugging on the button of your short even if you're too invested in the details of each sketch: not every day you can see the pornographic version of yourself shoving your fingers up in your cunt, the perspective she used already complex that comes from beneath and you get what she means before cause it's true, she's right — just like you are right now, on top of her. “i think i have a good memory when it comes to this.”

she thinks. how fun things turn out when she thinks.

“the rational excuse you said before,” the question lingers in the air for a brief moment: she cannot possibly escape from you. “what is it? your explanation to this.”

none. there’s no rational explanation when you're looking back at her, cornering your girl against her own mattress. ellie's enjoying it too much when you're leaning to plant some kisses on the side of her face, gentle ones until you're biting on the flesh of her shoulder, making her whine and its so hard to even think about something to say, something good enough for you to believe.

“it’s some sort of dream journal.”

“you suck at lying,” you state biting her again, enough this time to leave a mark behind with your teeth in it, makes ellie shiver and its so nice to see it from where you are, that sound she makes when the pain hits her unexpected, "lie to me again and i'll bite you even harder."

"ngh- it's because i want to remember," she admits when her body betrays her as you're licking the marks your teeth left, soothing the sting of the pain spreading against her shoulder "i want to remember, you're imprinted in my brain. every night- it's there repeating by itself and i try not to think about it but the sounds you make, your pretty face always distorted in a pleasure that reaches beyond hallucination i'm bringing to you — it's not my fault i- i was going to share it with you someday."

“maybe you could stop pretending to be shy instead so we can try some new stuff out" you suggest when sitting up again, and ellie's melting at the missing feeling of your lips in her neck: she's so easy like this when she's successful to unbuckle your shorts so the fabric can pool right over your hip bones, when noticing the blue underwear you're wearing "i can be good and make your filthy dreams a reality.”

decisions make on their own when ellie's kissing you. deep, needy, her kiss is clumsy when leaning forward, pulling on your shirt just to drag you closer, annihilate any space you choose to leave before the air urges in your lungs and she's giving you enough time to catch your breath before leaning in again, an ocean of emotions that seemed to hold your girlfriend hostage.

"i should be mad at you," you say between kisses, your breathing turns out to be hot against ellie's skin "the drawings- it's hot as fuck, and you're keeping it to yourself."

"i'll make it up to you" she promises. dizzy, its unclear when ellie's the one taking advantages, when she's using her hands to raise your shirt now from over your chest, kneading your tits together only for the obscenity of it, the way you arch your back like you're a reward after a long day "we'll try every draw until you're fully satisfied. it's a promise."

it becomes hard to respond when your girlfriends thumb's hook in the edge of your shirt, pushing it against your parted mouth to make you bite the fabric.

"quit whining for ten minutes and keep your shirt up there so i can see your tits" — "your hands will be busy so don't give me that look."

she's pointing out to her sketchbook like it holds the entire explanation of her plan, now handy as ever when its still wide open in her favorite pages, her most recent dreams represented with the image of you looking down. there's drool falling down ellie's stomach, your legs rest on each side of her; you lack of underwear and it's filthy, filthy cause she took her time in drawing the details of your glistening folds, managed to make it look so inviting, drenched when leaking on top of her, arousal staining ellie's jeans shaded in darker colors.

it's much like how you were now, even when ellie's urging you to get out of your lower clothing as fast as humanly possible: fuck the damn shorts.

“put on a show for me baby and touch yourself, i want to watch."

she guides you from over your underwear, taking your hand in her own ellie places it when she wants it to be, mouth-watering cause fuck yes — it's exactly what she's been dreaming about, exactly what she's been missing when you're rubbing your clit from over the fabric and your arousal slowly spreads in the cotton panties already proving how wet you are from before.

it's a triumph. makes ellie smile when she can so easily see the outlines of your sex already dripping for her, when you're exposed after so much banter, when finally letting her know how you're actually turned on by all the weirdness. the sounds of your moans muffle against your shirt, and the oversized fabric does a good job in soaking up the drool already staining it a different color, to keep your moans low.

so fun to see you like this — so vulnerable.

"that's it rub your clit like that" ellie's weak when she uses a finger to help you make your underwear to the side, sticky in her hand it stays there glued to her index finger, silver rings dirty already with you "fuck- you look so beautiful like this."

the shirt falls against your tits, the slow movements of your hips now enough to have you rubbing yourself against the rough fabric of her jeans, the textured planar working wonders when you remember also, you have free will to speak.

"no touching-" you demand, and ellie nods at your words cause you call the shots, you dictate how far this goes, how long she gets to keep seeing you like this. "in your draws, you're not touching me- you just watch. watch."

"i'm helping you get this out of the way" watch. ellie can do that, you're pinching on your stiffed nipples with one hand, moving your other in circles right there in the right spot, using her for your pleasure as she's gifted the greatest view, the show you're putting up for her only.

how lucky of you. how lucky to have her drinking in every last detail, the moans you try to hide for a moment as if she wont listen to you under the subtle lights of her room, the ones that illuminate your form just enough to have her gasping: the things she would do to touch you, to latch her mouth against your nipple and mark you down until you're not looking at her as arrogant as you are.

"faster," she says. "you know you can go faster than that, don't be lazy."

she's not touching you, not in the important places at least. ellie's holding you by the wrist as she instructs you. her fingers move with yours in clear indications, separating your folds apart, teasing your entrance without giving in, she's the one that guides your digits in their eager journey, allowing you to feel how soaked she has you.

"all of this for a few horny drawings," ellie's words blur with each other, shaking her head like she don't believe it still "keep rubbing yourself against my pants baby. i want to see if you're dumb enough to cum all over my jeans."

and her fingers are soaked, yours too, drips down your inner thighs making a mess on her blue jeans. its obvious when there's a squelch sound filling the room for a minute, when your fingers shove inside your cunt and you're fucking yourself just like she wanted to, stuffing yourself full right on top of her, sensitive as ever you keep going even when your body spasms.

its fascinating how fast the façade comes apart. when you're panting once again on top of her, when you find the pace you want, the rhythm you crave as your fingers disappear under her green eyes and ellie's hands lock around your waist making you move quicker than before.

"you're so brainless from some dry humping, my girl's gonna cum?" she teases for a moment, enjoying the look in your eyes like you wanted to be buried alive — "already ruined my pants so go ahead and make a good mess in 'em."

is it normal to be so deep into someone? is it normal when she's pushing you without caring about any oversensitivity? she's making you stand on your knees, leaving enough space in your parted legs so she can settle between them and it's too fast, cause you're having trouble understanding what exactly she's doing until she's biting on your inner thigh with the same force you did on her shoulder before.

"ellie, good fuck that hurts-"

"sit," she invites at first when using force to prevent you from yanking away from her mouth — "please, i won't mess with you anymore just sit-"

so she's leaving her marks on your skin once again cause she wants everyone to know about how she constantly makes you feel, how she's able to reduce you to this mess even when your friends make fun of her, how she's hella good in making you moan, especially when you finally sit and ellie's granted the perfect access to bury herself nose-deep in your soaked cunt.

delightful. she wishes to share all of her drawings now. she has plenty now to try now that she surrenders any kind of shame: turns out being a pervert is excellent when your girlfriend's equally as dirty-minded as you are.

find yourself someone who likes every part of you — that's what everyone says, isn't it? i mean. ellie gets it too now.

[nightingale-prompts]

Dying to Love- DCXDP

Dating is hard. And Danny has bad at tough go at it.

"She called me creepy." Danny sighed into his coffee cup.

"What? You're not creepy." Tim reassured.

This has been an ongoing thing. Every time one of Danny's dates canceled, rejected, or ghosted him he ended up pouring out his sorrows with Tim.

"Well, who wants to date a funeral director?" Danny gripes.

It was kind of hard to explain how they met. The Waynes wanted to move a headstone for their no longer dead son/brother. Danny had to oversee the process that day and thankfully they didn't need to dig up remains.

Danny didn't know why Tim wanted to be his friend but who was he to complain when he didn't know anyone in this city. No one had any reason to talk to him since he was always working. Constantine came in on occasion at least. The Bats did as well.

And Danny? He keeps to his own. What humans do is on them. The ghosts are enough of a handful. Yeah, it was cold but so was he. The mortuary was comfortable, and he liked this life.

Yes, it was emotional. How do you tell a family that their newborn who died of SIDS needed to be held for a few hours before they were ready for burial? Or that grandma was mad they didn't cremate her like she wanted?

The ghosts weren't always there. Most of the time he was alone. It was rare that one lingered around the body or didn't pass on immediately. It just meant that death let them slide for a while. She was unpredictable like that. That's how he got here.

It's a lonely life though.

Did he just want friends? Well sure. So he somehow became friends with Tim Drake. Easy. Okay not easy, he and Tim just had common interests like true crime. They both could talk for hours on that alone.

But that's not the same as dating and he wanted to have a relationship. So he went on a few dating apps and had a few meet-cutes. But they never last.

"Danny, you aren't creepy." Tim lied. "You love what you do and someone will understand."

"Tim, even my coworkers don't want to talk to me." Danny sobbed.

"Well, male morticians have a bad rep. They might not know you well yet. Give it some time."

Tim knew very well that Danny was creepy. Danny had a habit of talking way too much about his job. Not everyone finds embalming and cutting open bodies fascinating. But he'd never tell Danny to stop.

"I actually invited my last date over and she ran the moment she came in."

"She must be uncomfortable going to guys' places. That's normal."

Tim knew why that happened. Danny collected occult and haunted items. He would make displays of death masks, haunted dolls, animal and human bones. Danny does tarot readings for himself every morning. It's not normal behavior. It's actually the reason Tim started talking to him. He had suspicions that Danny might be a serial killer. He wasn't, he just had hobbies.

Tim was an enabler on all this. He thought about pointing Danny in the direction of some edgy types or those into witchcraft. But if he did that then Danny would be dating someone else.

Tim was good but he wasn't a saint. So everything Danny fumbles with a potential partner he stands by to pick up the pieces. Call him what you want, it's not like he was sabotaging his friend. He just didn't want him dating other people. And honestly, if someone doesn't like his interest then why aren't worth Danny's time.

"Hey, do you I know Red Robin's number?" Danny asked suddenly.

"Why do you ask?"

"I don't know. I think if I were with someone used to this for of thing it would be easier. Also, he's the good-looking Robin."

Tim 100% filed that away as a gloat over Dick.

That being said, if he did give out that number would that further the manipulative asshole title that he probably already earned. He was nothing if not smart enough to be self-aware.

[what-even-is-thiss]

Hello I know almost nothing about assassins creed but I know a few things about costume design and history so I’m gonna look at all the assassins creed box art/default outfits of the various protagonists and take a look at their inspiration, practicality, and rough historical accuracy.

I’m gonna go in chronological order by time period just to be an ass about it

Alexios and Kassandra, Greece, 400s-ish BC

They put boobs on Kassandra’s version which immediately puts them on my shit list. That makes the armor easier to pierce because it gives blades a convenient slide towards the center of your chest.

Those concerns aside though, I haven’t really seen an armored torso piece with this exact design but the historical inspiration is clearly there. I’ve got no real issue with the Spartan helmet.

They’ve got a belt for a purse but no purse. And normally I wouldn’t criticize that because they could be keeping their weapons there but they’ve got an embarrassment of belts here. They’re also wearing red which is a fairly expensive color compared to yellow or blue or something but whatever it does look pretty cool

Looks pretty good, has the period vibe even if it’s not accurate, and is relatively appropriate attire for a soldier for hire, if a bit flashy. 8/10 broken spears

Bayek, Egypt, 49 BC

No offense but I think that this man saw into the future and witnessed both a hot topic circa 2008 and a 20th century orientalist depiction of the Middle East and tried to recreate both of them with what he had lying around.

So the collar thing seems to be based on actual Egyptian armor but it looks leather instead of metal. I don’t know what his weird menstruation skirt is supposed to be or why he’s wearing pants. During this point in Ptolemaic Egypt I’m not sure anyone would’ve even heard of pants unless they’d heard stories from the far north.

As far as practicality goes I mean he’s guarded from the sun I suppose. He’s got gloves for handling his eagle. I can’t tell what his clothes are made out of. If they’re made of cotton or linen he might stay cool but if some of that is leather like I think it is he’s not gonna be comfortable in there.

I would criticize all of those belts again but at this point I think they might be holding his outfit together. I don’t wanna dignify this one with a rating.

Basim Ibn Ishaq, Baghdad, Abbasid Caliphate, 800s AD

So the armor I mostly don’t have a problem with. It’s a bit short but it’s clearly based on actual period designs so I’ll let it go. Even if it does commit the sin of too many belts.

The assassin outfit… confuses me. Makes me conflicted. So around that time there were a lot of different colors and patterns available for fabric however he’s gotta keep with the white outfit aesthetic. I get it. He’s also got a cute pop of blue in there. His outfit is flowy and loose fitting and will keep out the sun. That fits the time period vibe.

However this guy would still stick out like a sore thumb. First of all, random armor pieces. Second of all, too many belts. Third of all, there were so many things you could’ve done with turbans in this setting? And veils? There was and is still a style of wearing a turban where you leave part of it hanging off the side or back and so many things could’ve been done with that to cleverly and mysteriously obscure his face.

There’s potential here but I do deeply wish that potential had actually been used. 3/10 houses of wisdom

Eivor, Norway & England, late 800s AD.

This protagonist comes in both boy and girl flavor and for once the outfits match. I appreciate that.

This person also has an actual purse to go with their embarrassment of belts and the underlying tunic and pants at least have the general vibe of being period accurate.

As for their armor though, they either aren’t wearing any or they have some secret chainmail under their tunic. And those random bracers that don’t look particularly Viking.

Their little fur cape there would probably be warm but also wouldn’t function great as a cape. Or as a blanket.

Weirdly historically accurate but also not accurate at all. Kinda extra. Kinda like it though. Looks warm. 9/10 ravens

Ezio, Italy and Ottoman Empire, 1400s AD

This is the og guy. Weirdly enough unlike many of his successors he doesn’t actually have an unreasonable amount of belts.

What I will say in favor of this outfit is that the color and metalworking isn’t improbable for his time period. I mean they had the technology.

Everything else about it though? Uuuhhh idk where they got any of this. Collars in that style weren’t really much of a thing yet, that belt is huge, and hoods would’ve been more likely to be separate garments from the rest of your clothing. This guy looks badass this is a very compelling design but nothing about this dude screams renaissance Italy. If his goal is to remain hidden he’s going to have a very tough time. 6/10 da vinki paintings.

I’ve reached the image limit. I will finish this list in a later reblog.

[pbaz7]

SOFT SPOT: CHAPTER 11

paige x azzi

word count: 12k

a/n: once again i'm sorry this took so long i had a rough week so finding time to write took a little extra effort than usual. i know everyone was freaking out because i said I teared up but it's not that bad i swear lol. i rushed through the proof reading because i know it's late for some people so let me know if you see any mistakes please :) like always let me know what you think if you can 🫶🏼

—————————————————————————

The ticking of the clock in the hallway was the loudest sound in her house and it made Paige want to claw her eyes out. Who the hell even made her get that clock? Why did she need a clock in her damn house? Paige thought about it for a second before getting pissed at Cam when she remembered she was the one that practically forced Paige to have it delivered to her house when she was moving in. 

It wasn’t even just the clock that was annoying Paige. The sunlight that was filtering in through the large windows were casting harsh beams across the hardwood floor and Paige swore it felt like it was turning her living room into a sauna. Who the fuck convinced her to get a house with floor to ceiling windows and why didn’t she close the blinds before she sat down?

Paige was leaned back on the couch with her legs spread and her fingers laced in her lap. She had a blank look on her face as the psychiatrist sat across from her with a small notepad resting on her knee.

“Do you want me to call you Paige, or something else?” the woman asked to break the silence that had lingered for longer than she wanted to.

“Paige’s fine,” she offered plainly.

The psychiatrist nodded. “Alright, Paige. I like to start simple. I’m not here to push you into anything you don’t want to talk about. We can take our time.”

Paige gave her a slow blink before realizing she should probably respond. “Okay.”

The woman studied her for a second, then asked, “So, what does a typical morning look like? You know when there’s no hiccups in your routine?”

Paige shrugged, her eyes locked somewhere past the edge of the coffee table. “Wake up. Stretch. Train.”

“Every day?”

“Every day.”

The psychiatrist smiled faintly. “That kind of routine takes discipline.”

Paige didn’t have a response.

“And what about after training?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

“If I feel like being around people.”

The air between them was still; had been still since they sat down. It was from a heaviness that radiated off of Paige, but it wasn’t necessarily hostile. The psychiatrist tilted her head as she studied her body language. “What kind of people do you let in when you do feel like it?”

Paige’s jaw tensed at what she felt was an unnecessary conversation. Her fingers curled so she could push her nails into her palm, distract herself with a feeling other than uncomfortableness. “My sister’s teammates usually. People who don’t expect anything from me.”

The psychiatrist nodded again, still not writing anything on the notepad. Just listening, trying to get a feel for Paige. “Is that how you would describe yourself too?” she asked. “Someone who doesn’t expect anything?”

Paige let out the softest scoff, the corner of her mouth twitching like she wanted to say something but decided against it. “Expectations for certain people just cause disappointment.”

“Have you been disappointed lately?”

“No.”

The psychiatrist sighed. It was more of a thoughtful sign than one out of frustration as she clicked her pen once to tuck the nib down, then set it along with the notepad on the armrest next to her.

“Paige, you’re…” she paused, glancing around the room to find the right words. “You’re one hell of an athlete. A fighter. You live in a—” she gestured subtly around them to Paige’s house, “—pretty large house at the top of the hill in L.A. with two very expensive cars parked in the garage.”

Paige didn’t move, just stared at her.

“But you’re clearly not materialistic,” the woman added. “This place…it’s warm. Lived-in and comfortable. It’s not showy and you’re not showy even though you’re somebody who could probably afford whatever they wanted. Going off of what meets the eye, this is picture perfect.”

“Is there a question?” Paige asked flatly.

The psychiatrist held her gaze, then said very plainly, “Why are you paying for me to be here?”

The silence stretched as they looked at one another until Paige blinked once and looked away. Her jaw flexed a few times, the blonde clenching and unclenching her teeth before she spoke up. “I dissociated.”

The psychiatrist waited for her to say more.

Paige kept her eyes trained on the floor to keep going. “During my last fight. I don’t remember anything about it. Don’t remember walking from the room, don’t remember hearing the crowd, the bell to start the fight, throwing hits…Nothing. I just remember looking down and seeing blood on my gloves and some girl with her eyes rolled back.”

The psychiatrist nodded, deciding not to reach for her pen but to just listen. “Has that ever happened before?”

Paige shook her head. “No.”

“Okay,” the psychiatrist said softly. “Let’s step back, then. You weren’t in the cage with your body that night. So where were you? Where was your mind?”

Paige didn’t answer.

The psychiatrist knew better than to push. So she shifted slightly in her chair, crossing one leg over the other before changing the subject. “Can I ask about your childhood Paige?”

Paige gave her a suspicious look. “What about it?”

“Well,” the psychiatrist said, “when someone dissociates, it’s usually not just a one off thing and it’s not about just one moment. Their brain is protecting itself from something deeper. Sometimes it can be something old.”

Paige was quiet again.

“You don’t have to share everything,” the woman added gently. “Just whatever comes up first when you think about your childhood.”

Paige leaned back slightly, taking a breath as she leaned her head back to rest against the couch and look at the ceiling. “My mom left when I was fourteen or fifteen. I don’t know for sure.”

The psychiatrist nodded once, silently telling her to keep going.

“One day she just packed her stuff when my dad was at work and never came back. There was no note for him or anything.” Paige paused, swallowing a little unevenly. “I remember her walking down the steps, kissing me on the head, mumbling something about it not being my fault and that she loves me more than anything.”

“Did you understand what was happening?”

“I knew it was permanent. That’s what I understood.” When she spoke Paige’s voice was quiet, almost like she was talking to herself.

The psychiatrist gave her space to process her own words, then asked her, “And your dad?”

Paige exhaled through her nose but instead of answering the question she changed the subject. “You know I used to play basketball?”

The psychiatrist didn’t react to the change in subject. She just nodded, following Paige’s lead.

“I grew up playing with my God sister. I was good, we both were…great actually. Everybody thought we could actually make something out of playing. They loved watching us play.” Paige’s voice changed. “I loved it, too. The sound the ball made hitting the court when no one else was there. That swish when it went through the net. I could stay at the gym for hours and be happy. It was kind of like therapy in a way, relaxing.”

The psychiatrist offered a small smile. “So what happened?”

Paige didn’t answer once again. Her eyes drifted to the side, almost like she didn’t process the question. When she did speak, her voice was distant and she changed the subject again. “Parents don’t even realize how mean they’re being when they’re hurt. Not mean with their words necessarily, or physically. Just mean in how they show up as parents.”

The psychiatrist didn’t say anything, letting Paige unravel whatever was going on in her head in her own way.

“He stops cooking for you after practice, so you learn how to cook for yourself, mostly protein cause you know that’s important for athletes even at fourteen. Starts leaving beer bottles around the house, so you gotta clean them up before somebody fucks their face up tripping over one and that becomes a whole nother thing. You gotta start driving yourself to basketball practice as soon as you get your permit because he forgot, or maybe just didn’t feel like it.”

Her jaw flexed.

“Then he just stops coming to your games altogether. So you stop looking for him in the stands.” She shrugged, trying to seem casual about it. “And eventually you just get angry at everybody who blinks at you the wrong way or looks at you too long. Because you’re a kid, and you’re doing it all yourself, and nobody’s showing up and everything feels like too much but not enough at the same time.

Paige exhaled through her nose as she blinked away the wetness in her eyes. She looked at the psychiatrist like nothing happened and said, “I think you asked me a question?”

The psychiatrist studies her for a few moments, organizing her thoughts on what she’s seeing. “I asked how your dad was,” she confirms.

Paige looks at her blankly, almost like she’s not processing the question but then she says, “He was my dad, but he was different after that. Angry, but not the loud kind that people expect.”

“Was he ever angry at you?”

Paige shook her head. “No. Or at least he tried not to be but I wasn’t easy though.” She pauses and adds, “I made it hard for him not to be,” almost like she was trying to rationalize his anger. “I got in fights a lot, acted out so teachers were always calling him.”

“And how did he handle that?”

“He grounded me at first, took me out of basketball as punishment, but that just pissed me off. He didn’t want me getting in trouble, so he threw me in a gym with one of his friends anytime he couldn’t be at home to watch me. Said if I wanted to hit something, I should at least learn how to do it right so I didn’t look like an idiot doing it.”

There was a faint smile at the corner of her mouth, like she was trying to make the memory positive but it didn’t last.

“So that’s when you started fighting?”

Paige nodded. “I was fifteen the first time I felt in control of anything.”

The psychiatrist tilted her head slightly. “Controls important to you?”

“When everything feels like it can get ripped away?” as Paige said this her voice was void of any emotion. “Yeah.”

“What do you remember about your parents before your mom left?”

Paige’s expression changed for a second before reverting back to the blankness, something behind her eyes pulling at the lightness in them tightly trying to dim it. “They fought a lot. Over stupid shit. They always thought I was asleep, but I never was. She’d yell and he’d get quiet, then she’d slam a door for him not listening and her doing that would piss him off so he’d follow her to the next room. They’d repeat that until there were no more doors to hide behind. Until whatever stupid ass thing they were arguing about had to just be out in the open.”

“How did that make you feel, back then?”

Paige opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She tightened her jaw, then gave a half-shrug. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know, or you don’t want to say?”

“Maybe both. Like I said, I don't know.”

The woman nodded. “That’s fair.” She let a few seconds pass before asking, “Do you ever feel that way now?”

Paige didn’t respond again.

“Like you don’t know how you feel or you don’t want to think about it?”

Still nothing as Paige just stared ahead.

After some time the psychiatrist sat back in the chair noting how long the moment stretched as Paige blankly ahead. “When you dissociated during the fight…you said you don’t remember anything. Has anything like that ever happened before? Any other moments where you lost time?”

Paige finally stirred as she scratched her knuckles with her thumb. “I don’t usually lose time,” she said. “I just zone out.”

“Tell me more about the zoning out.”

“I don’t know. I’ll just be in a room, people are talking, and it’s like my body’s still there, but I’m not listening. I just shut off.”

“Does it happen often?”

Paige nodded once to confirm.

“Has anyone noticed?”

“People just say I don’t pay attention. That I’m distracted.” There's a brief pause before she opens and closes her mouth to end the statement there.

“Do you think there’s a specific reason you’re zoning out?”

Paige stays quiet.

“Is it always when someone’s talking?” the woman asked. “Or can it happen even when you’re alone?”

“Both,” Paige said. “Worse when I’m upset or in my head.”

“In your head how?”

Paige wet her lips, as her eyes started to trace the lines of her bookshelf. “Thinking about something I can’t control. Mad at myself for not being in control. Something I said or didn’t say; did or didn’t do. When I feel like I’m just fucking up. Not being good enough for the women in my life.”

“Do you remember the first time you felt that way?”

There was a long silence.

Then Paige once again randomly changed the subject, “There was this one time a few years ago. Some guy at a club put his hands on Cam. Just like around her waist or something.” She paused as she thought about it. “I told him to stop then he just started jawing at me, wouldn’t shut up for Ion know how long. Next thing I remember, I was outside, with my hands all scraped up, knuckles split.”

The psychiatrist stayed still as she listened.

“I don’t even remember hitting him. Don’t remember leaving. Just kinda blinked and I was out back with my friends yelling at me to get in the car.”

“Did it scare you?”

Paige hesitated before she said, “No,” honestly. 

The psychiatrist made a quiet note on her pad, then looked up. “Are you known to have a temper, Paige?”

“Depends who you ask.”

“Okay…If I was asking you?”

Paige sits in silence for a few seconds before answering. “Yeah. Sometimes I can lose it.”

“And when you do, do you always remember what you said or did?”

Paige looks down at her hands as she answers, “Not all the time.”

The psychiatrist’s voice was even as she asked her next question. “How’s your memory overall?”

Paige let out a breath, almost a laugh. “Not great.”

“In what way?”

“I forget simple things, conversations, dates. Whole weeks blur together sometimes if I’m getting ready for a fight. Cam says I repeat myself, she used to call me Dory when we were teenagers.”

“Do you? Repeat yourself I mean?”

“I don’t know, maybe. Like I said, I forget conversations.”

The psychiatrist tapped her pen against her knee gently a few times before she stopped and looked at Paige carefully.

“Have you been formally diagnosed with anything recently?”

Paige shook her head no.

“Well,” the woman said, keeping her voice calm but being clear, “based on the few things you’ve described: losing chunks of memory, zoning out under stress, feeling disconnected from your body and surroundings at times it seems like you’re experiencing symptoms of a dissociative disorder. We’d have to do a comprehensive assessment to be sure but I think that’s what we’re looking at here.”

Paige’s jaw flexed as her eyes dropped again.

“This disorder can include depersonalization—you feeling like you’re experiencing moments from outside of your body—and derealization—where things around you feel foggy, distorted, or unreal.”

Paige didn’t speak so the psychologist kept going, explaining it softly knowing how jarringly some people take this sort of information.

“You mentioned you zone out more when you’re emotional. When you’re upset or overstimulated, your mind pulls away as a form of protection. But that form of protection can start to hurt you and those around you if it happens at the wrong time.”

She paused to let Paige grasp what she was saying, then she asked, “Have you ever been diagnosed with depression or anxiety at any point in your life?”

“No.”

“But do you feel low sometimes? Tense? On edge?”

“Who doesn’t,” she mumbled.

“Have you ever had a panic attack?”

Paige shifted in her seat. “I’ve had...moments. Where I feel like I can’t breathe. Where everything feels too loud. But I don’t like calling it that, seems dramatic.”

“Okay,” the psychiatrist nodded. “That’s fair.”

The psychiatrist let a moment pass before continuing her line of questioning as she probed for a little more information. “Have you ever had thoughts about hurting yourself?”

Paige looked up for the first time in a while, seeming to be a little insulted at the question. “No. Never.”

The therapist nodded once, accepting that answer without pushing further. “I’m glad.”

They sat in silence for a few seconds.

“Paige I want you to understand that this isn’t about labeling you. It’s about giving you the tools to stay present in your life. What you’re experiencing isn’t a weakness you need to beat out of yourself.” She corrects herself saying, “You can’t beat it out of yourself. It’s trauma that’s been misfiled and ignored long enough that it’s started running its own course.”

Paige exhaled deeply and rubbed the side of her jaw as she listened.

“There are options,” the psychiatrist said. “Continued psychotherapy, of course. We could also talk about medication for any possible anxiety or depression symptoms…if you have trouble sleeping. There’s EMDR or somatic therapy which is something that gets into the body as much as the mind. Whatever route you choose will take time and effort but this isn’t something that you have to deal with for the rest of your life Paige.”

Paige let out a long breath. “I don’t know,” she mumbled. “I gotta talk to Azzi.”

The psychiatrist paused at the name, her head tilting slightly as she looked at Paige. “You haven’t mentioned that name today.”

Paige blinked slowly, then smiled softly. “She’s my girlfriend.” As she said that the psychiatrist noticed there was a warmth in her voice for the first time since they’ve started speaking. Almost like she was relieved to mention her.

“She sounds important to you. How long have you two been together?”

Paige leaned back against the couch cushion. “Officially? Like two and a half months.” She scratched her eyebrow before adding, “But she’d been trying to get me to talk to her before that. Kept showing up, kept...bothering me.” The corner of her mouth curved up at the memory. “We were seeing each other for a few months before we made it official.”

The psychiatrist nodded, as her pen hovered over the notepad even though she wasn’t writing. “Tell me about her.”

Paige narrowed her eyes a little. “Why?”

“If she’s important,” the psychiatrist said plainly, “it’s worth understanding what role she plays in your life.”

Paige hesitated, not wanting to offer up information about Azzi to a stranger.

The psychiatrist tilted her head when she noticed her reluctance. “Why didn’t you mention her earlier?”

Paige stared at the floor for a moment. “Because I don’t know she’s—she’s the only one I don’t feel any of this around. The zoning out, the urge to disconnect.” She pulled her eyes from the floor to add, “She’s the only thing that feels real for me all the time.”

The psychiatrist set her notepad on the arm of her chair. “Can you explain that a little more for me? What does she do that helps?”

“I don’t think she purposefully does anything, she doesn’t have to try,” Paige said. “She just pulls me out of my head without even realizing it. Her voice, the way she touches me, her laugh. It’s like—” she stopped herself, embarrassed by how much she wanted to say.

Paige swallowed, her eyes tracking something invisible. “It’s like, she’ll notice something’s off and just sit next to me. Put a hand on my leg. Say something stupid to make me laugh.”

“You feel grounded around her.”

“Yeah,” Paige nodded slowly. “Like my head goes quiet when I’m with her.”

The psychiatrist gave a small nod. “And does she know about the dissociating? The memory gaps?”

Paige hesitated, biting her bottom lip. “Yeah she does now.”

“What changed?”

Paige shifted in her seat. “We had a fight about a month before my last fight.”

“The one you can’t remember?” 

Paige nods in confirmation.

“What happened?”

Paige takes her time explaining some of the backstory of the fight, not going fully into detail but giving the psychiatrist enough to understand the situation.

“Then it just spiraled and she was worked up and I tried to grab her face, like to calm her down to get us both to take a moment but then she flinched.”

The psychiatrist’s expression didn’t change, but her eyes softened as she processed the implications of that .

“She looked scared for a second,” Paige said, her voice changing just a bit as she talked about it. “Seeing that messed me up a little bit and I just had to leave. I told her to stay even though it was my place but I just couldn’t—I couldn’t look at her after that.”

The psychiatrist waited a second before asking, “Do you think you scared her?”

“I know I did, not physically but—” Paige stops herself not wanting to talk about the intricate parts of her relationship. “We’ve talked about it and we're good now.” Paige clarifies. “But after that I just didn’t want to fight. I thought she’d look at me differently after our argument, and be more weary.”

“Did she?”

Paige shook her head. “No. She was there after the fight. When I realized I didn’t remember any of it, I freaked out a little, I was shaking and I threw up in the locker room. Just felt like I couldn’t breathe, like my nerves we’re firing in every direction. She didn’t even say anything, she just opened her arms and sat with me. Made everything seem less loud, less chaotic.”

“And that helped?”

Paige nodded.

The psychiatrist sat quietly for a moment before speaking. “It sounds like she’s a soft spot for you.”

Paige’s eyes lifted, a little guarded again.

“I don’t mean that in a bad way,” the psychiatrist clarified. “We all have them. People or places where our nervous system feels safe, where our brain allows us to finally just exhale without being in fight or flight. That’s important for someone to have, it’s a form of healing. It’s healthy.”

Paige looked down, something about the words tugging at her chest.

“But,” the psychiatrist added gently, “it can also be unhealthy, if she becomes the only place you know how to go to when you need to feel okay.”

Paige’s jaw tightened.

“Because then,” the psychiatrist went on carefully, “if things are ever rocky between you, if you’re in a disagreement or disconnected, like last time then you’re more vulnerable to slipping. Into dissociation, into memory loss, anxiousness, etcetera, without even realizing it.”

Paige frowned, becoming a little defensive. “So what, you’re saying she’s a problem now too? I can’t have anything?”

“No,” the psychiatrist said quickly but plainly, not allowing that thought to settle in Paige’s psyche. “I’m not saying she’s bad for you. From everything you’ve said, she sounds amazing for you.”

Paige sat back, the tension still sitting on her shoulders as she tried to take a few deep breaths to stop herself from getting upset.

“She seems to ground you,” the psychiatrist said. “She shows up when you’re unraveling. She doesn’t try to fix you, she’s accepting you for who you are without asking for anything other than that. You’ve been living with this for years, Paige. Years…and she’s only been in your life for a few months, and yet somehow, she’s the reason you’re finally sitting here in front of me.”

Paige blinked, her throat suddenly feeling dry.

“That says a lot about her,” the psychiatrist continued her thought process, “but it also says a lot about you. You want to be better for yourself and for her, for your relationship. And that's the first real step.”

Paige nodded a few times as she let the words settle in her brain.

After spending some time speaking with one another the air in the room was softer than when they started. Paige was leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, and her fingers were loosely laced. “I just don’t like waking up and the first thing on my mind is about what’s going wrong instead of what’s going right. I try to live in a state of gratitude but waking up like that everyday makes it harder.”

The psychiatrist nodded, as she listened, her notepad lines now filled with notes for herself. They had passed the hour mark a while ago, but she opted to not say anything when she noticed Paige starting to open up. Not when her voice cracked describing the club fight in detail that left her in Azzi in a weird spot and not now, with the sheen of tears glinting in her eyes.

They both looked up at the sound of the front door opening and laughter echoing from the foyer. First it was Dijonai’s, then Azzi’s voice trailing close behind her, teasing each other about something neither of them caught from the living room.

Azzi walked in the room first and she clocked the scene instantly. The notebook still on the table, the faint wetness Paige was blinking away. Azzi stopped in her tracks. “Oh I’m so sorry,” she said quickly. “I didn’t realize you were still going.”

Paige looked away blinking a few times as she swallowed. The psychiatrist stood quietly, smoothing down her skirt as she offered a reassuring smile to Azzi.

“It’s alright,” she said gently, gathering her things. “We were just finishing up.”

Paige still hadn’t moved so the psychiatrist lingered for a moment, looking at her, then said her name warmly, “Paige.”

When Paige glanced up, her eyes were red but she still looked composed.

“We’ll find a time to meet again?” the psychiatrist asked.

Paige offered her a nod before looking away again.

The psychiatrist gave a final look between the two of them, smiling at Azzi kindly before heading toward the door.

As the door clicked shut behind the psychiatrist, Paige stood up and moved around the room without saying anything. She started off with picking up a glass off the table and taking it to the kitchen before coming back and adjusting the throw blanket. She shifted coasters that didn’t need to be moved and it was obvious to anyone tha looked that the session had her off kilter. Like she needed to do something with her hands before her thoughts swallowed her.

Dijonai caught Azzi’s eye from the hallway, and nodded toward the stairs. “Imma be in the guest room,” and she disappeared down the hall without waiting for Azzi to reply.

Azzi stayed where she was standing for a few more seconds, watching Paige adjust a candle that was already straight. Then, softly, she said, “Hey, beautiful.”

Paige didn’t stop moving at the sound of Azzi’s voice, she crossed the room, reaching to fix one of her small lego sets that sat on the table just outside of the living room. “I need to get rid of that clock in the front,” she mumbled, not looking at her. “It’s annoying. The ticking, every time it’s quiet, it’s just there and it drives me crazy sometimes.”

Azzi nodded slowly, moving toward the couch and sitting down. “Okay. That’s fine,” she said gently. “You wanna come sit with me? Talk to me?”

“I’m fine,” Paige responded quickly, still not facing her. She shifted the lego in her hands wiping some of the dust off then bent down to tuck something under the table, moving like she had a list of things to do, like something would fall apart if she stopped.

Azzi stood up again and walked over to where Paige was standing to come up behind her. Carefully, she reached out and took the lego’s from Paige’s hands, setting it down on the nearby shelf. She circled her arms around Paige’s waist from behind and just held her for a second.

Paige’s first reaction was to tense up. Her body going a little rigid under the familiar touch that was too gentle for all the thoughts swirling inside of her.

Azzi leaned in despite this, resting her chin against Paige’s shoulder and whispered, “You don’t have to hold it all by yourself, baby. I’m right here. Just let me be here.”

A shaky breath slipped from Paige’s chest as she heard these words as a single tear slipped down her cheek and dropped soundlessly on the floor. Her shoulders jerked slightly as she took another sharp breath, almost like she was surprised by the tear coming out without permission.

Azzi held her, keeping her chest pressed gently against Paige’s back, before slowly turning her around. She kept one hand on Paige’s waist, and used the other to move up to her jaw, guiding her to look at her.

Paige’s eyes met Azzi’s for the first time since the front door opened and they were glassy, another tear having already gathered at the bottom of her lash line. Before it could fall, Azzi reached up and wiped it away with her thumb.

“I promise you don’t have to be okay.”

Paige blinked again, her mouth twitching like she wanted to argue but she decided against it.

Azzi took her hand to interlace their fingers before stepping back toward the couch, gently pulling her. Paige let herself be led without saying anything. Each step for her seemed to be heavy, like her body was finally starting to physically feel the weight of what her mind had been carrying for so many years.

Azzi sat down first, guiding Paige between her legs. Paige hesitated for a second before sinking down so her back was resting against Azzi’s chest. Her body curled slightly into her like she didn’t know how to soften herself, but she was trying. Azzi wrapped her arms around her as soon as she got settled, one sliding across Paige’s torso while the other traced circles over her thigh.

Paige closed her eyes and let her head rest back on Azzi’s shoulder.

They didn’t speak for a while, the only sound filling the space was their quiet breathing and the ticking of the clock that didn’t seem so annoying anymore, Paige’s hand had found Azzi’s at one point and she held it tightly, using it to ground herself in the moment.

Eventually, Paige whispered with her eyes still closed, “I love basketball Az.”

Azzi smiled softly and nodded, her chin resting against the top of Paige’s head. “I know you do baby.”

“And I think…” Paige swallowed, “I think I hated my dad more than I hated my mom sometimes.”

Azzi’s arms tightened around her to keep her present while she talked. “That’s okay.”

Paige kept her eyes shut, but her voice got quieter with each confession, like each one took a little weight off her chest.

“Sometimes I used to sit on the floor in my room and hope they’d both disappear. I felt like life would be easier that way.”

Azzi nodded as she started to trace circles into Paige’s arm. “That’s okay.”

“I hated myself for being mad at them, for feeling that way even when I had a right to be.”

Azzi just nodded as she placed a kiss to the top of Paige’s head.

“I used to wish every night that I was someone else. Anyone else and I felt so ungrateful.”

Azzi pressed another soft kiss to her temple whispering, “That’s okay baby.”

Paige’s voice cracked slightly. “I thought something was wrong with me. That I was broken.”

Azzi didn’t say anything at first. She just held her tighter, letting her feel it before she whispered, “That’s okay too. We aren’t perfect.”

Paige exhaled as tears slipped down her face again. This time they felt a little more freeing, like she was letting herself accept her thoughts for the first time instead of burying them.

At some point, they shifted on the couch and now Paige lay stretched out between Azzi’s legs, with her head resting in the soft space between Azzi’s thighs. Azzi still sat back against the couch cushions and her fingers were gently weaving through Paige’s hair over and over, like she was memorizing every strand.

The room had gone silent and Paige dozed off for maybe twenty minutes, easily lulled by Azzi’s fingers in her hair and the softness of her presence.

When she felt Paige stir and tighten her arms around her waist Azzi looked down and whispered, “You back?”

Paige hummed, but kept her eyes closed. “Think so.”

Azzi smiled down at her, brushing her fingers along Paige’s temple. “Good. You were twitching. I thought you were fighting someone in your dream.”

A huff escaped from Paige’s nose as she chuckled. “Probably my dad. Not his biggest fan right now.”

Azzi’s smile grew a little. “Hope you knocked him out.”

Paige cracked one eye open to look up at Azzi. “That’s crazy to say.”

“Just supportive,” Azzi argued as her thumb traced a slow line across Paige’s cheek. “I’m Team Paige all day no matter who's on the other side.”

Paige turned her head, nuzzling her cheek into Azzi’s thigh. “You’re annoying.”

“I’ll be annoying all day if that means you’ll smile.”

A small snort echoed from Paige, and she tightened her arms around Azzi’s waist, pressing herself closer into the space between her thighs.

Azzi glanced down, raising her eyebrow. “Alright now…”

Paige smirked, already knowing exactly what Azzi was talking about. She leaned in and placed a wet kiss on the inside of Azzi’s thigh causing her eyes to flutter shut.  Without thinking, Azzi’s legs shifted, opening slightly.

Paige could only smile wider at this. “You such a good girl for me.”

Azzi rolled her eyes hard and pushed Paige’s forehead, laughing despite herself. “Get off me, big head, go find some business.”

Paige laughed, letting herself be pushed back as she swatted at Azzi’s ass to the best of her ability. Of course, that’s when Dijonai came walking into the room.

She stopped and raised her eyebrow before she just shook her head and pretended not to have seen anything. “You know what I don’t even want to know.”

Azzi’s eyes widened. “We’re not—”

“I said I don’t want to know!” Dijonai repeated, her voice echoing a little. “I was just trying to see if y’all wanted to go out tonight. I’m in L.A. and haven’t been out yet, feels real grimy.”

Azzi laughed, her fingers starting to brush through Paige’s hair again as the blonde adjusted herself, fluttering her eyes closed and tucking herself back into the space between Azzi’s thighs.

“Where you wanna go?” Azzi asked, looking over.

DiJonai shrugged. “You tell me. You live here.”

Azzi snorted. “You gotta ask Cam and them. I just go where they tell me.”

“But you’re down to go out?”

Azzi looked down at Paige, clearly about to ask when Dijonai cut her off. “She’s going.”

“No m’not,” Paige mumbled into Azzi’s thigh.

Dijonai grabbed the closest throw pillow and lobbed it at Paige’s back.

Paige groaned dramatically when it bounced off her and looked up at Azzi with her lower lip jutted out in a pout, fully expecting her girlfriend to defend her.

Azzi looked down, trying to hide her grin, while Dijonai burst out laughing. “The irony of a whole MMA fighter pouting up at her girlfriend for backup is insane Paige.”

Paige groaned again and buried her head deeper into Azzi like she was trying to disappear.

“I’m thinking we head out at like ten,” Dijonai yelled over her shoulder, already halfway up the stairs. “So start getting ready soon, or I’m dragging your dramatic ass out in whatever you’re wearing now.”

Paige just mumbled out, “Whatever.”

Azzi laughed quietly, her hands returning to Paige’s hair, as she smiled at her. “You okay with going out?” she asked softly. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Paige hummed when Azzi’s thumb brushed against her temple. “I’ll be okay, baby. Least I can do for her.”

Azzi’s smile grew as she nodded, leaning down to kiss Paige's forehead. “If you wanna go home at any point just say the word. I got you.”

Paige nodded and then tugged on her arm with her eyes still closed. “Mmm ok, now come take a nap wimme real quick.”

Azzi laughed as she shifted and slid down onto the couch, letting Paige maneuver her until they were tangled up, Paige spooning her from behind with one leg draped lazily over Azzi’s hip.

“Better?” Azzi whispered.

“Mmhmm,” Paige said, grinning with her eyes still shut. She kissed the back of Azzi’s neck, then the spot just below her ear, holding her tighter. “You so perfect,” she whispered.

Azzi reached down to squeeze Paige’s hand where it rested on her stomach. “You make it real easy to be.”

…

Later that night, the three of them were ready to leave Paige’s house, the buzz of city nightlife already wild at the bottom of the hill.

Azzi had her braids and loose goddess curls swooped to one side. She wore a black halter top that accentuated her chest and showed off her stomach and back with a black embellished mini skirt that shimmered when she walked past a light. Paige had definitely stared a little too long when Azzi first walked out of the bathroom wearing it; long enough for Azzi to smile and ask, “You good, baby?” like she didn’t already know the answer.

Paige was more laid back with her outfit. A black tank top paired with lilac Nike sweats that sat perfectly on her hips. Her hair was down in its natural waves, just like Azzi asked and around her neck was one of her flashier cuban diamond chains, catching and throwing off every bit of light it met.

When Paige reached for her car keys near the door, Dijonai held a hand out in front of her. “Nope,” she said plainly. “I’m getting you fucked up tonight. I already called the Uber.”

Paige blinked. “What? I’m not—”

“Nope,” Dijoni cut her off again, turning to Azzi. “You ever seen her drunk at the club?”

Azzi tilted her head like she had to think about it, not counting that one time they got drunk in the house by themselves. “Now that I think about it, no.”

Dijonai raised her eyebrows, looking back at Paige and easily resting her case. “Exactly.”

Paige sighed dramatically, sliding her phone in her pocket as she opened the door for them. “You’re a pain in my ass.”

…

When they walked in the club, the bass, and heat radiating off of the sea of bodies hit them all at once. The place was packed wall to wall, sweat and perfume in the air as they eased their way through the crowd.

Heads turned as the three of them moved through the crowd. A trio of tall women, each at least 5'10", commanding attention in their own way. Azzi, with her bare collarbones and gleaming skin under the club lights, had heads swiveling and Dijonai walked in the front like she wasn’t in a rush to be anywhere but everyone should move anyway. Paige who had a sleepy eyed indifference about everything as she let Azzi walk in front of her with one of their hands laced drew attention like gravity.

Men and women glanced over their shoulders at Azzi and Dijonai. While women openly ogled Paige, some of them were already drunk enough to be bold. One woman brushed her fingers down Paige’s arm as they passed, leaning in close to be heard over the music. “You here with somebody?” she slurred.

Paige kept walking but she leaned down to whisper something to Azzi, her mouth brushing the shell of Azzi’s ear. Azzi let out a laugh, shaking her head as she looked over her shoulder at the woman Paige was talking about.

By the time they made it to the section in the back, the heat from the crowd had them all glistening. Rae, Rickea, and Cam were already there with drinks in their hands.

“Took y’all long enough,” Rickea said.

Before they could even fully settle into the couch, Dijonai was already passing Azzi a shot and pushing two towards Paige

Paige raised her eyebrow, one corner of her mouth lifting. “Two?”

Dijonai shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “Let’s not act like your tolerance isn’t high as hell.”

From the other side of the couch Cam leaned in, catching the tail end of the exchange. “We getting Paige drunk tonight?” DiJonai nodded and Cam’s smile spread across her whole face.

Paige shook her head as she grabbed both shots and threw them back like water before leaning back into the couch. She looked over at Azzi and caught her mid shot with a lime wedge pinched between her lips, her eyes squinting a little from the burn of the tequila. Paige couldn’t help but smile as she watched her.

Azzi looked at her, still sucking lightly on the lime, and raised an eyebrow silently asking ‘what’ with soft eyes.

Paige just shook her head, continuing to smile as her gaze lingered on Azzi before drifting across the club, soaking in the energy.

The lights were flashing white and blue above them, pulsing in tandem with the beat. Their section was dimly lit, giving them just enough separation from the dance floor to feel like they had their own corner carved out.

A bottle girl in a glittery two-piece stepped into their section a few minutes later, balancing a glowing tray of drinks, placing them down one by one. “Let me know if y’all need anything else.”

Rickea handed everybody a drink and once Azzi had hers she settled deeper into the couch cushions, crossing one leg over the other and letting her calf rest in the space between Paige’s open legs. 

A few drinks in, the group had started to relax into the setting more. Dijonai was cracking jokes and Rae and Rickea were halfway through a story about something that happened when they were shopping the other day when a fan made her way over tentatively.

“Excuse me,” she called, raising her voice over the music. “Sorry, I just—are y’all Sparks players?”

Cam nodded. “Guilty.”

“Oh my God, I knew it,” the girl gushed, her eyes darting between all of them “Y’all are amazing. I’m a huge fan. Is it okay if I get a picture?”

“Of course,” Rickea said, already getting up.

One by one, the players posed with her, Azzi perching herself on Paige’s knees for the group picture, not wanting to bend over fully in her mini skirt. 

When the fan left Azzi sat back down, keeping her leg thrown on top of Paige’s thigh. Paige moved her hand to rest on top of Azzi’s thigh, her fingers tracing light shapes.

“You good?” Azzi asked her softly, leaning closer to her ear so she could hear.

Paige nodded. “Mmhmm. You look good.”

Azzi gave her a knowing look over the rim of her glass as she took another sip. “You do too.”

…

After a few more drinks the booth was buzzing. Voices had gotten a little louder, laughs a little messier and eyes glassier than they’d been an hour and a half ago. The bottle girl had made a few rounds, each one welcomed with louder cheers and heavier pours.

Dijonai raised another shot glass toward the middle of the group and everyone raised their glasses. When they were done Paige picked hers up and tossed it back in sync with everyone else, the liquid burning in a way that didn’t faze her anymore, indicating how tipsy she was. Still, she looked relaxed. Her eyes were heavy but her limbs were looser as her body started to buzz with the alcohol.

After a few minutes, Cam signaled the bottle girl again. “Let’s keep it going,” she said with a tipsy grin, already pulling three more glasses toward herself, two of which she slid in front of Paige.

Paige shook her head. “I just had one.”

“So did everybody,” Cam said, putting her chin in her palm as she grinned. “We’re balancing the scales.”

Paige narrowed her eyes, at the flawed logic. “I feel like y’all plotting.”

Dijonai was already pouring herself another one too. “We are,” she said. “Let us live.”

Without saying anything else Paige knocked both back, barely blinking.

It wasn’t immediate, but with each extra drink that was snuck her way, Paige’s laugh got a little looser, and her posture relaxed more. She shifted deeper into the cushions, spreading her legs comfortably as she lounged and listened to everyone around her.

Paige’s hand found Azzi’s calf absently at first, resting there to keep her leg from slipping off her thigh but after a minute or two, her fingers started to move. Slow strokes up and down, almost in rhythm with the music.

Azzi glanced at her.

“Wassup?” Paige asked, pretending not to notice.

Azzi gave her a look. “I know what you’re doing.”

“You don’t know anything,” Paige said, grinning more than usual.

Her fingers slid higher up Azzi’s leg, her thumb rubbing softly at the inside of her knee. Azzi exhaled through her nose, trying to stop herself from smiling at Paige’s obvious horniness.

Cam clocked the moment and pointed across the table. “That’s how you know Paige is officially drunk.”

“Shut up,” Paige said, grinning without looking away from Azzi. “I’m chillin’.”

“Mmhm,” Dijonai hummed, pouring another shot and handing it to Azzi. “You’re gonna need this.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but took it, clinking glasses with Rae before downing it.

Another thirty minutes passed in a blur. Everyone in the group was definitely on the far end of tipsy or drunk. Paige was drunk in the best way. She wasn’t a messy or sloppy drunk; just loose and her cheeks flushed, that specific kind of buzz where she felt untouchable, her guard completely lowered.

“Alright, I need to dance,” Rickea announced suddenly, standing up with Cam already rising next to her.

“You read my mind,” Cam said, adjusting her dress. “Nai, you coming?”

“Hell yeah,” Dijonai grinned, finishing the rest of her drink before following them out of the section and into the packed crowd.

Azzi leaned in closer to Paige, smiling against her ear. “You gonna be okay if I go for a minute?”

Paige’s hand came up, her fingertips tracing Azzi’s jaw lightly, and then her lips brushed against Azzi’s ear like she was about to whisper something but before she could respond Rae stepped over.  “Come dance with me, pretty,” she said, tugging Azzi by her wrist.

Azzi glanced at Paige for permission. Paige just gave her a small nod, still smiling up at her like she hung the stars before Rae was pulling her toward the dance floor.

Left alone in the section, Paige sank deeper into the plush couch. Her legs were spread wide with her arms thrown on the back of the couch. She was sitting in the way where if a man did it a woman might be disgusted, but because it was her it was attractive and it drew eyes. 

The lights shifted over the crowd, catching the shimmer in Azzi’s skirt as she walked hand in hand with Rae until they reached everyone else. Her braids swung down one shoulder as she danced, laughing at something Rickea said. She looked amazing in any element and Paige felt the flutter in her chest deepen, settling comfortably beneath her ribs.

Paige didn’t smile with her mouth, but her eyes were completely soft in adoration, tracking every move Azzi made. Paige was the textbook definition of a woman watching the love of her life from across the room.

Two songs passed before a slower track came on, smoother and a little sultrier in tone. Azzi turned with everyone else back toward the section, clearly about to walk back but she took a step before Paige stopped her with her eyes.

Azzi tilted her head slightly asking a silent question.

Paige didn’t move much,  just lifted her hips in her seat, in the eyes of, ‘adjusting,’ but her smirk and her legs spreading wider as she sat back carried an entirely different message.

Azzi caught it and she chewed her bottom lip for a second, thinking about it, before gently wrapping her fingers around Rae’s wrist just as she started to follow Cam, Rickea, and Dijonai back toward the section. Rae paused, lifting her eyebrows curiously, but Azzi didn’t say anything, she just gave her a subtle tug towards herself, and Rae followed her pull.

The bass slowed into something heavier, the synths melting into the background while the low beat pulled bodies into a new rhythm. Azzi moved first, stepping back until her back was against Rae’s chest, her arms lifting to rearrange her braids down one shoulder as she started to roll her hips.

Rae caught the rhythm easily, hovering her hands over Azzi’s waist without gripping them, letting her lead the tempo. Their bodies rocked together fluidly, skin gleaming faintly in the soft sheen of sweat that caught the flashing blue and purple lights. Every few seconds, the strobes would hit them just right, illuminating the shimmer of Azzi’s skirt, the soft flex in Rae’s thighs, the movements between them made visible for a flash before it was swallowed again by the darkness of the club.

Across the room, still in the same spot, Paige hadn’t moved. She looked calm as her gaze raked shamelessly over Azzi’s body. She watched the way Azzi rolled her hips, the slight arch of her back, the way her hands lifted above her head for a moment before they came down to rest on top of Rae’s. Paige’s eyes dragged over every inch of her exposed skin, down to the valley of Azzi’s chest where the halter dipped.

Azzi smiled as she watched Paige’s reaction, sliding down Rae’s body with the same controlled grace she carried on the court. She moved slowly, her back arching as her hands grazed down Rae’s sides before she rose again.

Paige’s jaw tensed as she watched, tapping her fingers against the leather cushion behind her. Her diamond necklace flashed every time the lights hit it, but it didn’t compare to the look in her blue eyes.

Azzi tilted her head slightly at her silently asking ‘you still good, baby?’

Paige smirked, nodding her head just a little bit, approving what Azzi was doing.

Azzi wasn’t trying to make Paige feel jealous. She just wanted to remind her of what she could do to her without touching her, what she could make her feel. That while no Paige’s body didn’t belong to her, but her control over it. Her ability to unravel her, to seduce her, to fuck up her composure with just looking at her from across the room.

That was all Azzi and Paige knew.

Paige didn’t blink when Azzi grabbed Rae’s hands and guided them down her body. Trailing them over her stomach, then down the curve of her thighs as she rolled her hips deeper into Rae. Paige’s fingers curled tighter around the edge of the couch as she followed their hands, the leather creaking faintly beneath her grip.

Another strobe of light came fast and it lit up the small shine of sweat along Rae’s collarbone as she leaned down, her mouth hovering near Azzi’s shoulder as she leaned into her. The glow hit the inside of Azzi’s thigh where her skirt had ridden up, exposing the strong line of her quad, a soft glisten tracing along her skin where Rae’s hand rested.

As Paige watched this Cam appeared next to her, laughing breathlessly at something that Paige couldn’t hear and handed Paige a shot. Paige took it while keeping her eyes glued to Azzi. She tossed it back smoothly, her throat bobbing slightly as she swallowed it, the strobe catching on her collarbone, her arms, the diamonds dancing on her chain, the ridges of her toned abdomen beneath her black tank top.

Azzi saw every flash of light catching the controlled tension in Paige’s frame the way her muscles flexed when she threw the shot back and couldn’t help but bite her lip as she rolled her hips. 

She didn’t have to tell Paige to come, the blonde stood slowly and stepped down from the section like she’d been waiting for the cue. She moved fluidly through the sea of bodies, cutting through the crowd easily as the bass pulsed around her.

Azzi stood a little straighter when she saw her coming out of satisfaction of winning whatever silent game they had been playing. She couldn’t help but smile because this was what she wanted, Paige being pulled forward by nothing but her desire to touch Azzi, already a puddle for her before she even got near her.

Azzi’s eyes tracked Paige’s steps until she was right in front of her. Without saying anything she reached out and hooked two fingers underneath the thick chain resting against Paige’s collarbone, tugging her forward.

Paige stepped into Azzi’s gravity willingly, her expression unreadable but her eyes saying everything like usual.

Azzi smiled as she slipped her arms around Paige’s neck, her wrists resting loosely behind her. Her body didn’t stop moving as she kept her hips rolling in sync with the beat, her back still pressed against Rae, who hadn’t stepped away. Azzi stood between them, caged in by the warmth radiating off of both of them, by their hands, by Paige’s attention.

Paige’s palms settled against Azzi’s waist, like she was silently claiming her space. “Don’t stop,” Paige whispered as her lips brushed against Azzi’s jaw.

Azzi’s smile grew, her mouth close enough to brush the shell of Paige’s ear. “Wasn’t planning to.”

Rae chuckled behind Azzi, her hands briefly grazing Azzi’s hips before she backed off with a smirk, giving them space as she slipped away.

“You come all the way over here just to stand still?”

Paige licked her lips, as she tightened her hands around Azzi’s waist. “I came over here ‘cause you were showing out.”

Azzi laughed, her forehead almost touching Paige’s. “You liked it.”

Paige’s mouth curved up, not quite a smile yet, but close. “Didn’t say I didn’t.”

Their bodies swayed in sync now, not dancing so much as moving together, lost in the tension that lived between them. The music continued around them, lights flashing hot against Azzi’s glistening skin and making the diamonds at Paige’s neck glitter.

Azzi leaned in, her breath warm against Paige’s ear. “You wanna go home?”

Paige shook her head, her nose brushing Azzi’s cheek. “Not yet beautiful.”

The beat changed and something slower took its place. The unmistakable sound of “Lovers and Friends” echoing through the club speakers like a slow exhale, as the energy in the room changed. Around them, people softened as hips started to move slower, touches growing more intimate and loudness giving way to soft whispers as people’s flushed skin pressed against one another.

And in the middle of it all, was Azzi and Paige.

Without needing to be told and without breaking their rhythm, Azzi turned in Paige’s arms. Her back met Paige’s chest, and for a second, they just stood there to be close to one another. 

Then Azzi reached for Paige’s hands, guiding them around her waist. She let out the softest sigh, something just barely audible, as Paige’s arms wrapped around her and pulled her back. The way she did it wasn’t possessive. It was like Paige was just letting herself feel Azzi in this moment, letting herself fully realize that Azzi was real and hers.

They started to move as Azzi rolled her hips slowly, letting her body guide their movement, letting the beat dictate how she pressed into Paige. 

Paige followed her without thinking, without needing to really. She just swayed with her, melting against her back, their bodies moving like they’d done this a hundred times before.

But they hadn’t or at least not like this in public.

Not in the open where flashing strobe lights caught every one of their movements. As they let themselves be pulled into the haze of the club, the low ceiling of smoke and perfume and bass that made the world feel blurred, like they were underwater. 

Paige exhaled against the back of Azzi’s neck before dipping her head down and pressing a lingering kiss just beneath her ear. Azzi swallowed and she tilted her head to the side, giving Paige space, silently inviting more. So Paige kissed her again. Then again a little messier.

Still wrapped tightly around Azzi, Paige’s palms started to move. Azzi took one of them and put her hand palm on top of Paige’s, intertwining their fingers before sliding Paige’s hand upward, dragging it across the front of her own body.

She guided Paige’s hand to her chest, letting Paige settle there and palm her breast as her back pressed harder into her. Paige’s other hand followed suit, dragging down to Azzi’s stomach where Azzi’s fingers pressed on top of hers, applying just enough pressure to encourage her to explore.

Paige’s palms glided across every part of Azzi’s bare skin and Azzi breathed deeply through it all, her body responding to every touch. When Paige’s fingers ghosted over the curve of her hip and slid lower, Azzi’s legs spread subtly, letting her press against her thighs, giving silent permission in everything she did.

Azzi leaned her head back, resting it against Paige’s shoulder as her lips parted. For a moment Paige let herself close her eyes. She let herself fully relax and let her guard down to be in this moment with Azzi in a room full of people. She breathed Azzi in, felt every inch of Azzi’s skin pressing against her own and just let her feel.

She realized that right now, in this version of her life this was all she needed.

The song played on and Paige and Azzi danced like no one else in the room existed.

From the section tucked off to the side, Rae let out a whistle and Rickea gasped before laughing, clutching her chest while she playfully fanned her hand like the scene in front of them had her hot. While Cam grabbed DiJonai’s arm and pointed toward the dance floor.

Paige’s body was flush with Azzi’s back, her hands now confidently roaming, fingers splayed over Azzi’s abdomen, moving slowly as they followed the arc of each of her ribs down to her hips. Azzi’s breath hitched when Paige’s thumb dragged beneath the edge of her skirt to tease the soft skin there. She caught her own lip between her teeth, her fingers gripping Paige’s at the wrist to hold her there.

There were a few times where Azzi had to whisper something to herself. To remind herself to not grab Paige’s hand and slide it between her legs. Her thighs clenching a few times with thoughts of doing it. The ache she was feeling had been building all night, a buzzing heat that pressed into her everytime she rolled her hips, every time Paige dragged her lips along her neck.

It didn’t help that she could feel Paige’s restraint, too. The tension in her arms or the way her jaw flexed. How her hands would hesitate for too long in certain places, like she was barely holding herself back from touching Azzi in the middle of the club.

Azzi leaned back harder into her, pressing their bodies together. She felt like every inch of her needed Paige. Her back burned from the heat radiating off of Paige, her skin practically humming for her. Paige dipped her head down again, her lips grazing Azzi’s shoulder, dragging across the curve of her neck with a kiss that barely connected.

Azzi’s breath stuttered and her knees almost buckled, so she turned in Paige’s arms to keep herself upright. Her hands slid up Paige’s arms as she turned, dragging her palms over the muscles she’d admired a hundred times but could never get enough of. Paige looked fucked up in the most beautiful way. Her hair was slightly tousled from the heat of the club and all their dancing, waves tumbling messily around her face. Her pale skin shimmered under the lights, accentuated by sweat and the liquor in her system.

The lilac sweats were lower on her hips from dancing and her black tank top stuck to her body in a way that made Azzi want to pull it off. She still smelled like her luxury cologne, having that soft bite of the vanilla Valentino that clung to her no matter how many hours they’d been out.

Azzi exhaled, shakily as she closed her eyes for a second.

“Wassup, beautiful,” Paige whispered, like she already knew Azzi was hers to have whenever she wanted.

Azzi didn’t say anything, she just stepped closer until her braids were brushing against Paige’s collarbones. Then she leaned up, brushing her lips against Paige’s ear. “You look so fucking good it hurts.”

Then, without warning, Azzi took Paige’s earlobe between her lips, she bit it before soothing it with her tongue and sucking on it gently.

Paige’s hands flexed at Azzi’s hips.

Azzi let go and smiled against Paige’s cheek as she leaned back far enough to see the reaction on Paige’s face. The look in Paige’s eyes made her thighs press together again to search for friction involuntarily.

Her breath hitched when Paige’s hand slid to the back of her thigh, her fingertips grazing her skin deliberately. Even as the hem of her skirt was adjusted back into place, Azzi felt so much in such a simple touch. It was possessive in the softest way. Then Paige’s hand was at her jaw, her thumb and index finger guiding her chin up with a softness that made Azzi’s heart stutter.

It always did. For all the strength in Paige’s arms, all the bite in her personality, she never handled Azzi with anything less than gentleness. Even now, completely drunk off liquor, with heat pulsing between their bodies and sweat slicking their skin, Paige still touched her like she was something she needed to be gentle with. 

Paige leaned in close, her breath feathering across Azzi’s lips. “I can feel you dripping down your thighs for me.”

Azzi’s eyes fluttered shut for the briefest second at the words before Paige’s lips brushed hers to tease her before Azzi forced the space between them to vanish.

The kiss started slowly. Like they hadn’t been eye fucking each other from across the room. Like they weren’t on the verge of losing themselves in the middle of a packed club.

Paige’s lips moved against Azzi’s mouth with precision, coaxing a low moan from Azzi’s throat as their mouths opened wider. Their tongues met in soft, deliberate swipes, both of them tasting the night on each other: the drinks, the sweat, everything.

Azzi bit down on Paige’s bottom lip, just hard enough to make her groan into the kiss, and Paige returned the favor moments later, tugging on Azzi’s with her teeth before licking into her mouth again. Their tongues tangled making the kiss wet as they kept the pace slow.

Azzi let her lips close around Paige’s tongue, sucking it into her mouth gently, her fingers curling into the sides of Paige’s tank top. She could feel the subtle flex of Paige’s abs under her fingers.

Eventually, Azzi pulled back, and the sound that came when their lips parted was almost as obscene as the kiss itself. Paige’s mouth was swollen, the glossy sheen of Azzi’s lipgloss smeared across her lips.

Azzi caught her breath, and with a smirk, she raised her thumb to Paige’s mouth. Gently wiping the smudged lip color from her lips, dragging her thumb slowly across the bottom one on purpose. Paige’s jaw was slightly parted, her eyes soft and locked on Azzi like she was seeing the stars for the first time.

At that moment, she looked completely in love.

Azzi had seen every version of Paige. The secretly cocky one, the closed-off one, the one who could barely breathe through panic; but this version, the tender version who looked at her like the world disappeared around them? That version broke something open in Azzi every single time.

Paige opened her mouth like she was about to speak, her voice catching in her throat. “Azzi baby…”

Azzi tilted her head, keeping her hand on Paige’s face. “Yes?”

Paige hesitated for half a second, her throat working as she swallowed down words she wasn’t sure she was brave enough to say out loud yet and replaced them with something else as she whispered over the bass of the music, “Lemme take you home. I needa taste you before I lose my mind, baby.”

Azzi smiled faintly at this, her lashes fluttering as she tilted her head to the side. “I want another drink first.”

Paige couldn’t help but shake her head and chuckle a little, already clocking the look Azzi gave her when she was being a brat on purpose. Still even though she noticed, with a soft exhale, Paige reached into her pocket and pulled out a fifty. She held it between her index and middle fingers, letting it dangle as she said, “One more.”

Azzi pouted, pursing her lips as she leaned closer. “Maybe two?” As she said this she traced her finger over the waistline of Paige’s boxers.

Paige just looked at her, dropping her eyes to Azzi’s hand before looking back up and saying, “I’ll think about it.”

Azzi smiles as she kisses Paige’s lips before walking away knowing Paige was watching as she swapped her hips making the hem of her skirt shift with every step she took. Paige had to blink a few times just to ground herself, resisting the urge to follow her before going toward the section.

When she got there, Paige pulled out a small stack of cash and counted out more than enough to cover the night. She handed it to Dijonai. “Use that when y’all ready.”

Dijonai raised an eyebrow, her gaze moving between the money and the flush that still lingered on Paige’s cheeks and neck. She took the bills without saying anything. “Say less. See y’all at home.”

When Paige turned back around, she saw exactly what she expected, somebody had slid up next to Azzi at the bar. Some girl in a denim button-up and a chain that was definitely fake. She was saying something that might have sounded nice in her head, but Azzi didn’t bother hiding her disinterest. Her body language couldn’t have been clearer and Paige liked that.

Paige made a quick stop on the way, grabbing a shot off a server’s tray and tossing it back, the liquor burning down her throat as she handed her a twenty.

As Paige walked across the floor, the bass from the speakers seemed to sync with the heat rushing through her bloodstream. That last shot hit fast, like it bypassed everything else and went straight to her chest, igniting a fresh wave of warmth that spread outward. Her cheeks flushed deeper, her eyes becoming more hooded, like each blink was slower than the last.

Azzi was perched on the edge of the barstool, with one leg crossed over the other, her black mini skirt riding high enough that Paige groaned on sight, her boxers getting warmer. Azzi’s braids were still swept to one side causing her neck to be exposed and glowing underneath the club lights. Paige’s gaze raked over the soft curve of her thighs, the glint of sweat that caught under the flashing strobes, the shape of her features even from behind.

Azzi felt Paige before she heard her. Felt the heat radiating off of her, smelled her cologne that was distinctly Paige in her brain so without hesitating, she leaned back into the body behind her with a grin like she’d been waiting.

Paige leaned in, keeping her eyes locked on the woman next to Azzi like she wasn’t worth real attention. “Why can’t I ever leave you alone for two seconds?”

Azzi tilted her head smiling back at Paige. “It’s cause I’m pretty baby.”

Before Paige could respond, the woman next to Azzi, the one still trying to linger in a conversation that never started, spoke up. “Damn she didn’t seem taken a minute ago. That’s you? ”

A few months ago, Paige would’ve had something to say back to that. Her jaw would’ve tightened and she would’ve said something that caused an unnecessary scene.”

But today Paige just leaned lower, letting her hand slide around Azzi’s neck to angle her face toward her, guiding her like she should’ve been looking at her in the first place.

When she was satisfied with the angle Paige kissed her. It was a messy kiss, as her lips parted lazily as she tasted Azzi like she’d been starving all night. Azzi opened her mouth for her, sucking her tongue into her mouth before biting her bottom lip and pulling it back into her mouth with a quiet moan that Paige swallowed. Paige hummed into it, tightening her hand slightly as she bit Azzi’s lip right back.

Azzi smirked against her mouth before pulling away, a thin spit line stretching between them as her head stayed tipped back in Paige’s hand.. Paige brought her thumb to Azzi’s mouth and wiped away the glisten of spit delicately.

“Finish your drink so we can go,” Paige said plainly.

Azzi nodded up at her, obediently and that quiet submission made something in Paige tighten.

She swallowed around it, her throat moving visibly as her eyes lingered on Azzi’s face. She looked so soft, so ready to do whatever Paige wanted. Paige didn’t know which version of Azzi messed her up more. The one who talked back and tested her on purpose, or the one who looked up at her like this, pliant and completely trusting, like she was already halfway home.

It was a dumb comparison, really. A pointless one because Paige loved every version of her girlfriend. Every look. Every mood. Every part of Azzi Fudd made her ache in a way she’d never known she could feel.

Instead of blurting out something too big, something that had been sitting on the edge of her tongue for what felt like months she stepped forward.

Paige wrapped her arms around Azzi from behind, tucking her face into the crook of Azzi’s neck. She pressed her lips softly against warm skin, then another. One was beneath her ear, the other one lower, just above her collarbone.

“You smell so fucking good,” she whispered, brushing her nose against Azzi’s neck. “So beautiful. Every time I look at you I forget how to breathe, I swear you’re the most perfect woman I ever met.”

Azzi let out a soft hum, sipping her drink while Paige’s voice curled around her.

Paige didn’t rush her to finish her drink, she just held her. Kissed her softly. Spent time whispering the softest compliments she could fathom instead of whispering what she couldn’t say out loud for the first time in a club in LA. She knew the moment was coming but not here.

[dark-night-hero]

Imagine being Zayne's non-mc significant other. part2

Imagine growing up, Zayne has never been the loudest in a room. He was more of a constant quiet yet present and warm person other could lean on into. He doesn't speak often but when he does, people listen. Especially you, his lover. The one who loved him before he even knew how to love himself.

Imagine the way he watched you across the room as the two of you where now separated by a small sea of people. His eyes out of habit looked and found you. He knew that look on your face, the kind of face that others would mistake as absentmindedness but he knew that look. But he recognized the way your brows softened when you are lost in your own thoughts. He knew you were thinking. About him, maybe. About what you two have.

Imagine the way he smile softly to himself, even as he turned back to the conversation. As a joke passed around the group, he let out a small laugh, not forced, but not full either. And then something caught his attention. A familiar laugh rang out from somewhere in the room. It was bright and child like, MC. She had always laughed like that, ever since they were kids. Zayne didn't need to turn his head to know where it came from. He already knew.

Imagine she had been under his care for a while now. Her recovery had been long but she was making progress. She was strong, even if she didn't believe it. And he? He was protective of her. Not in a romantic way, but in the way that an older brother might be for a younger sibling. But that didn't stop people from speculating. The familiarity between them, the shared glances of old memories they painted as a picture, people misunderstood too easily.

Imagine, he hated that you, his lover had to see that. Especially when he caught your eyes again. Your friend was sitting next to you speaking softly. He couldn't hear what your guys were saying, but the tension in your posture told him more than words ever could. Then you look at him. No, past him before looking away. That hurt more than he expected.

Imagine Zayne love you with everything he had. From the quiet moments to the loud. From the days were you two barely spoke to the nights were he held you like a lifeline. He love you. He never said it as much as he should have, but it was always there in his actions. The way he picked up your favorite drink on his way home. The way he listened to your ramble about your day even when his own had left him drained. The way his hand always found yours under the table, steady and sure.

Imagine he knew something had shifted. Not his love. Never his love. But your trust.

Imagine he knew what it looked like. The way his eyes drifted when MC laughed. The way he softened around her. But what no one else saw, what you did not seem to realize was that it wasn't love. It was duty. About family. MC was a girl he grew up with, a patient he'd watched fight her demons tooth and nail. She was a reminder, not a desire.

Imagine, he saw it in your eyes, the creeping doubt. The belief that you were nothing but a second place to someone who wasn't even playing the same game. That realization shattered him. He remembered the conversation you two had once, late at night, your head on his chest. "Do you think you could ever love someone more than you love me?" You asked, not accusing or something, just plain curiosity.

Imagine the way he had pulled you closer, kissing the crown of your head and saying "No, there's no one else for me. Only you.” He meant it. He still meant it. But something had crept in between the two of your lately. An invisible wall neither of you had placed but both felt. It was born from the silence. From the misunderstandings. From him not being careful enough with the way others saw his kindness, and you being too quiet about how much it hurt.

Imagine watching you smile faintly at a conversation you aren't really in, Zayne felt a pang of guilt. Not because he had done anything wrong but because he hadn't done enough to make you feel safe. Loved. Chosen.

Imagine the way he wanted to cross the room. Sit beside you. Take your hand in his and whisper 'It's only ever been you.' But the timing never seemed right and maybe, you wouldn’t believe it anymore. So he stayed seated. Eyes lingering just a little too long. Not on MC. But on you. The one who had seen him. Chosen him. And loved him with a kind of quiet bravery that both terrified and humbled him.

Imagine the way he swore to himself that he'd stop being silent. Stop letting the shadows of old relationships or misunderstood bond blurs the truth. He was yours. And he'll prove it, every day from here on out.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2025°

:happy ending? Not quite. Sorry it took so long, I was playing valorant and was editing everytime I died.

[chxseversion]

PLEASE DON’T LEAVE||

Summary: just Oscar’s girlfriend posting multiple posts in one day begging him not to leave her (he’s going to media day and she’s got a cold at the hotel)

Warnings: flirty comments, Fake flirting in comments, Oscars girlfriend being crazy, pure silliness,

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

YourInstaName • posted 45 minutes ago

Liked by OscarPiastri and others

YourInstaName Back when he still loved me… now i just cough up my lungs and cry when i try to talk :(((

view all comments

User45 what?

LandoNorris god damn… and to think you two were so cute

✸ YourInstaName right? i don’t know where i went wrong

✸ LandoNorris i’ll yell at him for you

User46 if he actually broke up with her im taking her side

User47 she’s right. he’s wrong. end of story

Mclaren cope. we need him to do his job

HattieP he’s a idiot. I’LL DATE YOU!!!!

✸ OscarPiastri stop trying to date my girlfriend

User48 i just know she’s got some silly little reason behind this and it makes total sense. your in the wrong @OscarPiastri

✸ OscarPiastri please don’t encourage her

OscarPiastri i never stopped (slide 2 is me right now)

✸ YourInstaName YOU HATE ME!!!!

✸ OscarPiastri i could never hate you love

YourInstaName • posted 40 minutes ago

Liked by Mclaren and others

YourInstaName @Mclaren GIVE ME MY LOVER BOY BACK!!!!!

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User45 i’m still confused but the Oscar photos are legendary

Mclaren no! :|

HattieP it’s okay, i’ll look after you now

✸ YourInstaName my new fav Piastri (after Mama P)

✸ HattieP of course

User46 why do i feel like she has about 400 photos of him and now what’s an excuse to use them?

OscarPiastri when did you take the 2nd photo?

✸ YourInstaName the time i took the photo

User47 the 3rd slide is actually such a good shot

❤️ liked by original creator

User48 oh to say ‘Nah. YourName is my girlfriend’

✸ OscarPiastri she’s mine. back off

LandoNorris I LOVE THIS SO MUCH!!!!

✸ YourInstaName i’m about to yell at you

✸ LandoNorris i no love this anymore

YourInstaName • posted 30 minutes ago

Liked by OscarPiastri and others

YourInstaName missing my lover boy. Times are hard without him and i deeply wish to have him back but we can’t always have what we want. I had to learn that the moment i lost him. My heart is deeply broken but at least i had the memories with him.

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OscarPiastri IM NOT DEAD!!!

✸ YourInstaName it’s almost like he’s still with us at times

✸ OscarPiastri i give up

LandoNorris your an icon

User45 the fact he mentioned the reason behind these in his interview and everyone laughed

Mclaren damn… well keep him then

User46 she’s so crazy she’s coping by imagining he’s dead

User47 R.I.P Oscar Piastri. you’ll be missed

❤️ liked by original creator

✸ YourInstaName he will be missed dearly :(

HattieP oh well come and let me love you now

✸ YourInstaName yay!

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Your phone started to ring through the hotel. A single cough was let out as you reached for it and saw ‘osc 🧡’ as the name and a small smile graced your face. The green phone was pressed and before greetings could even be said he started to talk.

“post something that’s crazy. Mclaren admin won’t let me go home and i really want to be home” He explained while whispering through the phone like he wasn’t meant to be speaking over the phone at this very minute in time. “Use whatever pics you want. Just post something with a very ‘you’ caption and don’t worry”

With his words he hung up, you staring at your phone in pure confusion but also thinking what you could post to get Mclaren to let him come home, the hotel that was dark yet comfy, a message popped up seconds later from him ‘love you pretty girl ❤️’.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

YourInstaName • Posted 20 minutes ago

Liked by OscarPiastri and others

YourInstaName I NEED THIS MAN BIBLICALLY. like everyday, any angel. Just NEED HIM.

view all comments

Mclaren you can have him back now as long as we can get you PR training?

✸ YourInstaName sure

User45 the fact that it was probably a trick to get him back but she’s speaking all out truths is crazy

User46 she knows what’s up

LandoNorris GET YOUR MAN BACK BESTIE!!!

✸ YourInstaName sometimes just gotta cause a little bit of chaos to get what you want (i want him)

HattieP EWWWWWW!!!!! THATS MY BROTHER!!!!!

✸ OscarPiastri should have told her to post these at the beginning then

User47 SPEAK THE TRUTH EVERYONE GIRLY

❤️ liked by original creator

OscarPiastri of course love. on my way

✸ YourInstaName ahhhh!!!! MY FINE AS MAN!!!!!

✸ ✸ User48 her freaking out over him is the same as the edits people create of him

✸ ✸ ✸ YourInstaName i know. i have 200 favourites on tiktok in a folder (no shame)

User49 she knows what she got and she’s gonna take it

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

A/N: thanks to those who made it through. the next post should have more of a plot line not just pure chaos cause i wanted to make it without a structured plot.

[nekonaps0]

Is Your Girl Single? pt2

✦part1

✦characters: second years + Trey Clover, Rook Hunt, Lilia Vanrouge

✦fem!reader

Ruggie Bucchi

The question barely leaves the guy’s mouth when Ruggie freezes mid bite of his sandwich. His ears twitch. His entire posture goes still… calculating.

“...Huh?”

He turns his head, blinking innocently. Smile sharp, saccharine.

“You askin’ if my girlfriend is single?”

The tone is polite. Dangerously so. The gleam in his eyes says he’s already planning your funeral… and billing you for the shovel.

“So lemme get this straight. You saw her with me. Me walkin’ next to her. Me carryin’ her bag. Holding her hand and everything. And you still asked if she’s single?”

Ruggie laughs. Loudly. Then leans in, voice low:

“She’s about as single as a prey guarded by twenty hyenas. Try your luck, though. I could use a new pair of shoes. Buy her something nice, shehe~”

Later, he teases you with a grin:

“Oi, next time someone tries to flirt, can I charge a fee? Love tax?”

Jamil Viper

Jamil’s halfway through stirring tea when someone taps him and casually asks if his girlfriend is single. He doesn’t react right away.

In fact, he keeps stirring, slow and methodical.

“What did you say?”

He sets the spoon down with a faint clink, then turns to face the fool with the calmness of a man about to commit murder.

“No. She’s not. And it’s incredibly disrespectful to ask me that. Especially when you know I’m with her.”

He smiles, but there’s nothing warm about it. His magic coils subtly around his fingers, crackling faintly.

“Would you like a demonstration of how un-single she is?”

The person backs off, flustered. Jamil brushes imaginary dust from his jacket, then walks over to you, casually slipping a hand into yours like it’s second nature.

“You’d tell me if someone was bothering you, right? Good. I don’t like when idiots causing trouble”

Jade Leech

The poor soul who asks Jade this question never stood a chance.

Jade hears it, smiles kindly, and tilts his head just slightly to the side like a curious bird.

“My girlfriend? Ah… you’re asking if she’s single?” He cracks a low chuckle “she’s taken. It’s a bold question. Reckless, even.”

His smile widens. The hallway seems colder now.

“Let me clarify something.” He leans in, voice velvet and venom “She is very spoken for. In fact, I daresay I’d go to extreme lengths for her. So if you were thinking of pursuing her… well. You wouldn’t get far.”

He stands up straight again, that elegant Octavinelle charm shining through.

“But truly… thank you for your interest. It’s good to know I’ve chosen someone so desirable.”

Later, you get a bouquet of mushrooms and a handwritten note that reads:

“They see what I see. But they’ll never have it.”

Floyd Leech

Oh dear. You know this is gonna be chaos.

The second Floyd hears someone ask if his Shrimpy is single, his head whips around so fast he nearly throws out his shoulder.

“HAAAAH?! What’d you just say about Shrimpy???” He leaned closer to the poor guy

“You CURIOUS if she’s single?! That’s like asking if the sun’s up when it’s burning your face off!!”

He lunges, and the poor person flinches as Floyd grabs them by the collar, holding them just an inch off the ground.

“Shrimpy’s off to the table. Got it?! I’ll squeeze anyone who tries to fish in my part of the ocean.”

Eventually, Jade has to slink over and gently pull Floyd off with an exasperated sigh.

“Floyd, we talked about threatening potential suitors with violence…”

Later, Floyd throws an arm around you and buries his nose in your hair.

“You’re not allowed to look that cute. I’m gonna have to scare off every fish in the sea~”

Trey Clover

Trey blinks slowly. He was in the middle of baking club prep when someone sidled up to him and casually asked if you were single.

He sets down the bowl of batter and wipes his hands calmly on a towel.

“You mean… my girlfriend?”

There’s a long pause.

Trey gives a warm, polite chuckle but his eyes don’t match the smile.

“Huh. That’s interesting.”

He walks closer.

“You know, I try to be a nice. Understanding. Patient.”

“But you just asked if my girlfriend is single. While she’s dating me. That’s kinda rude.”

He folds his arms and leans in slightly.

“Look. She’s not single. She’s with me. Happily. If she wanted someone else, she wouldn’t be mine to begin with. But she is.”

Later, he offers you a cupcake with heart shaped sprinkles and a soft smile.

“You’re the sweetest thing in my life. I’m not letting anyone else have a bite.”

Rook Hunt

Rook was admiring you from a distance when someone made the grave mistake of walking up to him, all casual, hands in pockets, and asked

“Hey, that girl you’re always with… she single?”

He doesn't speak at first. Just gasps…loudly. A hand goes to his chest as if he’s been shot with a poetic bullet.

“Oh là là… you ask if ma chère is single?”

His eyes glitter with disbelief and drama as he paces in a small circle like a detective processing a scene.

“You ask this while I am but a few paces from her, eyes fixed upon her like a hunter to his mark? You ask this while the sun itself dares not shine as brightly as her smile?”

You try to intervene, but it’s too late. He’s in full monologue mode.

“She is not single. She is mine, and I am hers. In this vast world of fleeting glances and hollow hearts, she chose me, and I have vowed to protect and worship that affection.”

Then he turns to the poor soul with a sharp smile, eyes glittering like polished steel.

“If your heart seeks to chase her, beware. I do not miss my mark.”

Later, he takes your hand, kisses your knuckles, and whispers in your ear

“Even if the world lined up to win your heart, my dear, I would stand at the front with a bow in one hand… and your name on my lips.”

Lilia Vanrouge

Ah, the moment the question is asked, Lilia smiles, eyes narrowing just enough to hide the centuries of wisdom and mischief behind them.

“Is she single? Hoh? That’s quite the bold question for someone still breathing.”

He chuckles softly, tilting his head.

“Why do you ask? Planning to woo her away from me?”

The guy started to mumbling excuses, clearly feeling uncomfortable under Lilia gaze.

“Ahhh, I see, I see. Well, allow me to clarify…”

Suddenly, the temperature drops. A strange aura surrounds him. Shadows flicker at his heels.

“The moment she chose me, I made a vow, I must protect her through centuries, even if the kingdoms fall. And I take down anyone who try to take her away from me…”

Then he breaks the tension with a cheeky grin and a wink.

“But do try. I haven’t cursed anyone in weeks.”

Later, when you're walking together, he casually puts his arm around your waist and hums:

“Imagine thinking you’re single. I suppose I’ll have to kiss you more often in public so there’s no confusion, hmm~?”

………………………………………………………………………….

[readreidsworld]

Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: Spencer gets released from prison and decides he can no longer live another day without you by his side

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You didn’t cry in front of anyone not once. Not JJ, not Emily. Not even Garcia when she pulled you into a thousand hugs during those first few weeks after Spencer was taken into custody.

You couldn’t afford to fall apart. Because if you did who would be strong for him?

You visited every chance you could. You kept your voice steady when you spoke to him, even when his eyes looked so tired and haunted you could barely breathe. You told him about new cases, updates from Garcia, how Henry was doing in school. You wore your best smiles and never let him see the ache.

But behind closed doors , You curled up in his cardigan. You sobbed into your pillow.

You clutched the mug he used every morning like it was a lifeline.

And when you were alone in your car outside the prison, after another too short visit, you’d scream just to let it out. The fear, the rage, the heartbreak.

Because he didn’t deserve this.

And you missed him. God, you missed him so much.

When Spencer finally walked out of prison, he barely made it five feet before you were in his arms.

He’d grown thinner. Tired. But his arms still fit around you like home. You kissed his face, over and over, whispering how proud you were, how strong he’d been, how much you loved him.

“I’m here, I’m here, I’m here,” you kept whispering, like if you said it enough, you could make the pain disappear for both of you.

He didn’t say much that first day. He just kept touching you your hand, your cheek, your hair like he couldn’t believe you were real. Every time he looked away, his fingers found their way back to you. And every time you looked at him, he was already looking at you.

You stayed home for a few days after his release. The two of you didn’t leave the apartment once. You cooked for him, let him pick the shows, read together in bed. You held him when he had nightmares and never let go.

One morning, you found him standing by the window before sunrise, staring out with tears in his eyes.

You wrapped your arms around him from behind, pressing your cheek into his back.

“I’m okay,” he whispered. “I just… I don’t know what to do with all this freedom. But I do know one thing.”

You turned him around slowly, hands on his waist. “What’s that?”

“I’m never letting them take me from you again.” His voice cracked. “I wasted so much time thinking I had more time. But nothing is promised.”

“Spence—”

He dropped to one knee.

“I don’t have a ring,” he said quickly, nervously. “I was going to wait, to make it special. But I can’t wait anymore. I don’t want to waste another second. I need to know you’ll always be mine, because I am already yours.”

Tears welled in your eyes as your hands flew to your mouth.

“Will you marry me, right now? Today? Just us if you want, or the whole team, I don’t care. I just want to be your husband. Please?”

You knelt down in front of him, hands trembling as you cupped his face. “Yes,” you whispered. “Yes, yes, of course, Spencer. I’ve been yours for years.”

Two hours later, in Rossi’s garden you were getting married.

Garcia wore a crown of fake flowers and sobbed through the entire thing.

Rossi stood in the back with a soft smile.

You wore a simple white dress Emily had rushed to grab from her closet, and Spencer wore his best shirt the one you’d gotten him for his birthday last year.

The vows weren’t fancy. They weren’t rehearsed. They were spoken between tears and laughter, whispered promises, and forehead kisses.

When he said “I do,” Spencer looked at you like the sun had finally come out after the longest winter of his life.

And when he kissed you, you knew you’d never have to be strong alone again. Not anymore.

You were home.

He was free.

And you were finally his wife.

Forever.

The first night in prison, Spencer lay awake with your name in his mouth like a prayer.

The bunk was hard, the air heavy. He could still feel your hug the way you held on just a second longer when they led him away. You were trying to be strong. You were always trying to be strong. He hated that he made you need to be.

He kept your face in his head like a reel. The little squint you did when you smiled. The way your hands shook when you were overwhelmed but you always pretended they weren’t. The way you kissed his temple when you thought he was asleep.

He hated that he couldn’t protect you from this.

But worse he hated that you couldn’t protect him from it either.

You came to see him every chance they let you. Dressed in neat clothes, hair pulled back, smiles in place. At first, he thought you were okay.

But Spencer had studied you too long to miss the cracks.

Your eyes were always red-rimmed. You looked thinner. Tired.

And sometimes, when you’d talk about your day, your voice would catch just slightly like you were choking on words you weren’t saying. Like I cried last night or I had a panic attack in the shower or I miss you so much it hurts to breathe.

But you smiled anyway. For him.

You were always strong. For him.

And that’s what broke his heart the most.

He counted days in letters.

You’d leave little notes tucked into books you brought him. One liners. Inside jokes. Sentences that barely filled the margins but filled his chest instead.

“I wore your cardigan all week.”

“Garcia says hi and also to tell you she cried during a cat video yesterday.”

“I love you more today than I did yesterday, somehow.”

He would lie on his bunk and reread them like scripture. Because if he thought too long about what you were going through without him if he imagined you curled up alone in your apartment, trying to breathe without breaking he wasn’t sure he’d survive it.

When they told him he was getting out, he didn’t believe it.

When they put him in clean clothes, when they walked him out the gates, his legs barely moved. Every step felt like waking from a coma.

And then he saw you.

You were standing there in a soft sweater, eyes full of tears. And suddenly the weight lifted all at once. It was over. He was free. You were real.

You threw your arms around him and kissed him like the world was ending.

He clung to you like it just started again.

Back home, he couldn’t stop touching you.

Not in a possessive way. Just… grounding. His fingers in your hair. Your palm against his chest. Knees pressed together on the couch. Your heartbeat was the only thing that kept the dizziness at bay.

That first night, when he woke up gasping, you were already sitting up beside him.

“I’ve got you,” you whispered. You were crying. “You’re safe. You’re home.”

He nodded, but the guilt curled in his chest. Because you were still carrying it all. You still weren’t sleeping. And it hit him like a flood:

He never wanted to put you through that again.

The next morning, he stood by the window and watched the sky change color. You were asleep in bed, tangled in his shirt, peaceful for once. And it was there, in that quiet, that it clicked.

He needed to marry you.

He needed to make it real needed to tether himself to you in the only way he knew how. Not because he thought you’d leave. But because he needed to stay. Permanently. Legally. Eternally.

He didn’t have a ring. He didn’t have a plan. He barely had himself back together.

But he had love. And he had you.

That was enough.

“I don’t want to wait anymore,” he said, voice shaking as he knelt in front of you.

You gasped, eyes wide and shining.

“I want to be your husband,” he said. “Please. Let’s get married today. I can’t be away from you again. I won’t survive it.”

Tears spilled down your cheeks as you dropped to your knees and kissed him, laughing through it.

“Yes,” you whispered. “Yes, Spencer. A million times, yes.”

A few hours later, surrounded by the team, he stood in Rossi’s garden in front of you in a borrowed tie and his best shirt.

You held his hands with that same steady strength you always gave him. But now he could see the relief in your smile.

He wasn’t going anywhere.

When he said “I do,” he meant it in every way possible.

I do choose you.

I do love you.

I do promise never to make you suffer alone again.

When he kissed you, he finally exhaled.

He was yours.

You were his.

And the rest of his life could finally begin.

Spencer had been nervous walking back into the BAU after prison. But walking in with you, as his wife?

That felt… different. Softer. Full circle.

The elevator doors opened and there you were, fingers laced through his, wedding bands glinting under the fluorescent lights like tiny flashes of rebellion against everything the last year had thrown at you both.

Your badge still sat proudly on your hip. His hung newly reissued around his neck.

And your last name, now officially hyphenated with Reid, looked absolutely perfect in the updated Bureau directory.

The bullpen was already buzzing when you walked in case files being shuffled, Garcia talking a mile a minute to Luke over speakerphone but the moment JJ looked up, everything came to a halt.

“Oh my god” she gasped, standing so fast her chair rolled back.

You barely had a second to respond before she rushed around her desk and threw her arms around both of you. “You actually did it!”

“We did ,” you said, grinning. “Last night in Rossi’s garden.”

“With me crying,” Garcia added, appearing suddenly from behind a potted plant like a pastel fairy godmother. “Like, aggressively crying.”

Rossi was next. He gave Spencer a smile, followed by a firm handshake and a pat on the shoulder. “Welcome home. Both of you.”

Emily held your hands up, examining your simple, shining bands. “You two are disgustingly adorable. I hope you know that.”

“They know,” Luke said with a smirk. “They haven’t stopped smiling since they walked in.”

“We haven’t stopped smiling since the wedding,” you corrected.

Spencer just stood beside you, beaming. It was different from the smile he wore for press conferences or lectures. This was his softest smile. The one only you got to see most of the time. Except now? He didn’t care who saw it.

You were his wife. And he was proud.

Later that morning, Garcia showed up in the briefing room with a PowerPoint titled:

Operation: Welcome Back, Dr. and Agent Reid

It had confetti animations. There were cupcakes. A picture slideshow of you and Reid. JJ and Emily brought in a cake shaped like a stack of books. And someone probably Garcia hung up a ridiculous “JUST MARRIED (AND STILL BADASS FBI AGENTS )” banner across the whiteboard.

You and Spencer sat close during the meeting. His hand stayed on your thigh the entire time under the table. Every time he looked at you, he felt that swell of quiet disbelief.

You were his partner in every way now. In life. In work. In love.

After the debrief, he turned toward you with a smile. “How long do you think it’ll take them to stop making heart eyes at us?”

You grinned. “Let’s hope never.”

He leaned in and whispered, “I love you, Mrs. Reid.”

You squeezed his hand. “I love you more, Dr. Reid.”

And just like that, the world after all its chaos, its heartbreak, its time apart finally felt right again.

Because no matter how dark things had gotten, the two of you made it back.

Together. Married. Whole.Back where you belonged.

[luveline]

can we have dad!steve where he doesn’t shave and r actually loves it? ty <3

thank you for requesting ❤︎ fem, 1k

“What are you looking at?” 

You duck your head. “Nothing,” you say, giving Avery a little scowl. “Why don’t you mind your business?” 

Completely unused to your aggression, Avery bursts into giggles and points at you. “Silly,” she says, kneeling by your feet. She grabs her Barbie from your lap and gives her a wiggle. “Why don’t you mind your manners?” she says through a pout. 

“Nosey girl.” Avery nearly landed you in hot water. You retrieve Dove’s Dotty Dolly from the floor and stand her in front of Barbie. “Don’t be such a tattle.” 

“I am not!” Avery denies. 

“Then let’s talk about something else.” 

“Like what?” 

“Like where ladybugs come from.” 

Avery’s eyes go wide and bright. “The dirt, mom.” 

You’re not ten minutes into a skit on ladybug-Barbie when another presence is making itself known beside you. “Hi,” Steve says, smile in his eyes as he crosses his legs beneath himself, sitting squarely left of you and right of Avery. 

“Hi, daddy.” 

Steve nods at her hands. “What are we playing?” 

“We’re doing Barbie as a ladybug-girl,” Avery says, leaning into Steve’s thigh. He rests a hand on her back and she begins to melt into his hold, until she’s folding funny across him and he’s hugging her shoulders. 

“That sounds fun,” he says. 

“Do you want to play?” 

“Please. But don’t cheap out on me, I want a Barbie with clothes and shoes.” 

Avery looks like she might roll her eyes. “Dad, none of them have shoes.” 

“I put all their shoes back on like, two days ago,” he says, his outrage lost to her hair as she shoves her face into his chest. Steve’s easy smile calms. “What’s the matter, baby?” he asks. “You need a nap?” 

Avery mumbles. 

Steve leans down to put his ear next to her lips. “What? Tell me again, honey.” 

Avery whispers into his ear. Steve glances at you from over her head, his face set in an expression you have trouble deciphering. He presses his nose to her hair, says, “Thank you for telling me.” 

“Wait, what’s wrong?” you ask. If Avery’s not feeling well, you want to know. 

Steve releases Avery from his hug and she gives you an owlish stare that clears things up for you quickly, worse when Steve says, “Oh, nothing, just– My Avery says you got a staring problem. Care to explain?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You catch Avery’s eye, mouthing ‘tattle’ as she giggles and flees the living room altogether. 

“Avery said you’re looking at me and asking her not to tell me.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “So. What gives?” 

You shrug and lean away from him, the top half of you coming to rest on the big bean bag that the girls use for naps. It flusters beneath you. 

Steve leans back too. Your eyes love the cut of his t-shirt and the jeans hugging his legs, his pink-kitty socks and his hair curling at the nape of his neck. But the thing you like most, the thing that’s caught your attention all day, to your own surprise, is the dark stubble around his mouth. Steve has a ‘stache, and you don’t want him to know how much you like it. 

So weird. The girls hate it because it makes their kisses scratchy, but you don’t mind it. Didn’t mind it on your neck last night, and won’t mind when he kisses your cheek at dinner. If he showers tonight he’ll probably shave, too, and you won’t mind, you like him clean shaven. He always has been. 

Who knew he could find new things for you to crush on? 

Steve lowers his voice. “What, are you, like, pent up?” he asks with a laugh. 

You shove his knee with your foot until he grabs your ankle. “Shh!” you laugh. “No, I’m not, thank you very much. You think you’re such a lady killer.” 

“Well, you like me,” he says. 

“That’s astute. How’ve you worked that one out?” 

“Oh, you’re funny,” he says, pulling at your leg, dragging it over his. He pulls at you until you’re splayed over his lap, giggling at your limpness and the quiet thump of your head on the rug as you go flat. Gentle, he works his hands behind your back, leans in, and gathers you into his arms. One minute you’re laying down and then done, there, you’re in his lap. 

“Steve…” you say, laughing, letting your hands rest on his hips. 

“Let me look at you,” he says, lifting his chin. 

You stay very still. 

He rubs the small of your back with his knuckles as his eyes flit from one plane of your face to another. You shift a little when your knees begin to protest, but Steve doesn’t flinch, waiting for you to settle again before he meets your eyes. “Why were you staring at me?” he asks finally.

“I think you look handsome today,” you confess. 

“Really?” 

“Mm-hm. I like this,” you say, raising a finger to his lip. You touch the hair there and draw a line down to his chin. “The last time you grew out your scruff I didn’t like it, remember? But I don’t know. I sort of love it.” You press your forehead to his chin, then, fingers tied up in his t-shirt. 

You’d forgotten you weren’t gonna tell him. 

Steve doesn’t make fun of you. He presses a kiss like a light touch to your cheek, hand on the small of your back encouraging you closer to him. 

“That’s why you’re staring?” he asks. 

“No, I don’t know. I guess I wanted you to kiss me.” 

“I can kiss you. You don’t have to want it without saying anything,” he admonishes, bemusement in his voice and the slip of his fingers running under your t-shirt to tickle your lower back. 

You straighten up from his touch and he chases you for a kiss.

“Scratchy,” you murmur into his mouth. 

Smile to smile, Steve kisses you soundly, laughs against you, the itch of his nice-silly moustache under your nose. You almost sneeze. 

“I can get rid of it,” he says. 

Oh, honey, you nearly say, laughing into his cheek. “I like it, just, your girls don’t handle change well.” 

“They’ll get used to it,” he says surely, though you both know he’ll be in the bathroom with a razor and a rag the next time one of his girls refuses a kiss.

[whenstarsundress]

the café was louder than usual. music playing, espresso machines hissing and the table of guys next to yours getting rowdier by the minute. you tried to laugh through it with your best friend. tried to ignore how their voices kept getting closer, how their comments got bolder. until one of them pulled up a chair uninvited.

“didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” he said, grinning like he absolutely had, “but i couldn’t help noticing how cute you are when you laugh.”

your smile died. “i’m not interested.”

your best friend gave him a death glare. “she has a boyfriend.”

the guy just laughed ugly. “then he must be a fool to let you out alone.”

your heart started to pound. you slipped your phone under the table, fingers flying across the screen.

sylus. elm café. group of guys won’t leave us alone. please come now. i’m scared.

his reply came within seconds.

on my way. don’t say another word to them.

but one of them leaned in again, fingers brushing the table just inches from yours. “so what’s he like, huh? bigger than me? tougher? come on, baby, don’t be shy.”

you flinched. then the café door opened. you didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. the entire room seemed to feel it, like the temperature dropped ten degrees in a second.

sylus walked in with quiet and lethal calm. black coat buttoned up, expression unreadable. his gaze landed on you, and didn’t leave. he came to your side, slow and deliberate, like a storm winding up.

“you okay?” he asked you softly.

you nodded, but your hand trembled when you reached for his.

he turned to the guy still being way too close. “back up.”

the guy sneered. “who the hell are you?”

your man didn’t answer. he didn’t need to. the look in his dark eyes was a warning enough. but another one of them laughed from their table and called out,

“come on, bro, share with us. don’t be greedy.”

the entire café went still. sylus blinked once, like he hadn’t quite heard that right. you felt it first, the absolute stillness and the tensing of muscles. the kind that settles over predators right before they strike.

he leaned forward, his voice turned into velvet-wrapped steel. “she’s not yours to share. she’s not mine to share. she’s not a thing. she’s my woman. and if you ever speak to her like that again, you won’t walk out of here.”

the guy scoffed like he wanted to argue until sylus stepped forward and the entire table backed up.

“you think you’re scary or something?” the first guy muttered, weaker now.

sylus tilted his head, gaze calm but cutting. “no. i don’t think. i know.” he looked to you. “come on, angel. let’s go.”

you slipped into his side instantly, grabbing your best friend’s hand on the way out. he didn’t say another word or looked back. he kept one firm hand on the small of your back until the door shut behind you.

outside sylus called a cab for your best friend. the silence was thick and your heart was still thundering. after saying goodbye to your friend, sylus lead you to his car.

inside, his fingers were still tight around the wheel, and his jaw clenched tightly.

you reached for his hand. “i’m okay now.”

he finally looked at you, like he had to see you to believe it. his voice came low, soft but hoarse. “you should’ve never been put in that position.”

“you came,” you whispered. “that’s what matters.”

he leaned in and kissed your forehead softly. “you’re not a toy. you’re not a prize. you’re mine, but that’s not possession, angel. that’s protection. and i’ll protect you from anything. anyone.”

you smiled gently. “even idiots in coffee shops?”

he smirked, but only a little. “especially them.” then his voice dropped a little lower, laced with something darker. “if i ever hear someone speak about you like that again, i won’t just walk out.”

and for a moment, the car felt like it belonged to something dangerous, something terrifying. but completely yours.