#there and is practically unreachable

[pathsofoak]

I tried to build Justin's house/farm in the Sims last night and I regret to announce its mental image in my head breaks the laws of physics and therefore it cannot be visualized

[red-moon-at-night]

Excerpt from Epithalamy of Helen/Idyll XVIII by Theocritus (translation by Neil Hopkinson)

[coochiequeens]

I've posted many times before about how surrogacy exploits vulnerable women and turns their babies into commodities. This article is about the impact of the fertility industry on the children themselves.

‘I slept with my half-sibling’: Woman’s horror story reflects loosely regulated nature of US fertility industry

By Rob Kuznia, Allison Gordon, Nelli Black and Kyung Lah, CNN | Photographs by Laura Oliverio, CNN

Published 10:00 AM EST, Wed February 14, 2024CNN — 

Victoria Hill never quite understood how she could be so different from her father – in looks and in temperament. The 39-year-old licensed clinical social worker from suburban Connecticut used to joke that perhaps she was the mailman’s child.

Her joke eventually became no laughing matter. Worried about a health issue, and puzzled because neither of her parents had suffered any of the symptoms, Hill purchased a DNA testing kit from 23andMe a few years ago and sent her DNA to the genomics company.

What should have been a routine quest to learn more about herself turned into a shocking revelation that she had many more siblings than just the brother she grew up with – the count now stands at 22. Some of them reached out to her and dropped more bombshells: Hill’s biological father was not the man she grew up with but a fertility doctor who had been helping her mother conceive using donated sperm. That doctor, Burton Caldwell, a sibling told her, had used his own sperm to inseminate her mother, allegedly without her consent.

But the most devastating revelation came this summer, when Hill found out that one of her newly discovered siblings had been her high school boyfriend – one she says she easily could have married.

“I was traumatized by this,” Hill told CNN in an exclusive interview. “Now I’m looking at pictures of people thinking, well, if he could be my sibling, anybody could be my sibling.”

Hill’s story appears to represent one of the most extreme cases to date of fertility fraud in which fertility doctors have misled their female patients and their families by secretly using their own sperm instead of that of a donor. It also illustrates how the huge groups of siblings made possible in part by a lack of regulation can lead to a worst-case scenario coming to pass: accidental incest.

In this sense, say advocates of new laws criminalizing fertility fraud, Hill’s story is historic.

“This was the first time where we’ve had a confirmed case of someone actually dating, someone being intimate with someone who was their half-sibling,” said Jody Madeira, a law professor at Indiana University and an expert on fertility fraud.

A CNN investigation into fertility fraud nationwide found that most states, including Connecticut, have no laws against it. Victims of this form of deception face long odds in getting any kind of recourse, and doctors who are accused of it have an enormous advantage in court, meaning they rarely face consequences and, in some cases, have continued practicing, according to documents and interviews with fertility experts, lawmakers and several people fathered by sperm donors.

CNN also found that Hill’s romantic relationship with her half-brother wasn’t the only case in which she or other people in her newly discovered sibling group interacted with someone in their community who turned out to be a sibling.

At a time when do-it-yourself DNA kits are turning donor-conceived children into online sleuths about their own origins – and when this subset of the American population has reached an estimated one million people – Hill’s situation is a sign of the times. She is part of a larger groundswell of donor-conceived people who in recent years have sought to expose practices in the fertility industry they say have caused them distress: huge sibling pods, unethical doctors, unreachable biological fathers, a lack of information about their biological family’s medical history.

The movement has been the main driver in getting about a dozen new state laws passed over the past four years. Still, the legal landscape is patchy, and the US fertility industry is often referred to by critics as the “Wild West” for its dearth of regulation relative to other western countries.

“Nail salons are more regulated than the fertility industry,” said Eve Wiley, who traced her origins to fertility fraud and is a prominent advocate for new laws.

Accountability in short supply

More than 30 doctors around the country have been caught or accused of covertly using their own sperm to impregnate their patients, CNN has confirmed; advocates say they know of at least 80.

Accountability for the deception has been in short supply. The near-absence of laws criminalizing the practice of fertility fraud until recently means no doctors have yet been criminally charged for the behavior. In 2019, Indiana became the second state, more than 20 years after California, to pass a statute making fertility fraud a felony.

Even in civil cases that have been settled out of court, the affected families have typically signed non-disclosure agreements, effectively shielding the doctors from public scrutiny.

Meanwhile, some doctors who have been found out were allowed to keep their medical licenses.

In Kentucky, retired fertility doctor Marvin YussmanMarvin Yussman admitted using his own sperm to inseminate about half a dozen patients who at the time were unaware that he was the donor. One of them filed a complaint to the state’s board of medical licensure when her daughter – who was born in 1976 – learned Yussman was the likely father after submitting her DNA to Ancestry.com.

“I feel betrayed that Dr. Yussman knowingly deceived me and my husband about the origin of the sperm he injected into my body,” the woman wrote in a letter to the board in 2019. “Although I realize Dr. Yussman did not break any laws as such, I certainly feel his actions were unconscionable and depraved.”

In his response to the medical board, Yussman said that during that era, fresh sperm was prioritized over frozen sperm, meaning donors had to arrive on a schedule.

“On very rare occasions when the donor did not show and no frozen specimen was available, I used my own sperm if I otherwise would have been an appropriate donor: appropriate blood type, race, physical characteristics,” Yussman wrote.

He added some of his biological children have “expressed gratitude for their existence” to him and even sent him photos of their own children. Yussman, who noted in his defense that he didn’t remember the woman who made the complaint, said his policy decades ago was to inform patients that physicians could be among the possible donors, though neither he nor the complainant could provide records that clarified the protocol.

The board declined to discipline him, citing insufficient evidence, according to case documents. Reached on the phone by CNN, Yussman declined to comment.

The story that really put fertility fraud on the national radar was that of Dr. Donald Cline, who fathered at least 90 children in Indiana. Cline’s case spurred lawmakers to pass legislation that outlawed fertility fraud but wasn’t retroactive, meaning he was never prosecuted for it. But he was convicted of obstruction of justice after lying to investigators in the state attorney general’s office who briefly looked into the case. Following that conviction in 2018, Cline surrendered his license. Cline’s lawyer did not respond to an email seeking comment.

Netflix followed up with a documentary about Cline in 2022 that inspired two members of Congress – Reps. Stephanie Bice, an Oklahoma Republican, and Mikie Sherrill, a New Jersey Democrat – to coauthor the first federal bill outlawing fertility fraud. If passed, the Protecting Families from Fertility Fraud Act would establish a new federal sexual-assault crime for knowingly misrepresenting the nature or source of DNA used in assisted reproductive procedures and other fertility treatments. The bill has found dozens of backers – 28 Republicans and 20 Democrats – amid a renewed effort to push it on Capitol Hill.

In this March 29, 2007 file photo, Dr. Donald Cline, a reproductive endocrinologist and fertility specialist, speaks at a news conference in Indianapolis.Kelly Wilkinson/The Indianapolis Star/AP/File

A group of advocates including Hill plans to go to DC to champion the bill on Wednesday.

To be sure, passage wouldn’t mean that any of the dozens of doctors who have already been accused of fertility fraud would go to prison, as the crime would have occurred before the law existed. But the measure would provide more pathways for civil litigation in such cases.

The push to better regulate the fertility industry isn’t without critics. It inspires unease – if not outright opposition – from some who fear any industry crackdown could have the unintended effect of making the formation of families less accessible to the LGBTQ community, which comprises an outsized share of the donor-recipient clientele.

“I think we should pause before creating additional criminal liability for people practicing reproductive medicine,” said Katherine L. Kraschel, assistant professor of law and health sciences at Northeastern University. “It gives me great pause … to say we want the government to try to step in and regulate what amounts to a reproductive choice.”

Some experts also point out that the advent of take-at-home DNA tests by companies such as 23andMe and Ancestry has pretty much stamped out fertility fraud in the modern era.

“To my knowledge, the majority of fertility fraud cases took place before 2000,” said Julia T. Woodward, a licensed clinical psychologist and associate professor in psychiatry and OBGYN in the Duke University Health System, in an email to CNN. “I think it is highly unlikely any person would engage in such practices today (it would be too easy to be exposed). So this part of the landscape has improved significantly.”

But activists in the donor-conceived community still want laws, in part to provide pathways for civil litigation, and also to send a message to any medical professional who might feel emboldened by the lack of accountability.

“Let’s say arguably that it doesn’t happen anymore,” said Laura High, a donor-conceived person and comedian who, with more than 600,000 followers on TikTok, has carved out something of a niche as a fertility-industry watchdog on social media. “Pass the f**king legislation just in case.

“Why not just out of the optics – just out of a, ‘Hey we’re going to stand by the victims.’ Let’s just do this. We know it’s never going to happen anymore, but let’s just make this illegal.”

Victoria Hill and her two children play with toys in the living room of her mother's house in Wethersfield. Laura Oliverio/CNN

‘You are my sister’

The lack of a law in Connecticut appears to have been a stumbling block for a pair of siblings seeking recourse for what they allege is a case of fertility fraud.

The half-siblings – a sister and brother – sued OBGYN Narendra Tohan of New Britain in 2021, saying he deceived their mothers when using his own sperm in the fertility treatments.

He has derailed the suit with a novel defense, arguing successfully that it amounts to a “wrongful life” case, which typically pertains to people born with severe life-limiting conditions and isn’t recognized in Connecticut. Tohan, who is still practicing, did not return an email or call to his office seeking comment. The siblings are appealing the ruling.

Madeira, the expert in fertility fraud from Indiana University, called the “wrongful life” decision absurd.

“In fertility fraud, no parent is saying that – no parent is saying I would have gotten an abortion,” she said. “Every parent is saying, ‘I love my child. I just wish that my wishes would have been respected and my doctor wouldn’t have used his sperm.’”

And then there is Dr. Burton Caldwell, who declined CNN’s request for an interview. One of his apparent biological children decided to sue him last year, even though she knows it will be an uphill battle without a fertility fraud law on the books. Janine Pierson and her mother, Doreen Pierson, accuse Caldwell – who stopped practicing in the early 2000s – of impregnating Doreen with his own sperm after having falsely told her that the donor would be a Yale medical student.

Half-sisters Alyssa Denniston, Victoria Hill and Janine Pierson pose for a portrait in Hartford, Connecticut. The three of them say they — and at least 20 others — all share a biological father, Dr. Burton Caldwell. Laura Oliverio/CNN

Janine Pierson, a social worker, thought she was an only child until she took a 23andMe test in the summer of 2022 and was floored to learn she had 19 siblings. (That number has since grown to 22.)

“It was like my entire life just came to this screeching halt,” she told CNN.

When she learned through one of her siblings that Caldwell was the likely father, Pierson said she immediately phoned her mom, who was stunned.

“We both just cried for a few minutes because it just felt like such a violation,” Pierson said.

Pierson said she decided to pursue the lawsuit even though she knows the lack of a fertility-fraud law in Connecticut could pose a challenge.

“It shouldn’t just be, you know, the Wild West where these doctors can just do whatever it is that they want,” she said.

Hill is watching her newly discovered half-sister’s case closely.

For her, the first surprise was learning the dad she grew up with wasn’t her biological father.  Although her mom had told her when Hill was younger that she’d sought help conceiving at a fertility clinic, she also said – falsely – that the doctor had used her dad’s sperm.

When Hill learned that the biological father appeared to be Caldwell a few years ago, she contacted lawyers to inquire about filing a suit, but was told she doesn’t have much of a case, so she didn’t pursue it. Now, she said, her statute of limitations is about to expire.

Last year, Hill was hit with another shattering revelation.

In May, she and her three closest friends were celebrating their 20-year high school reunion over dinner.

She was sharing the tale with them of how she learned about her biological father. Everyone was captivated, except one person – her former boyfriend. He looked like he was turning something over in his head. Then he noted that his parents, too, had sought help conceiving from a fertility clinic.

A couple months later, in July, as Hill was leaving for a summer vacation with her husband and two young children, the ex-boyfriend texted her a screenshot showing their 23andMe connection.

“You are my sister,” he said.

Fertility industry regulations in US lax relative to other countries

Hill’s high school boyfriend isn’t the only person she knew in the community who turned out to be a sibling.

“I have slept with my half-sibling,” Hill said. “I went to elementary school with another.”

What’s more, Hill said, back in the early 2000s, she lived across the street from a deli in Norwalk she often went to that was owned by twins who she later learned are her siblings.

Pierson, too, discovered recently that she’d crossed paths with a sibling long ago. She said she has a group photo from when she was a kid at summer camp that shows her on a stage and a boy in the audience. In 2022, she learned that he is her older half-brother.

“Within 20 feet of one another, and we have no idea,” she said.

In general, the bigger the sibling pool, the greater the risk of accidental incest – regardless of whether fertility fraud came into play.

“I don’t date people my age. I can’t do it,” said Jamie LeRose, a 23-year-old singer from New Jersey who has at least 150 siblings from a regular sperm donor, not a doctor. “I look at people my age and I’m automatically unattracted to them because I just, I go, that could be my sibling.”

With this in mind, activists also often advocate for laws that cap the number of siblings per donor – and that do away with donor anonymity. (Neither of these restrictions are included in the proposed federal bill.)

Other countries have instituted such regulations. Norway for instance limits the number of children to eight; Germany, to 15. Germany and the UK have banished anonymity at sperm banks.

The United States government has no such requirements – and the professional association that represents the fertility industry wants to keep it that way.

“What we have not done very much in this country is pass regulations about who gets to have children,” said Sean Tipton, the chief advocacy and policy officer for the American Society for Reproductive Medicine. “If you’re going to say you should only be able to have 50 children, that’s fine. But that should apply to everybody. It shouldn’t apply just to sperm donors.”

Regarding the concern among donor-conceived people about accidental incest, Tipton added, “if you want to be sure that before you have children with somebody, you can run DNA tests to make sure you’re not related.”

The ASRM, which often clashes with donor-conceived activists, has not taken a stance on the federal bill, Tipton told CNN.

The organization does offer nonbinding guidelines that address concerns about incest, recommending for instance no more than 25 births per donor in a population of 800,000.

Although most of the donor-conceived people who spoke with CNN for this story said they wanted to see legislative change, they also described an emotional aspect of the topic that no new law or regulation could begin to quell: a yearning to better understand one’s origins and identity. For Pierson, it was this desire, coupled with a mix of anger and curiosity, that compelled her to pay Caldwell an unannounced visit one day in 2022 – weeks after she’d learned he was most likely her biological father.

Confronting Caldwell

“I woke up that day and I had decided I didn’t want to call him,” Pierson said. “I didn’t want to give him the opportunity to say no. So I just drove directly to his house from work.”

Pierson, who lived in Cheshire at the time, describes an experience that was equal parts surreal and awkward.

After an hourlong trip, she pulled up to a large, stately house with a long driveway not far from the Connecticut coast. When she knocked on the door, nobody answered. But when a neighbor stopped by to drop something off, Caldwell opened the door. Seizing the moment, Pierson introduced herself. He let her in.

Laying eyes for the first time on her biological father, Pierson, 36, saw a man in his 80s with a slight tremor due to Parkinson’s, sporting a blue golf shirt.

He invited her inside and they sat at his dining room table.

Caldwell, she said, didn’t seem surprised – likely because Hill had made a similar visit a couple of years earlier.

“He was not in any way apologetic,” Pierson said, but she added that he did not deny using his own sperm when working in the 1980s at a New Haven clinic. She said Caldwell confessed that he “never gave it the thought that he should have … that there would be so many (children), and that it would have any kind of an impact on us.”

Pierson said Caldwell asked her questions that gave her pause.

“One thing that really has always bothered me is that he asked me how many grandchildren he had,” she said. “And he was very curious about my scholastic achievements and what I made of myself. … Like how intelligent I was, basically.”

She said their conversation ended abruptly when, looking uncomfortable, Caldwell stood up, which she took as a signal that the visit was over. Before parting ways, she asked if he would pose for a photo with her. He consented.

“I knew it would be the only time that I actually ever had that opportunity to take a picture,” she said. “Not that I wanted like a relationship with him in any way because – it was just like mixed of emotions of, you know, like, I despise you, but at the same time, I’m grateful to be here.”

Janine Pierson displays a selfie she took with Caldwell on her phone in Hartford, Connecticut. Pierson took the photo during a visit with Caldwell in 2022 and it is the only photograph she has with him. Laura Oliverio/CNN

[icewindandboringhorror]

oughhhhhhhhhhhh........ 89 F days in early May..........

[kaythefloppa]

Not a single day goes by where I don't think of how much better (well not better, but how less unbearable) Bunk'd could've been if Seasons 4-7 were its own separate sequel series from the word go.

[vampjaeyun]

STRAWBERRY LOLLY

PAIRING shy nerd!sunghoon x confident fem!reader | wc: 1.5k

WARNINGS vague smut, miniskirt agenda (duh), sunghoon is a perv and he got it bad, dom!sunghoon

However, one aspect that stands out on this particular day is the sugary rock between the lips he loves so much. God, Sunghoon practically busts at the sight.

NOTES hi first post kinda nervy

PARK SUNGHOON has the hots for you.

It has only been a few months since he’s known of you. And it’s not enough time to build the courage to approach you.

What can he say?

You look unfathomable. Something so unreachable. Especially for someone like him.

He sits far across the room as the professor rambles on, stealing glances, wondering if you’ll notice him one day. It was hard to keep his mind at bay, to prevent walking up to you. He knew that he would ramble and mess it all up. Or stutter while attempting to acquaint himself with you.

He realized that admiring from afar was the best solution to the issue at hand. And it proved to be a good one.

That is, until it became unbearable. More specifically, sinful. And today is one where it seems God is testing him.

You return to the classroom and Sunghoon automatically straightens his posture– his doodling on the notebook gone astray.

You’re sporting the same mini skirt he loves so much and those legs are perfectly on display for everyone to see. It’s definitely not because they’re so short your panties practically peek out without having to look under.

He doesn’t know how you do it. How you claim attention to any room you walk in. Heads automatically turn in your direction the second you step foot into it. But you play dumb, acting as if the people in the room don’t automatically moan at the sight of you.

And whether it’s the perfect posture or the pearly smile you showcase, you’re far out of reach for the quiet, stereotypical glasses-wearing nerd, whose favorite class is calculus. And it’s most definitely because you’re in this class too.

However, one aspect that stands out on this particular day is the sugary rock between the lips he loves so much.

God, Sunghoon practically busts at the sight.

The glassy ball between your lips that you occasionally run your tongue along has him losing all composure. You’re innocently conversing with your classmate beside you, innocently grazing the tip of the red lollipop against your bottom lip, and innocently putting it back into your mouth in one motion. Your cheeks hollow, and he salivates at you sucking on the sticky candy. He knows he’s far away, yet believes his eyesight couldn’t be any clearer.

His leg starts to mindlessly shake once scenarios run wild, and one point he makes clear to himself is that the flavor is strawberry. It fits you perfectly, he thinks. The strawberry lollipop tints your lips a fitting scarlet shade, the gloss resembling honey as you continue to edge him beyond belief with the repetition of your ministrations.

But as he continues to gawk from across the room, your orbs shoot directly into his.

It’s so sudden that he moves to deter from your glare at all costs and reverts back to random doodling. Sweat dribbles down alongside his temple because your sharp eyes contain purpose behind them, and he prays that the purpose isn’t him.

You’re definitely going to call him out for being a creep if anything.

But a tap on his shoulder forces him to address the siren in heels behind him, and as he turns, Sunghoon can hardly meet your inviting eyes.

And just like taking a breath, your syrupy voice addresses him for the first time. He wonders if you feel an ounce of what he’s feeling at the moment.

Surely not, because you act as if you’ve known him your whole life.

“Hey Hoonie, can I talk to you for a second?” you infer with your hands pressed against the edge of his desk. And it’s proving impossible to look straight into your eyes, even more at your tits pressed together, spilling out of your top.

“Shoot,” he mentally applauses himself for a collective response.

“I need a tutor,” you frown, and all he thinks about is how your face would look when you cum.

“I’m on the verge of failing, and I know you’re about to check off a hundred percent in the class.”

“Yeah o-of course. I have to make sure my schedule’s open first.”

“Great! My place or your place?” you bat your lashes innocently.

Sunghoon swears if you do one more thing, he’ll cum in his pants right then and there. There’s not much more he can take. “Anywhere is fine. I gotta go though. We can discuss the details in class tomorrow.”

You’re giggling at his shyness, quick to follow his scurrying around the desk. “Or we can keep talking since I like talking to you so much.”

You’ve got him staring like a deer in headlights, “You do?”

“Do you?” you inquire while also wondering when he’ll drop the shy act.

An opportunity like this most likely won’t ever happen again. And the countless times Jake has called him a pussy for not shooting his shot only motivates him that much more. “Why are you asking questions you already know the answer to?”

“Maybe because I enjoy hearing answers I like,” you raise a brow at his sudden confidence, but your interest is showcased through the closing proximity between the two of you with each word that escapes your throat.

Sunghoon notices the glint of surprise in your eyes when you realize he wasn’t going to cower backwards.

His thoughts, on the other hand, were the complete opposite of his cowardly actions. In fact, he wonders how’d you react if he kissed you until your lips were bruised. Or if you liked it if he wrapped his entire hand full of your hair and tugged ‘til his heart’s content.

But in the end, your answer has him speechless, and you fully grin at that. “Let me know the answer to mine when you get the chance.”

You’re turning around to leave the shaky boy alone, but something catches your wrist.

“Tomorrow. Eight p.m., my place,” he’s breathing pattern quickens and he thickly gulps as he awaits your response.

And you giggle at his eagerness. “Can’t wait.”

And that’s how you ended up at his place the following night. Sunghoon had successfully helped complete a total of five questions before your hand slithered up his thigh and the subject of derivatives flew out the window.

To be honest, he doesn’t care he gave in so fast.

He’s so easy. So easy for you.

And you knew that. You took advantage of how he averted your gaze at all costs, yet you could still feel the heat of his stare when you looked away. Usually preferring men who are more dominant and masculine in and out of the bedroom, you took this as a challenge to stray out of your comfort zone.

You couldn’t lie though, Sunghoon’s awkward mannerisms are awfully cute. A bonus was he wasn’t hard on the eyes either. Your friends often scolded you for wanting to pursue him, but you ignored their incessant warnings.

And when you made due of your promise, you were surprised at how he was able to get a few words out.

What was even more surprising was the night that followed.

“Fuck—mnph!” your moans are muffled into the pillow as Sunghoon plows into your sopping cunt from behind. His palm envelops the entirety of your nape, pushing your head harder with each thrust. Your entire spine buzzes with pleasure, and his fingers digging into your neck only heighten the feeling.

“This is for underestimating me,” he seethes. You wish you were facing him to see his darkened persona.

“I w-w,” you barely get out.

“You what?” his hoarse voice mixes with a groan at your velvety walls sucking him like a vice.

“I-I wish I c-could take a pict-ture,” Sunghoon’s fingers press deeper with each word that escapes your throat, and you giggle. You’d never imagine the loser in class could get you cock drunk.

“Go ahead,” he seethes before pulling out and flipping you over to your back.

“Wha-” you can’t even finish the word before he’s roughly thrusting into your pussy in one motion and continuing with the same pace.

“Hoon! Fuck,” you’re under his spell while the bed frame rhythmically knocks against the wall.

“I should take a picture of you like this,” he turns your slack jaw so you are able to look at him.

He chuckles once his eyes make contact with your hooded ones. “With drool and tears decorating your face while I use you as a cock-sleeve.”

Your fists ball as the drag of his cock overwhelms you. “So full,” you moan, and he rewards your comment with another harsh snap of his hips.

“Remember,” Sunghoon sets your calves against his shoulder and leans down against your ear. It feels unworldly, his cock pushing deeper and rougher into your cervix.

“Remember who makes you feel this way,” he whispers.

[astrow1zar6]

Astrology placements that are ignored/underrated

12th house stelliums: people with prominent 12th house placements tend to be forgotten about a lot I notice. Many were very outcasted from an early age or were used to others pushing them into the background. they don’t get credit for their amazing creativity & emotional intelligence. They have extremely colorful inner worlds and can live more in their head than in the real world which is a reason why they can be easily overlooked in a group. Many feel like they are in the outside looking in like they were meant to just be observers in the world and never participate. They experience a lot of solitude in their lives but this solitude teaches them how to heal themselves & others. They gain a lot of wisdom from their time alone and they can be emotional sponges soaking up others energies easily which is why they tend to isolate a lot to recharge. They need a lot of alone time to function properly in the world if they don’t get enough alone time they can start acting very dysfunctional.

Mercury in Pisces & Cancer: they don’t get enough credit for how intelligent they truly are. Being water signs they are able to absorb information quickly & retain if for a long time too. They tend to have a very high emotional IQ. They have an amazing ability to read the room and can pick up on things that aren’t verbally said. They are quite influential as well and can control what people think to an extent (can be very manipulative because they are so good at emotional cues). They can manipulate you into taking their side.

Taurus moons: although exalted I feel like people really don’t talk about this sign much. They are usually very sexy people and are very comfortable in their natural bodies. Very intelligent and money driven. These people are literal money magnets. Because of their reliable and practical nature many can climb the corporate ladder faster than most. They are very reasonable and factual which is why many tend to be politicians or big bosses. Very conventional personalities. Also the creativity in their fashion is extremely underrated. These people can pull off such interesting pieces.

Virgo placements: I feel like Virgo placements get one of the worst reps of the zodiac. Many describe Virgos as being very naggy, insecure, hypercritical, bland ect. Virgo in astrology rules the untouched, unreachable, purity, devotion, analysis and healing. Virgos also rules over the maiden that is known for traditional beauty in astrology. This makes them usually very desirable and attractive which is why many Virgo risings tend to be models they represent the untouchable and the high standards of traditional beauty. Virgos face a lot of traumatic sacrifices that they often make for themselves & others. Many Virgos could’ve grown up having to almost serve others and make a lot of sacrifices to keep others happy. Could’ve been expected to heal those around them which is why many can be so hard on themselves and expect perfection out of everything they do. Many expected them to keep up a “perfect persona” mostly their family which they carry around everywhere. I also notice a lot growing up we’re constantly criticized for their looks/appearance. For example; Bella Hadid (Virgo risings) dealt with a mother who would compare her beauty to her sisters and commented on her weight. Could’ve been pushed too much to be “lady-like” creating a deep obsession with their looks and lower self esteem. Could feel restricted from showing sex appeal or could be over-sexualized by others.

The 4th house: the fourth house rules over your families karmic cycles, ancestors, all family members, generational wealth, the home, your environment & your deepest emotional point. People with placements here tend to experience mood swings & absorbing other people’s emotions like sponges. You can also tell someone’s life story or background just by this house alone as it represents the beginning and ending point. Most people with a lot of 4th house placements tend to prefer solitude and alone time in order to recharge & their emotions run very deep

The 7th house: is honestly crazy misunderstood! It’s not only about relationships which is what I notice people mostly talk about when this house is brought up. It rules of contracts, how people see you, rumors, law, your part in social standing, and enemies. The way people treat you is based on this house, the way you perceive yourself and express yourself to the world is the 1st house just to get that straight. The 7th house can be a big fame indicator and usually points to either success or failure in the public eye. Which is why it’s common for people with sun in the 7th or Pluto in the 7th to gain massive fame or have extreme power in the public eye, but it can also indicate the rumors people spread about you and the enemies you attract. You can attract a lot of jealousy from others. Having heavy 7th house placements can be talked about by others a lot for good or for bad. You are usually people’s main topic of conversation, people love to hate you! Especially if you have a Sun, Venus, Uranus, & Pluto in the 7th house.

Mercury aspects: you can see someone’s humor, mannerisms and tone of voice through this planet. If someone talks too much they most likely have Gemini-sag in their Mercury, if someone is academically disciplined yet judgmental it seems to always be cap mercs, if someone’s comedic and a great host with a flirty nature usually a libra merc. You get the point it plays a big role and most don’t talk about it much. Most people mistake someone’s Mercury sign for their sun sign a lot!

6th house placements: I find most people find talking about 6th house placements to be extremely boring lol which i understand but it actually plays an important role in your chart. The 6th house is associated with issues relating to our sexual, physical, mental, emotional and spiritual health. I feel like this house is probably the most under talked about and ignored house out of all of the houses. The 6th house is how you deal with day to day life and your motivation to complete tasks. When difficult placements fall in the 6th house, the individuals with those placements must carefully see how they treat themselves. Our ability to tend to matters related to our 6th house can help fuel our self esteem & ensure that we are in alignment with ourselves and values so we won’t be menaces to society lol. This shows how you manage day to day life and how you find beauty in the mundane simple things.

Gemini placements: they are not just chatterboxes, very rational and reasonable individuals who are naturally curious. Sometimes they act cold and detached but that’s because they like to observe from a 3rd party perspective. That way they can easily read people and question their motives & they are very good at it too being rules by mercury. They usually love puzzles and are great networkers. However surprisingly a lot of Gemini placements aren’t talkative and most are pretty chill and understanding. They are incredibly logical and fun & are very open minded. They are open to really anything if you are convincing enough they love trying and learning new things.

Pisces placements: there’s a lot to uncover with this sign. They are the most sacrificial yet deceitful. Being ruled by Neptune as a mutable sign they have identity crisises often and can take on others personalities & looks. These people are natural actors/ actresses, they have an ability to make you believe they are who YOU want them to be, or atleast they think you want from them. They manipulate people without even realizing and get away with a lot because they are easily adored and almost worshipped by the public. They are the definition of a wolf in sheep’s clothing. I see Pisces placements who are stalked easily as well and attract a lot of obsessive and dark individuals. They usually grow up feeling very misunderstood and yearning for others to know the real them but it’s usually difficult for them to be themselves around those around them due to fear of rejection and a difficulty with expressing their needs.

[honeyncherry]

you still want this - joe burrow

summary you’re given permission to sit outside while joe works on his newest alo campaign. good problems? right? wrong.

content 18+, smut, language, barely edited or proofread i had a thought and acted on it

Hot sweat had already started to bead at the nape of your neck, slipping down and collecting in the soft curve between your breasts, but you didn’t bother wiping it away.

The heat didn’t bother you—not really. It wrapped around you like a weighted blanket, heavy and sweet. The kind of warmth that slowed your limbs, your thoughts, your whole body. You could still smell the sunscreen you'd slathered on earlier, warm and coconutty, smooth at the edges where it mingled with the scent of hot grass and faint chlorine wafting from the pool in front of you.

Your towel stuck slightly to the backs of your thighs every time you shifted, but you didn’t care. You had no intention of moving.

Not when the view was this good.

You were reclined on a lounger in the corner of the yard, sunglasses on, book open on your lap—though you hadn’t read a single sentence in at least fifteen minutes. Not since the film crew had shown up with their sleek little cameras and their quiet instructions and Joe had stepped out onto the sun-drenched patio stretched and ready to work.

You were meant to stay out of the way, to give him space while they filmed him doing what he did best. The oversized lounger was just far enough from the setup to not be intrusive, and the thought of staying inside while this was happening outside felt borderline criminal.

The house you were staying at was tucked away up in the hills, the kind of modern-meets-organic space where everything felt curated and soft and breezy, all neutral tones and concrete lines. The backyard was a dream—stone and green and golden light, but none of that was what held your attention.

Joe was.

It still took your breath sometimes—how different he was like this.

You loved him year-round, obviously, but there was something about the offseason that felt… sacred. Like this little pocket of time was yours and his alone. No playbooks. No daily practices. No constant weight of expectations pulling him under.

The NFL season was brutal—not just on him or his body, but on both of you. He carried pressure like a second skin and wore stress like armor. Game days were thrilling, sure, but the adrenaline came with consequences. Sleepless nights. Sore limbs. A kind of hyperfocus that made him unreachable sometimes, even when he was right next to you in bed.

This was different.

This was him. Or maybe, this was him again. Moving at half-speed in the best way. Smiling more easily. Touching you without thinking twice about where he had to be in the morning. It wasn’t just that he had more time—it was that he gave it freely. Like he wanted to.

You’d always known how much football meant to him—that was never in question. It was something you walked into this relationship understanding, something you accepted without resentment. You respected the grind. You loved the way he loved the game.

But in moments like this, tucked away from the world, it hit you how much you meant to him, too.

Not in a performative way. Not in grand declarations or showy gestures. But in the quiet. In the way he reached for your hand when no one was watching. In the way his body softened around you, like it only ever truly rested when it was touching yours. In the way he listened—without distraction, without his mind drifting toward the next game or meeting or flight.

It was in the way he gave you his time—not because he finally had it, but because he wanted to spend it here. With you. Without a clock ticking behind his ribs.

And that was the part that undid you.

Because you’d seen the weight he carried. You’d watched it settle on him week after week—in the tight set of his jaw after a loss, in the stiffness of his shoulders after pushing himself too hard, in the exhaustion he tried to mask after travel days and press conferences and back-to-back meetings. You knew what it cost to be with him. And what it cost him to give you this version of himself.

So watching him now—shirtless, tan, glistening under the California sun—you knew one thing with absolute certainty:

There was nowhere else you’d rather be.

Joe was mid-set, one of the Alo guys crouched nearby, coaching him through each rep as a camera followed his movements in slow, sweeping arcs. You couldn’t hear them, not really, but you could make out the quiet rhythm of instructions, the occasional low grunt from Joe as he powered through his workout.

He was locked in. Focused. The kind of focus you’d seen a hundred times before—intimidating to most, but familiar to you. Intoxicating, even, especially when his body moved like that. He wasn’t putting on a show for the camera. This was just him. 

Your legs shifted slightly against the towel beneath you, a heat curling low in your stomach that happened to be completely unrelated to the sun.

Joe wiped sweat from his brow with the hem of his shirt, then tossed it aside, revealing the taut lines of his abdomen and the deep tan he’d built over the past few weeks. The kind of tan that made his chain you got him for Christmas glint against his skin. The kind of tan that begged to be touched.

You watched him through the dark tint of your sunglasses, pretending not to notice how his eyes flicked toward you in between reps. Just once. Long enough for you to catch the barest smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

It sent a pulse through you, blooming heat across your chest and sinking between your thighs. A quiet thrum that made your skin feel tighter, your breath just a little too shallow.

​​You swallowed around nothing, the air thick in your throat. The sunglasses stayed on—your shield, your excuse—but you forced your gaze back down to the page in your lap. Right. Your book. You blinked once, twice, and tried to remember where you’d left off. A sentence midway down caught your attention, and with some effort, you focused.

Eventually, the words began to stick.

The sun pressed hot against your oiled body as you read, and this time you let yourself get pulled in, turning a page, then another. You were on your side now, stretched out with your knees slightly bent and your head propped up on your forearm, letting the heat work its way into your back.

Your sunglasses had slipped a little down your nose, but you didn’t bother fixing them. You barely even blinked. The pages turned slowly, the words sinking into your head like honey—thick and slow and sweet. The world was quiet, muffled words across the lawn barely registering in your ears.

So when you felt the slow drag of fingers up your exposed side, it took a second for your brain to catch up.

The touch was featherlight. Calloused fingertips skimming from the dip of your waist to just under the edge of your bikini top, his knuckles grazing the swell of your ribcage in a way that made your breath catch.

“Getting a little too into that book, huh?” Joe’s voice was raspy, the words brushing just behind your ear, the grin hidden beneath them unmistakable.

You didn’t move right away. Just turned the page like nothing had happened. “Wasn’t expecting to be interrupted.”

His fingers ghosted back down the same path, and this time you felt the smirk more than you heard it. “You sure? ‘Cause you’ve been laid out like that for the last thirty minutes and I’m pretty sure half the crew tripped over themselves trying not to look.”

You arched a brow behind your sunglasses. “But you looked.”

“Baby,” he scoffed softly, fingers curling tighter around your waist, thumb pressing in. “I live here.” And just to make sure you got the message, he squeezed your side, fingers digging into you for half a second longer than necessary before sliding away.

You let out a soft laugh, rolling onto your back and squinting up at him. “How’s the shoot?”

He looked disheveled in the best way—sweaty, flushed, still breathing a little too heavy from whatever set he’d just finished. Everyone else had retreated beneath a patio umbrella nearby, drinking water, checking footage on a monitor. A few more minutes, probably.

“We’ve got a break.” Joe offered you his hand, and when you took it, he pulled you up in one smooth tug. “Come inside.”

You followed him barefoot across the patio, brushing your hands over your hips to shake off some of the towel lint. His eyes dropped as you walked, and you didn’t miss the way his mouth twitched.

“That what you’re calling a swimsuit?” he asked, cracking the door open and holding it for you.

You looked over your shoulder, trying to seem unbothered. “What would you call it?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just let his eyes sweep over the thin, barely-there straps tied at your hips, the narrow curve of fabric that made up the top.

“A suggestion,” he said finally. “Not a swimsuit.”

You rolled your eyes, but the burn beneath your skin had nothing to do with the sun.

Inside, the kitchen wrapped around you like a different world, the hum of the air conditioner a low buzz beneath the silence. The tile was cold beneath your feet, a shock after the sun-baked patio, and when you leaned back against the fridge, the stainless steel sparked a chill through your body.

You didn’t mind it. The contrast made everything sharper. Your skin, still heavy with leftover sunscreen and heat, puckered with goosebumps, the sudden shift in temperature making you ache with awareness. Like the bikini you’d thrown on hours ago had somehow shrunk under the weight of Joe’s eyes.

He moved around the kitchen like he owned it. He popped open the fridge, the suctioned seal breaking louder than expected in the quiet, and pulled out the bowl of fruit you’d cut earlier that morning.

Light from inside cast a soft glow across his chest—its golden tone gone slightly pink at the collarbones, sweat still glistening along the curve of his neck. His arms flexed as he reached to close the door, veins jumping beneath tan skin, the movement so familiar and mindless it made you dizzy.

You caught yourself staring. Hard. But you didn’t look away.

He peeled back the cling wrap from the bowl with lazy precision—like there was no rush, no need to acknowledge how still everything had gotten. Or how your breath caught the second he stepped close enough for you to smell the citrus tang of his sweat mixed with the body wash he’d used that morning.

Joe didn't say anything as he held your gaze when reaching for a slice of peach—soft, ripe, always a little too juicy to be eaten clean, grabbing it and handing it out to you.

Leaning forward slightly, you bit into it, lips brushing against the tips of his fingers. The fruit was cold on your tongue, shockingly sweet, the skin splitting open against your teeth with a wet pop.

Blinking at the taste, you swallowed quick at the sudden stickiness. It was just then when you felt a slick trail of syrupy juice slip from the corner of your mouth.

Your hand lifted on instinct, embarrassed—but Joe was faster. His thumb caught the drop in one smooth, unbothered motion. His eyes never left yours as he brought it to his mouth and sucked the juice clean.

You forgot how to stand. Or speak. Or do anything except feel.

It didn’t matter that he was your boyfriend, that he’d touched you a hundred different ways in a hundred different places—he could still gut you with something like this. Something so effortless, so wrapped in possession and ease and knowing, that it made your whole body hum with the kind of heat that couldn’t be blamed on the weather.

“Messy,” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

Then he reached for another piece.

This time he didn’t offer it, just popped it into his own mouth and chewed, without a care.

You were still pressed to the fridge, trying to ignore the sharp thrum between your legs, when he stepped in again—close enough that the bowl met your stomach and his bare chest hovered inches from yours.

Joe’s gaze casually dropped. His free hand reached out, fingers slipping beneath the tie of your bikini bottom, grazing across your skin and tugging just enough to expose the lighter strip hidden beneath.

You watched him watching you. Watched the way his brow twitched slightly, as if even the contrast of your tan amused him.

“You’re getting burnt,” he said, thumb sweeping once across your hip. His touch was light, but it was enough to make your stomach pull tight.

“Probably should’ve reapplied,” you murmured, your voice matching the hush in the room.

“I’ve got you,” he said simply.

His hand slipped away from your hip and you expected him to step back. But instead, he glanced around the kitchen like he was searching for something.

You blinked, still catching up. “What are you doing?”

“Sunscreen,” he said, scanning the counter like it might appear by will alone. “Before your cute little ass turns red.”

You swallowed hard. “I think I left it—uh. Outside. In my tote.”

He didn’t hesitate before setting the bowl on the island and turning. Joe cracked the sliding door and stepped out, you watched him bend over the tote, back flexing and hair falling across his forehead. The shift of his bicep made itself visible when he straightened up with the bottle in hand.

It should’ve been nothing.

Just Joe grabbing your sunscreen. Just a normal moment. But when he paused, thumb flicking open the cap, squeezing lotion into his palm, your mouth went dry.

Because you knew what was coming.

And it was worse—better—than you expected.

He set the bottle back down with quiet care and rubbed the lotion between his hands like he wasn’t being watched. Like your eyes weren’t glued to every movement. He started dragging his palms across his shoulders, over his collarbones, across the slope of his chest. His fingers spread wide as he moved up the column of his throat.

The shine caught in the light. That slippery, glowing sheen of skin. And when his hand dipped to smear the rest across his abdomen, your thighs pressed together without permission.

By the time he stepped back in, bottle loose in his hand, you were already overheating from the inside out.

“Gotta keep us both protected,” he teased, flashing a light grin. Then he paused in front of you, holding up the bottle. “Turn.”

You turned like your body wasn’t yours, like every cell had already decided to give in before your brain caught up.

Your head was angled to the side, catching a glimpse of him behind you. Joe squeezed an equally generous amount of sunscreen into his palm and set the bottle onto the counter, hands already moving to your hips. They slipped across your body with practiced ease, the lotion was cold and his palms were warm, the friction making your whole body twitch. He dragged his hands around, fingers pressing into you with every pass.

And then, he got bolder.

His hands flattened across your lower back, gliding in wide and unhurried strokes that left your skin pebbling in their wake. You felt the first slide of his fingers dip low across your stomach, just barely brushing the top of your bikini bottoms before sweeping back up—over your ribs, beneath your top. This wasn’t just Joe “applying sunscreen.”

It was possessive.

Intimate in a way only Joe could be. Like he wasn’t just touching you, rather he was rediscovering you. Like he’d give every spare second he had to learning you again, and again, and again.

You felt him press in before you even noticed him move. The warm slide of his chest along your back sent a pulse straight through your spine. You let yourself lean into him, weight settling into the space he created for you—solid and sun-warmed, slick from the lotion he’d just rubbed across himself.

Your head dropped back instinctively, temple grazing the sharp line of his jaw as he paused. His hands rested lightly on your hips, thumbs tracing lazy half-circles, just enough to remind you they were there. Just enough to make you ache.

“You’re gonna take too long,” you said, but your voice didn’t sound like yours.

Behind you, Joe exhaled. Not annoyed, just amused. Unbothered, moreso. Like he had no intention of going anywhere.

His hands slid higher with more intent, fingers skimming just beneath the hem of your top. You could feel everything—right down to the muted tension in his arms as they braced around your torso, the slow drag of his fingers under the elastic band, teasing.

You held still, your body wired tight with anticipation. Your breath caught when his hands finally moved—slipping beneath the fabric, tentative at first, like he was testing the way you responded.

He cupped you fully, palms broad, fingers spreading across the curve of your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples in slow, lazy sweeps that made your knees dip, just slightly, under the weight of sensation. His grip tightened—not rough, but certain—his fingers kneading in small, careful circles.

Spare the moments of his hands, he was still. Tuned into every stutter in your breath, every flicker beneath your skin, every sound you hadn’t meant to make.

A soft gasp left your lips before you could catch it, and he responded immediately—hips pressing tighter against your ass, hands shifting higher, his mouth dipping low to the shell of your ear.

“You feel that?” he whispered, voice low and full of heat. “That’s what happens when you let me take my time.”

You nodded, or tried to, but your body was humming static. White noise and heat. His thumbs rolled over your nipples again—slower this time—and your back arched without permission, your head falling further onto his shoulder, lips parting on a sound you barely heard.

You could’ve stayed like that for hours. Let him touch you until your legs gave out. Let the tension pull tighter and tighter until something inside you snapped.

But the knock came first.

A sharp, muted rap against the glass—two quick taps that sliced through the heat easily. You didn’t even process it at first. It felt like something from another life. Another version of you—one who wasn’t standing half-undressed against a fridge with her boyfriend’s hands still wrapped around her chest.

Joe stilled.

You felt it in the way his fingers flexed once before they froze. His breath stayed close to your neck, mouth pressed against your skin, his exhale rough through his nose like it hurt him to stop.

He slid his hands out from under your top with agonizing care, smoothing the fabric back into place as if it hadn’t just been wrapped around his knuckles. His touch lingered a second longer. One last pass of his hands across your ribs.

Then he stepped back.

You didn’t move. Couldn’t. Your chest rose and fell too fast. Your knees were barely holding you up. You stared at the tile, hands still braced, body still locked in place like the moment might continue if you didn’t let it go.

But it didn’t.

Behind you, the sliding door opened. You heard the shuffle of sneakers, the voice asking if he was ready for the second half of the shoot. And Joe’s response, that calm drawl that gave nothing away. You wondered if the guy could see it. The flush on his skin. The way his breath hadn’t fully settled.

Then the door shut again, and he was gone.

You stood there for another moment, trying to breathe. You adjusted your top—even though he already had. Smoothed your hair—even though it wouldn’t help. You didn’t want to look at your reflection in the microwave door, but you did.

And immediately wished you hadn’t.

Lips parted. Eyes glassy. Cheeks pinker than they’d been outside.

You padded to the sink and filled a glass with cold water, taking slow sips like it might help. It didn’t. How could it when the kitchen still smelled like him? When your body still felt like his hands were on you?

You paused for another breath, the cool of the glass pressed to your lips, pulse echoing in your ears.

Then, finally, you set the glass down and turned toward the back door.

Outside, the sun had shifted, stretching longer shadows across the space. The lounger you’d claimed earlier now sat drenched in light, the towel you’d left behind still rumpled from where Joe had lifted you off of it. You grabbed your book from where it lay, passing by the chair without a second glance.

You opted for one of the chairs tucked beneath the overhang—its seat shaded, arms wide, and angled just far enough from the crew to feel separated.

You sank into the cushions, skin tingling faintly as you laid your head back. The heat of the sun stuck, but it had softened now, muted by the breeze threading through the shade, dulled by the chill from the house that still clung to your skin.

You flipped your book open in your lap with fingers that didn’t feel entirely steady. The words blurred together at first, your eyes slow to catch up.

Joe was across the yard and you could see him if you tilted your head just enough. Someone behind the camera said something, and he grinned—quick and easy—almost enough to knock the air from your lungs all over again.

You looked back down at your book.

Don’t do this again, you warned yourself.

So you read. Or tried to. Let the words carry you. Let the air soothe what was still sparking under your skin. You turned a page. Then another. You shifted your legs, letting one knee hang lazily over the other. The breeze raised goosebumps across your thighs, stirred the ends of your hair from where they clung to your shoulders.

The words slowly began to lose their shape, your gaze tracing lines without comprehension, but you didn’t fight it. The heat still lingered low in your belly, quieter now. Hazy. Your limbs were heavy with the same sensation, thoughts beginning to melt into each other.

Your head tilted to the side. Eyes slipped shut.

Just for a second, just until it was quiet.

Until the chair dipped beside you.

A soft shift, the weight of someone settling down. Then, the subtle scrape of fingers gliding up the outside of your thigh, then in—circling around gently, brushing the tender skin, just enough to lure you awake.

“Hey,” Joe’s voice came. “C’mon, baby. You’ve been out a while.”

You stirred, slow and heavy-limbed, a soft scrunch pulling between your brows as light filtered in behind your lashes. The post-nap haze clung thick around your thoughts, foggy and warm, and the first thing you noticed was the heat—how it had layered over itself like blankets, clinging to your skin, thick and still and everywhere. You were too warm. Flushed and faintly damp under your bikini, heat tucked into every crease of your body.

“Didn’t mean to let you knock out this long,” he murmured, thumb tracing soft strokes just above your knee. “It’s too hot to sleep out here like that.”

Something cool pressed into your hand. You blinked, vision still blurry, and saw him crouched beside your chair, holding a half-empty water bottle slick with condensation.

“Here,” Joe said, offering it to you. “Drink.”

You curled your fingers around it with slow, sleepy coordination, flinching slightly at the contrast—ice-cold plastic against overheated skin. The chill cut clean through the heat, grounding in a way nothing else had yet. You brought it to your lips and drank—slow, careful sips. The water tasted like it had been sitting in a cooler all day. But it helped. Your mouth wasn’t dry anymore. Your head began to clear.

“What time is it?” you asked, voice still scratchy with sleep.

Joe shifted, one arm draped lazily over the chair’s armrest, the other still gliding slow and steady up and down your leg. “Late enough,” he said. “Everyone’s gone. Just us now.”

You sat up a little straighter, still moving like every muscle had to reintroduce itself to gravity. The bottle rolled in your grip as you glanced around. The backyard was empty, steeped in the warm gold of early evening. The cameras were gone. The buzz of voices and movement had faded into silence.

But Joe was still there.

Close enough to see the sweat drying at his collarbones, glinting along the sharp edge of his throat. He was still in those black Alo shorts—the ones that had been riding high on his thighs all day. They clung even closer now, heavy with heat.

“You okay?” he asked, voice lower. His knuckle traced up the inside of your thigh, just a soft pass. Barely there.

You nodded. “Mhm.”

He gave you a look. “You sure?”

You reached for his jaw, brushing your thumb across the edge of his mouth, the curve of that smirk you knew too well. “I was trying to cool off.”

His brows lifted slightly. “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” you murmured, quieter now. “Didn’t work.”

He leaned in just enough for the air to shift between you, that familiar heat rolling off his skin. His eyes dropped—your mouth, your thighs, then back again. Slower this time. Heavier.

“No?” he asked, voice deeper now.

“Nope.” Your fingers drifted down the slope of his throat, ghosting over the tense line of muscle that always gave him away. “Still hot.”

Joe hummed, low in his throat, like he was thinking about being a gentleman and then very consciously choosing not to be.

“Lucky me,” he muttered, his palm tightening slightly over your thigh. “Guess we’ll have to take care of that.”

He rose to his feet in one slow stretch, casting you in shadow. The outline of his body cut sharp against the fading sun, and when he reached down to take your hand, his fingers curled around your wrist with quiet intent.

You let him pull you up without question, the tug of your bikini stretching across your skin where it clung—still faintly damp with sweat.

Neither of you said a word as you stepped inside. The door clicked shut behind you.

He kicked off his shoes, dropped his socks without a thought. His knuckles brushed your hip as he leaned down, the heat of him ever-present, steady.

Joe gave your hand a gentle tug toward the bedroom. You followed—quiet, at the mercy of the way your pulse had started drumming harder with every step.

The space was cool. Calm. The faint scent of eucalyptus from his morning shower still clung to the air. Stone floors stretched out beneath soft lighting. Everything here was light and smooth and quiet.

But it was the shower that always managed to steal your breath.

Framed in matte black trim, encased in glass, it took up nearly the entire far wall. Floor-to-ceiling windows on two sides, frosted just enough for privacy but still drenched in late sunlight. Inside was absurdly spacious. A bench. Multiple showerheads. Built-in shelves. More spa than shower.

Joe let go of your hand just long enough to reach for the glass door. He pushed it open, steam rising faintly from the tiles inside. He must’ve turned it on before you even got in the house, you’d realized. Warm mist already kisses the glass, fogging the corners, drifting into the room like it was luring you forward.

His fingers found you again, the same way they always did. You moved easily under his hands. An instinct that didn’t need to be spoken or asked for.

He slid the strings at your hips loose first, then reached for the knot at your back, the thin fabric fluttering down like it didn’t matter at all.

And in this light, in this heat, in this quiet… it didn’t.

He stepped out of his shorts, kicked them to the side without thought, then reached for the shower door again, pushing it open further. You stepped in first, and the steam hit your chest in a rolling wave—soft and scorching all at once. It stole your breath for a second, made your fingers twitch at your sides. The mist curled up your arms, soaked into you, slid along your collarbones and spine in a way that felt almost sentient. The warmth folded around you so completely, it was hard to tell where the air ended and your body began.

You tilted your face into it. Let it rinse away the dried sweat on your skin, the drowsy fog of your nap, the weight of everything you hadn’t said all day. The world outside the glass felt far away now—just sunlight diffused into gold across the tiles, the muted hum of water hitting stone, the soft scuff of feet behind you.

Joe stepped in a second later.

You didn’t turn, but you felt him immediately. The heat from his body added to the steam, made the air heavier. Denser. His hand brushed your lower back, a pass of fingers over damp skin.

He moved past you slightly, reaching for the knob. His bicep flexed, wet hair sticking to his neck, jaw tight as he leaned into the motion. The spray arced higher with a metallic groan, more forceful now. More direct. Then his hand dropped again, finding your hip like it belonged there.

Neither of you spoke.

His other hand came up, skimming your side, pausing just beneath the curve of your breast like he was deciding something. His chest just barely brushed your back, then his mouth was at your neck.

Not kissing. Not quite. Just breathing you in.

You closed your eyes. Because it was too much.

Because it wasn’t enough.

The slide of his lips down to your shoulder made you shiver. Not from cold—but because he still hadn’t said anything. And when Joe was quiet like this, it meant he was thinking. About you. About this. About everything he hadn’t said yet. Everything he wanted to say—to do.

His hand moved again. Lower this time. Across your stomach, then between your thighs.

Your body went numb under his touch, thighs parting slightly without thought, your back pressing just a bit harder into his chest. Your breath caught as his fingers brushed over the softest part of you, sliding through slick that had nothing to do with the water.

You felt him stiffen behind you—just barely. The way his hips shifted. The way his fingers paused like he needed a second. Like he needed to breathe.

“Jesus,” he muttered, more exhale than word. “You’re already—”

“I know,” you whispered, barely audible above the water.

And it was true. You’d been like this. Since the kitchen. Since that goddamn bottle of sunscreen. Since the lazy scrape of his teeth against your neck and the way he’d handled you like he was daring you to say stop—knowing you wouldn’t.

He groaned again—low and tight—like he was trying to get a handle on himself. But his fingers were already sliding back between your legs. Slower now. Deeper. Not teasing. Just exploring. Mapping. And when he finally pushed two thick fingers into you, your knees nearly buckled. You caught yourself against the tile with a wet slap, breath knocking out of you in one shocked exhale.

“Yeah,” Joe said behind you, voice gone hoarse. “That’s it.”

His other hand came up to brace your stomach, holding you steady as he moved. Every thrust of his fingers was slow, dragging—edging more than taking.

But it felt like taking.

Like he was pulling sounds from your throat you hadn’t meant to make. Like he was sinking deeper than he should’ve been able to. Like your body couldn’t decide whether to press forward or pull him in even further.

You gasped when his thumb found your clit, when he circled it once with just enough pressure to short-circuit your legs. Joe grunted at the reaction—cock pressed hot and heavy against your lower back now, no longer subtle. No longer hiding anything.

“Keep your hands on the wall,” he said, clicking his tongue softly. “Wanna watch you take it.”

You swallowed hard, jaw slack, too far gone to care how desperate you sounded when you whimpered in response. And he knew it. You could feel the grin in his voice when he said, “That’s my girl.”

Then he started moving faster.

His fingers fucked into you harder now, deeper. His palm dragged tight over your clit with every thrust, a wet, obscene rhythm building beneath the roar of the water. You couldn’t stay quiet. Couldn’t think. Could barely hold yourself upright as your forehead dropped to your forearm, your thighs shaking under the pressure of everything he was giving you—without letting you fall.

“You’ve been like this all fucking day,” he muttered, panting now. “Could see it.”

“Joe—”

“You think I don’t know the difference between you reading and pretending to read?” he rasped. “You were squirming in that chair like you wanted me to come over and wreck you.”

“I did,” you gasped.

He groaned, twisting his fingers just right and pulling another moan from you. “I wanted you to wreck me.” His hand stilled. Just for a second. Then he pulled back.

You gasped at the loss, instinctively pushing into the space where he’d been. But Joe just bent slightly, lips at your shoulder, voice rough and wrecked.

“Then turn around,” he said. “And let me.”

You turned.

Not because he told you to. Because you needed to.

Because you wanted to see him. See how badly he needed it. See what it did to him—holding back, just barely, for you.

And when you did—when you faced him—your breath caught like it slammed into a wall.

It wasn’t that he was flushed or panting. He wasn’t wild.

But he was barely holding it together.

Joe’s jaw was clenched, brows drawn tight. The muscles in his arms flexed like he was fighting instinct—every inch of him coiled and tense, caught between control and surrender. His eyes dropped the second you turned—dragging down the lines of your throat, your chest, your stomach, to the place between your thighs where his hand had just been.

And then they snapped back to yours.

Dark. Burning.

Full of want.

Full of you.

He didn’t say anything as he took a step closer.

You backed up without meaning to—your back catching the cool tile, water hitting your side now as Joe crowded into your space. His hands landed on either side of your face, caging you in like He stared at you like you were something he never wanted to forget.

“You’re so pretty like this.”

Your chest caved with the way your heart slammed into your ribs. The sound of his voice made your thighs clench, just trying to survive the weight of it. Joe leaned in slowly, brushing his mouth along your jaw, your cheek, the corner of your lips—like he couldn’t decide where to start.

“Skin all hot and wet… mouth already open for me,” he murmured. “You’re barely breathing.”

“I’m trying,” you whispered, dizzy.

He smiled. Just barely. Like it pleased him. Like he liked knowing he’d pulled you this far under.

And then—finally—he kissed you.

It wasn’t soft.

It was desperate.

Deep and wet and full, like he needed to taste every part of you he hadn’t already touched. His tongue slid into your mouth with purpose, his hands dropping to your waist and dragging you forward so fast you gasped against his lips. Your fingers clutched at his shoulders, trying to ground yourself—but he gave you nothing. No space. Just pressed you back into the tile, his body flush to yours now, cock heavy against your stomach, the drag of him so real it made you whimper.

“You feel that?” he asked, breaking the kiss just long enough to grind his hips against yours. “That’s what you did.”

You nodded, dazed.

But he shook his head. One hand came up to wrap around the base of your throat—not squeezing, just holding, enough to grab your attention.

“No,” he said, breath hot against your mouth. “Say it.”

“I did that,” you whispered.

“Damn right, you did.” Without warning, without effort—he lifted you. Strong hands under your thighs, fingers digging in. Your back hit the tile again with a soft thud, your legs wrapping around his hips like instinct. Like this was where you were meant to be.

Your breath punched out of you in one shocked moan as his cock slid against your center—thick and hot and right there.

“Fuck—Joey—”

“I’ve got you,” he gritted out, adjusting his grip, voice low and strained. “You want me to stop, you tell me now.”

Your answer was immediate. “Don’t you dare stop.”

His eyes flashed, a primal hunger flickering behind them as he huffed out a breathless laugh.

With one deep, punishing thrust—he pushed into you all the way.

You gasped. It was too much. It was perfect.

Your head fell back against the tile, jaw going slack, your legs tightening around him as he filled you to the hilt—thick and hot and alive inside you, like he belonged there.

Like he always had.

Joe swore under his breath, forehead falling to your shoulder, both arms locking around you like he couldn’t stand to let you go.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he rasped. “Jesus, baby…”

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak. Just clenched around him as your nails dug into his back, trying to breathe, trying not to fall apart from just the feel of him inside you.

And then he started to move. Slow at first. Deep. Controlled. Like he was trying to feel every part of you. Like he wanted to make sure you felt every part of him.

You moaned—loud, open, shameless—and that was all it took for him to snap.

His pace picked up, rougher now, rhythm locking into yours like it had always lived there. Your back slid against the slick tile with every thrust, water pounding overhead, your breath turning high and frantic as he fucked you harder, each crack of his hips knocking sound out of you.

“You take it so fucking well,” Joe growled, lips dragging hot along your throat, teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you gasp. “Layin’ out there all day like it was nothing.”

You whimpered, spine bowing beneath the sound of his voice, beneath the way he pushed deeper now, rougher and relentless.

“Lookin’ so pretty, all quiet and smug in your little bikini,” he panted. “You knew I was watching.”

Your head dropped back, a whine breaking loose as his thrusts went harder, steadier.

“You love this,” he muttered, voice wrecked. “Actin’ like you’ve got control ‘til I get my hands on you. Then you just—fall apart.”

He laughed then—quiet, sharp, almost cruel. A sound that would’ve made you flinch if it had come from anyone else.

But from Joe, it wrecked you.

Your fingers clawed into his hair, dragging him down as your mouth found his again—messy and wild and aching.

“Joe—I’m—fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Yeah?” he gritted, arm locking tighter around your waist. “Then give it to me, baby. Come for me. Let me feel it.”

And when you did, when your body seized around him, trembling, nails scoring his back as your orgasm surged through you—it nearly knocked you out. Vision blurred. Chest locked. The air ripped from your lungs like it belonged to him.

He held you together as you shattered, kept thrusting, kept whispering something low and dirty into your ear. Words you couldn’t even catch because your brain was gone and your body wasn’t yours anymore.

“God, that’s it… fuck, you feel so good like this,” he groaned, pace faltering. “So good for me.”

“God, that’s it… fuck, you feel so good like this,” he groaned, his pace faltering. “So good for me.”

He came seconds later, thick and deep, a guttural sound ripped from his throat as his hips jerked one last time and he stilled, arms tight around you, his breath hitting your shoulder in heavy waves.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

The water kept falling, louder than your breath—but not by much. Steam clung to every surface, fogging the glass, curling around Joe’s shoulders, catching in the wet strands of his hair where they hung over his forehead.

His arms were still wrapped around you. His body still pressed close, like he didn’t trust his legs to hold him up unless yours were locked around his hips. His face was buried in the crook of your neck, breath stuttering across your skin in warm, open bursts.

You could feel the pulse of him still buried deep. The twitch of muscle. The echo of aftershock against your thigh.

Your fingers were in his hair, but they’d softened now—no more clawing, no more clutching. Just a lazy drag along the nape of his neck as your heart slowed enough for you to feel it again.

He didn’t say anything.

Not right away.

Just stayed there, holding you as if he liked how you felt all quiet and pliant in his arms. One hand slid up your spine slowly while the other stayed locked around your waist, thumb pressing idly into the curve of your ribs.

When he finally spoke, it was quiet. Barely a breath:

“You okay?”

You nodded into his shoulder. Your voice didn’t work yet. Not in a real way. But your body did—you curled your fingers a little tighter at the base of his skull, pressed your nose into the spot behind his ear.

“Yeah,” you managed. “I’m good.”

Joe pulled back just enough to look at you.

His hair was plastered to his forehead, drops of water catching on his lashes, his mouth red and parted and a little too smug for someone who had just devastated you. But behind all that was the softness he couldn’t hide—even when he tried. Even when he wore it under all that cocky, quiet dominance.

His thumb brushed the corner of your mouth. “You sure?” he asked again, gentler this time.

You nodded, a breathless smile tugging at your lips. “I mean… I can’t feel my legs. So take that as you will.”

That made him grin—broad and gorgeous and a little too pleased with himself.

“Guess I’ll take that as a win,” he said, then leaned in to kiss you again. Softer this time. Less about desire and more about grounding. 

He eased out of you slowly, and you winced—half from the ache, half from the cold as he stepped back just far enough to let the water hit your chest again. Your feet hit the floor a beat later, but your legs wobbled, and Joe was there instantly—one hand steady at your waist like he’d expected it.

“Okay,” he murmured, chuckling under his breath. “Yeah, you’re not walking anywhere.”

“You’re proud of yourself, huh?” you muttered, eyelids heavy.

Joe dipped his head to kiss your collarbone. Then your shoulder. Lips lingering there with a smile. “Little bit.”

You huffed out a soft laugh, letting your forehead fall to his. Letting the heat between you settle into something quieter. The water kept running, but neither of you moved. Not for a while.

Hands holding each other.

Skin flushed.

Hearts still skipping.

The kind of aftermath that didn’t ask for words.

[navydoves]

Can't do these without my help, can you?

✎ᝰ. summary: going out of his way to become your tutor, caleb is right where he wants to be when you invite him over.

✎ᝰ. cw: dom!caleb, tutor!caleb, perversion, semi-masturbation, panty ADDICT, freako caleb, a creampie, dirty talk, just a little degradation, orgasm-denial if you squint, caleb is very needy 4 u and also a little obsessive

✎ᝰ. wc: 4.1k

✎ᝰ. a/n: i'm not particularly interested in caleb as a li, but i hope i did his writing justice. i also wrote this all in one go for u crazy freaks. enjoy!

𖤐

light, fruity, feminine; that was the inviting smell of your room that greeted caleb every time he came over for a session. your walls were adored with small posters of your favourite medias, and over them, warm fairy lights were strung to create a very home-y, gentle atmosphere. your room was a direct reflection of you, someone who was just as inviting and gentle, someone who was just as warm and feminine. he was obsessed.

he's observed you from afar for a while now as the girl who seemed unreachable, untouchable. he would purposefully sit in the row behind you during lecture hall to keen himself in on what you were jotting down in your notes or searching up on your computer. you were never secretive about it, not even when you browsed online stores or your clicked through social media during class.

sometimes he would drop whatever he was doing when he saw you on campus—with your friends or sometimes not. he preferred when you were alone. he never followed you anywhere, no, but he would take mental notes of where you frequented and with whom. he felt like a weirdo at first, staring at you like this and getting to know you well enough to be mistaken for your friend. but that feeling had long past, long after he actually became your friend.

it took a bit of courage and time from him to work himself up to the challenge of simply talking to you, but it was easier than he thought once he actually approached you. you were sociable, kind, so warm. it also helped that caleb knew all of your interests already and was a great conversationalist when it came to things he was passionate about. no, not your favourite band, but you.

he found himself only growing more infatuated with your person as time went on. you entrusted him quickly; he knew he was very charming and welcoming as a person, so when you started confiding in him, details of your personal life, he happily listened. he hated when you talked about previous relationships or other guys you were currently looking at. has all the effort he has put in to get close to you been in vain?? he dismissed those conversations; he hated those men.

it was only when you started talking about your assignments that caleb began to become interested again. something about caleb was that, despite not really trying, he was a prodigy in school. it was the reason why he could get away with gawking at you in class without failing. and now, hearing you complain about classes he had found easy—even while sleeping through them—he realized he had another way into your life. his intelligence was a gift that kept on giving, it seemed.

when he first offered to tutor, you were skeptical. apparently, you had tried tutors in the past and none of them really helped, but caleb assured you that he would be different - that he would actually help. you reluctantly agreed and insisted on paying him despite his refusal. seeing you privately, teaching you, guiding you was more than enough to satisfy caleb in every way, but you were a feisty one.

the first time came caleb came over for a tutoring session, he almost came in his pants just stepping into that fruity-scented room of yours and had to wait until you left for the bathroom to let out a soft groan of pleasure. he wasn't sure why he was so aroused by just being in your room like this, you hadn't even done anything but get most of the questions wrong on your calculus practice exam. there's no reason for his cock to be twitching in his pants like this every time he looked up at you.

the feeling of restraint was a nice one to caleb, though. every time he packed his bag before heading off to your place for a session, he knew he would spend the next hour or two trying not to get his dick all hard. he's felt it before; your form so close to his that the heat radiating off of you sent jolts straight down to his cock, and still, he had to resist getting fully erect. something about being denied that pleasure because he could get caught by you was exhilarating, it made him lightheaded. but he questioned, when was denial going to eat away at him?

caleb was a good tutor, a great one in fact. since the day he was hired, you've improved significantly in all of your most hated subjects. he's turned around the pattern of unreliable tutors you've had in the past, which is why he thinks you decided to continue your sessions even through spring break. on any normal basis, caleb would reject the offer. spring break was his time to leave the campus behind and take a flight somewhere deserted. but for you? he'd stay nailed to your room floor if you so wanted.

"caleb's here!" he chirps happily as he knocks on your apartment door. he hears scuffling from afar followed by the nearing pitter-patter of your footsteps. he watches as the door unlocks and opens for him, you shorter form - clad in shorts and loose shirt - standing behind it with a gentle smile.

"hey, come in. sorry, was cleaning out my backpack." you step aside for him and then turn your back to him as you motioned for him to follow you into your room. that gesture was enough to already get his hormones erratic.

caleb tightens his grip on his bag and uses other hand to wave dismissively while following you to your bedroom. "nah, you're all good. you doing some spring cleaning?" he asks with a playful lilt to his voice. he steps into your room and glances around, trying not to make it obvious to you that he was getting a little antsy.

"uh, something like that," you answer while situating yourself on a cushion behind your small floor table. right next to you, was where caleb usually sat. "i just need my backpack empty for when class starts up again. i get overwhelmed with all the papers but never end up doing anything about it." you lug the backpack in question off from the table pull out the textbooks you were gonna use to study today.

caleb nods at your words and realizes he should be making himself at home too. he drops his bag beside the table and moves to the cushion next to you, glancing over at the textbook name. "more math?" he asks in a laugh.

you sigh in exasperation and shrug. this was the subject most of your study sessions were about. "i can't do any type of math, it's actually kinda funny how bad i am." you wrap one arm around caleb's neck and pull him into a good-natured side hug. "but that's why you're here!"

caleb immediately tenses up in your embrace. oh fuck, this difficult task of not creaming his pants was already proving to be extreme, and he had barely been in your house for five minutes. despite his struggle, he didn't want to pull away from you, fearing you would take it as rejection, but your proximity and scent was already making him dizzy.

thankfully you peeled yourself off of him before he could let a pathetic moan slip out. with a grunt, he shifts himself on the cushion and zeros in his attention to the textbook you opened. he watches you flip through the pages, saying something about the professor being annoying—or was it the work? he wasn’t sure; he was already too far gone.

"s-so, how much work am i helping you with here? ya gonna suck up day one of my spring break dry?" caleb chuckles, trying to distract himself from the ache in his body.

"i won't keep you long," you sigh, "i already feel bad making you help me over our break. it'll be short, don't worry."

he nods again, but your words make him feel conflicting turmoil. he wanted to stay, but the longer he did, the greater the risk of him busting a nut right there on your carpet. he had been suppressing his arousal for months and he was now reaching his limit.

"no it's okay, take as much of my time as you need," caleb responds with a smile that was slightly forced. the will of god himself could not ameliorate the amount of horny caleb had built within him - but caleb was stronger than god in that room.

the next hour consisted of you brushing against him, teasing him, asking him questions in a cute, confused tone. he was losing his composure so quick that an erection was inevitable for him despite the restraint. he placed his bag over his lap so that it wasn't so obvious, but he knew at some point, he was gonna have to take it off. going to your bathroom to relieve himself was also not a solution, considering your bathroom shared a wall with your room and you would be able to hear the groans of your name that he needed to say to be able cum.

"do you want something to eat?" you suddenly ask after you triumphantly finished another practice sheet from the textbook. "you've been here for a while, i can see what i have in the kitchen."

caleb almost jumped for joy. yes, please leave the room, please he can't take it anymore. you're so much. "i-i wouldn't mind it, thanks. take your time, you've been working hard." he watches you smile and nod before leaving the room, leaving him inside alone.

. . . he shouldn't . . . he shouldn't. he had to respect the home you so graciously invited him into and he shouldn't. but the erection in his pants was so overwhelmingly distracting that if he had any chance of being good tutor for the rest of his time here, he needed to relieve himself.

caleb pushes himself off the cushion and lets his bag fall from his lap. he quietly strides to your dresser and has one final moral dilemma in his head before opening one of the cabinets. these were your shirts. he opens another one - your socks. then another - your bras. the bras were tempting, he wouldn't lie, but they weren't what he was looking for. but then he hit the top drawer which looked like a gold mine to him - your panties. he groans into his palm before haphazardly picking up a pink one and closing the cabinet.

quickly, he brings it to his nose and begins palming himself through his pants. fuck, this was better than any jack-off session he's ever had with porn - and he wasn't even really touching his cock. stumbling around like a man drunk, he bends over your bed with his nose deep into the pussy lining of your panties. pre-cum soaked his own underwear and he could only hope that it wouldn't seep into his pants. he needed this; like a man needed water he needed your pussy overtaking him like this.

the pleasure hazing his mind only amplified when he caught glimpse of your laundry hamper in the corner. his eyes blew wide, the purple of his irises gone as his pupils dilated at a new idea. he rushes over to the hamper and digs through the top pieces of clothes with one singular prayer in his mind.

please, please, please.

and maybe his prayers worked, maybe god was actually with him because he found exactly what he was risking his entire reputation for - a dirty, used panty that had all of your natural musk on it, uncovered by detergent and fully soaked with every acidic smell of your pussy. the moment caleb brings the red fabric to his nose, he lets out the loudest groan he's ever allowed himself to do in your house. what he would give for this to be your actual soaking, wet heat covering his face. he was almost tempted to pull out his cock right there and use your underwear as a make-shift pocket pussy, but he thought against it.

you'd be back any minute now. he didn't know what you were making, and it made him nervous. there was a difference in time between slicing apples and cooking those struggle-meal noodles on the stove, and he was none-the-wiser as to what you were doing. but he didn't want to move. he really didn't. he growls at the dilemma, but despite the disagreements happening in his brain his body wasn't moving.

caleb moves the panties back a few inches to get a good look at it. it was stained with a bit of discharge and other feminine fluids that he couldn't be sure of, but that didn't stop him from what he did next. he brings the crotch of your panties to his mouth and clamps down on it, sucking it vigorously in attempts to taste every second that you wore this. there was a tangy taste on his mouth that he learned in that second was the taste of you - and that realization itself made his balls clench up, readying to spill in his pants. he quickly moves his hand away from his erection imprint to stall his orgasm but cries out softly from the denial. thankfully, the cloth of your panties muffled his voice.

everything became a second thought, though, when he heard the change in your footsteps from outside. you were no longer walking on the tiles of your kitchen, but instead the wooden floors of the common room. caleb clambered to pile all of the discarded dirty laundry back into the hamper but kept the saliva drenched panties in his pocket. he shuffled back to the cushion behind your small table and tensed up as your footsteps neared. his heart had never pounded like this, not even during training season back when he was in the army for piloting.

you clicked open the door and smiled sheepishly at caleb with a tray of various finger foods. "hey, sorry for the wait," you hum, "i quickly realized i didn't have full meals on deck to make you so i just opted for like a…. snack tray?" you bent over and placed the tray on the table in front of caleb with an inviting gesture, telling him to eat.

caleb flits his gaze up to you before looking away in slight shame. "no it's alright, i actually had a pretty big breakfast so a few snacks is just what i need." he laughs like normal but there was anxiety simmering within his body at the situation he put himself in. all this for an orgasm he couldn't even have? doesn't matter, he'll have a jerk-off session so intense later that he'll colour your panties his cum-shade of white.

it was the anxiety in his chest, though, that made him flinch at your sudden gasp. he sits up, startled and furrows his brows. but before he could ask anything, you move toward your bed and pick up a discarded pair of pink panties that were laying there.

fuck, fuck, fuck. he forgot to put them back in the drawer and left them there like an idiot. fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

before caleb could drop to his hands and knees and beg for forgiveness, you beat him to it.

"i.. am so sorry, i have no idea how long those have been there for. agh, this is so embarassing!" you squeal while snatching them off your bed and throwing them into your top drawer without so much as caring to fold them. caleb looks at you dumbfoundedly with a slack jaw which you took as an expression of disgust. you turn your body away from his direction and shield your eyes from the world as shame boiled within your stomach.

caleb looks around the room like he was being duped. so god was actually here with him, protecting his perversion from ever being know. but yet, while he could get away with unscathed, there was something about your naivety that really created an itch. almost caught, once again; denial felt so good up until this point and he could take no more. he stands and glances down at his still prominent erection before moving behind where you stood. he places his hands on your hips and his chin atop your shoulder, coaxing you to move back against his body.

"i… can't take it much longer, yknow?" he murmurs with an uncharacteristically calm voice. he presses his hips to your backside, letting you feel his large, hard erection dig into your body and letting you know that he was in need. "tell me to leave. tell me to fuck off and i will and i'll never even look in your direction again. i've never had a woman drive me so crazy that i couldn't even step foot in her room without losing my mind."

you tense at both caleb's words and the poking sensation you felt in your back. you almost couldn't believe what was happening - all so fast too. one moment you were pouring stale pretzels into a small bowl for the two of you and the next you were pressed up against your tutor's hard cock. you felt a little speechless.

"caleb… i… i don't know what to say," you whisper, "what is this? what is happening?"

"i don't know how to make this clearer for you," he rumbles, "i feel like a bitch in heat. what you should say is that you want me out of your fucking house and to never contact you again, that's the script here. i'm not paid to be here and fucking lust over you but i am, and i need to go."

the non-existent distance between you two only made it harder for caleb to conceal the extent of his desire. his cock throbbed like it was trying to free itself from the confines of his pants. you took a long time to respond - or at least it felt incredibly long to caleb's distorted mind. but that distortion came to an end when you turned your head back to look at him with those pretty eyes of yours. your expression was unreadable.

"but what if i don't want you to leave?"

𖤐

"fuck. that's my nasty girl. that's my little slut," caleb grunts in your ear. your legs quiver in an attempt to hold themselves up against him at the ninety-degree angle you were in. the only support you were given were caleb's hands bruising into your hips and holding you still as he battered into from behind. every thrust from him threatened to topple you over flat onto your stomach and atop the small table underneath you.

"c…caleb! caleb, agh!" you cried with your head tucked into your chin.

"yes, pretty girl? is it too much for you?" caleb mocked you. "i told you to kick me out, i told you didn't i?" his pace didn't relent at your cries, not one bit. he's waited so long for this. he's waited so long to feel your cunt squeezing him like this. his imagination compared nothing to the real feeling of your slick, fluffy pussy sucking him in and constricting around his cock so eagerly. you were enjoying it too, he could tell. the way you cried out his name like that - all honeyed. you gave into his perversion so easily it almost makes him wish he did it earlier.

"mmngh… fuuuck, you're tightening around me so good. have you also thought about me fucking you senselessly like this? 'cause this pretty pussy ain't letting me go." caleb grins and leans back to get a better view of his cock pounding into your creamed cunt. the sight of his thickness disappearing within you only to come back out coated in more of your arousal left him feeling insatiable. every thrust squelched out shared juices onto the below table and covered your classwork, consequently drenching them in slick and arousal.

"c-caleb, m…my work… fuck… i-i need that," you whine. caleb grins and shrugs; his pace still wasn't relenting and he certainly wasn't moving you elsewhere. your pussy was nice and delicious just like this.

"get new copies," he grunts, "and then you can invite me over again to help you. after all, you can't do these without my help, can you?"

caleb leans over your back and fully wraps his arms around your midsection for better, deeper thrusts. every slide in ensured that every inch of him down to his ballsack was burrowed into you; every slide out ensured that the curve of his cock dragged your pussy walls with it. the noises between your bodies were abhorrently obscene and echoed in your room with each sloppy thrust. you've never been fucked so hungrily in your life up until the monster cock that was caleb's.

caleb kept one strong bicep wrapped around your waist to hold you still while the other moved down to your clit. his fingers deftly played with your swollen nub, moving it in circles and pinching it to help you build up an orgasm. you squealed at the extra sensation of pleasure coming from in-between your legs, it was so strong that you almost buckled over from overstimulation.

caleb simply laughs at you and toys with your bundle of nerves even more. "feel good?" he purrs. "keep me around for these tutoring sessions and i'll give you much more than a few As. i'll give you my cock and reward you for doing so well. do you want that? do you wanna get drunk on my cock for being such a good girl?"

he was taunting you, clearly, but a two-in-one deal of good grades and good dick was tempting. despite being a withering mess who was getting her cunt squashed with each passing second, you managed to suck in a breath and whimper out an answer. "ngh… y…yes, i want that."

"what was that? couldn't hear you, honey," he sneers. "i'm not the type of guy to just take what i want, y'know? i want my girl just as eager as me. do i have to ask you again?"

"n-no, i want it!"

caleb smirks. "that's it. nasty thing ~."

with his ego stroked by your words, caleb increases the speed of his thrusts vigorously. he's held back an orgasm so diligently this entire time for the sake of savoring your sloppy wet cunt. but now, knowing he'll be back here in due time to do this all over again, he no longer has to deny himself the beauty of orgasming inside of you.

you beat him to it. your legs failed you as soon as your orgasm hit and left you limp in caleb's arms. he was strong enough to catch you and hold you up against him which left your legs dangling mid-air. you couldn't even yell or scream as you came, your voice was entirely gone and all that was left were a few weak squeaks coming from your throat. your sweet walls contracted around caleb so strongly that you could feel his struggle to move.

he groaned loudly in your ear and then practically whimpered your name. you were tight since he first sank into your warmth, but this was another level of constriction that he didn't think was possible. his hips stuttered pathetically as they could no longer sustain a rhythmic pattern. he gave out right there. his cock pulsed in you like a second heartbeat as a deep wave of semen filled the hilt of your pussy and gushed out from your folds from the overflow.

caleb went silent as his own voice was stolen by the insurmountable pleasure he was feeling. he was pumping spurt after spurt within you, and he could only blame the months he's lived so pent up. he groans again; eyes water slightly from the intensity of the euphoria. "oh my god…" he whispers.

the both of you wait until the strength of your orgasms subsided before even facing each other. caleb nudges your cheek with his nose but your eyes were closed in exhaustion. with the little energy he had left, he slipped out of your sticky pussy and carried you a few feet to your bed. he laid you down gently and took the time to appreciate the view. the girl he's been obsessing for better half of the year was now fucked and filled, good and well by him. you looked too pretty like this; he was sure he was looking at perfection.

caleb lays down next you on your bed and cups your cheek. he was worried that this was an all too familiar gesture, but having your cervix filled with his cum was probably a little more intimate. as your eyes flutter open to meet caleb's, he smiles and hums.

"you're mine now."

𖤐

[velarisdusk]

Meant to Stand

Cassian x Reader

summary: Rhysand has one request: restore a half-collapsed cabin into something fit for veteran Illyrians. The catch? You'll be doing it with Cassian—and the two of you haven't truly spoken since that mission four years ago. word count: 15.7k content: [ explicit sexual content, borderline dub-con, rough sex, verbal degradation, praise, fingering, bondage, edging, orgasm denial, piv, no condom and no pulling out (me back on my bullshit :P) sexism/misogyny (minor characters), threat of violence (non-graphic, knives mentioned), injury (to the head, blood), explicit language ] author's note: please note that all sexual content is ultimately consensual, though the dynamic leans aggressive/intense. this is an enemies to lovers after all >:) ✦ . 1k Celebration Apothecary . ✦ warrior's draught infused with a drop of heartstring enhanced with echo leaves stirred thank you for the request @avidromancereader!! your ask is gone from my inbox and i cant find your acc but i hope you'll somehow see this anyway. mwah <33

He had to be joking.

Rhysand leaned casually against the edge of his desk, as if this were no different from any other meeting, as if he hadn’t just unleashed the single most insufferable idea ever conceived within the borders of this Court. His arms folded across his chest, violet eyes deceptively calm, holding a polite smile that barely masked something sharp underneath. If he said, “I think this could be good for you two” one more time, you were certain you’d find something heavy nearby to throw at him.

Cassian stood to your left, a low, humorless huff escaping him—equal parts disbelief and reluctant amusement. You refused to meet his gaze; looking at him risked egging him on.

“Say it again,” you demanded, keeping your voice steady, trying to rein in the irritation that prickled at your skin. “Just so I know I heard you right.”

Rhys’s smile didn’t falter. “The two of you are going to restore an old Illyrian safehouse. It’s been abandoned for decades—north of Windhaven, higher up into the mountain range. Remote, battered by weather, half-collapsed.”

You blinked, waiting.

“And you want us to fix it.”

“I want you to rebuild it,” he said, voice smooth and unyielding, like riverstone polished by relentless currents. “From the ground up, if necessary.”

You stared at him. 

He pressed on, as if he hadn’t just sentenced you both to weeks locked away in isolation with nothing but rotting timber and cold stone. “It’s more than just a safehouse. I want it to be a retreat—a sanctuary where soldiers can recover. After missions. After war. Somewhere quiet. Off-grid, unreachable, but safe. Yours will be the first. If it works, we’ll build more.”

Your eyes flickered to Cassian.

His jaw twitched—the faintest flicker of muscle betraying his calm.

“A healing retreat,” you repeated, your voice flat, tasting disbelief.

Rhys nodded once.

“In the middle of nowhere.”

Another nod.

“For Illyrian soldiers.”

Smile. Nod.

You let out a breath through your nose—a sharp, bitter exhale. “What the fuck did we do to deserve this?”

Rhysand laughed, a rich sound that held a hint of something unrepentant. “Consider it a sign of my deepest trust.”

From beside you, Cassian muttered under his breath, voice low and dark, “Sounds more like a punishment to me.”

Your eyes flicked briefly to him—he looked as irritated as you felt, but he masked it with practiced ease, folding his broad arms across his chest, a silent challenge. Motherfucker.

You turned back to Rhys.

“Why us?”

Rhys’s smile sharpened, eyes gleaming with something unreadable. “Because no one else has your combined skill set. And because I think it would do you good to spend some time—”

“If you say ‘together,’” you cut him off, voice low and deadly serious, “I swear on the Mother, I’ll walk out of this room and straight off the edge of the Sidra.”

Cassian snorted.

You whipped your gaze to him. “This isn’t funny.”

He shrugged with maddening nonchalance. “I didn’t say it was.”

But that smug glint in his eye—the one he’d carried the whole way back from that disastrous mission four years ago—the one where everything went sideways and somehow you had been the one Rhys lectured afterward—was back.

“Look,” Rhys said, voice dipping to something dangerously calm, “the house matters. It served as a midwinter refuge for mountain patrols, and I want it operational again. You’ll have all the supplies you need. Space to work. And if you’re smart, you’ll finish before the first frost.”

Cassian drawled, “And if we’re not smart?”

Rhys’s smile brightened, teeth flashing. “Then you’ll be cold.”

You glanced down at the map unfurled before you—tiny inked lines snaking through jagged peaks like veins. The cottage was just a speck, swallowed whole by towering mountains, tucked so deep into the range it might as well be a secret.

It was madness. You should have said no.

But Cassian straightened beside you, jaw set with stubborn resolve. He wasn’t backing down.

So neither would you.

“Fine,” you said, clipped and sharp.

Cassian echoed it with a curt nod. “Fine.”

Rhys clapped his hands once, far too pleased with himself. “Excellent.”

You bit back the urge to slam your fist into the desk.

That had been this morning.

Now, hours later, your boots crunched against the brittle snow crust that had settled thick inside what little remained of the front room. Your fingers were numb, clenching the rusted shovel you’d found half-buried in a corner, its handle rough and cold beneath your gloves. Rhys had winnowed you straight to the site just after dawn, telling you Cassian would fly in alone. Of course he had.

Rhys hadn’t said much before whisking you here—only the name of the family you’d be staying with. Good, solid folk from Windhaven, kind in a way that felt like the earth itself. Their eldest had built his own forge. The memory flickered briefly, warm as a candle’s flame, until you turned and saw the house.

Calling it a house felt generous.

Half the roof had collapsed, snow having crept inside through years of neglect and storms. One wall sagged inward, as if defeated by its own weight, barely holding on. The front door hung crooked on a single rusty hinge, creaking faintly in the biting wind. Inside, rot and ruin claimed everything—the acrid smell of damp wood and cold ash clung to your nostrils as you stepped over the threshold.

You’d expected this would be bad. It was worse.

This place was not meant to stand.

But you got to work.

By the time the sun clawed its way above the ridgeline, you’d cleared two rooms of snow, shoulders aching, fingers stinging despite the thick gloves. Your muscles protested with every shovelful of debris, your frustration growing heavier than the weight you hauled.

The wind whispered and howled through shattered beams. The house groaned under the assault of time and weather. And still, no sign of Cassian.

When his boots finally crunched through the snow behind you, the sky was already washed bright with late morning sun. You were midway through yanking a broken rafter free from what had once been a bedroom.

“Well,” he said, voice maddeningly bright, “at least it’s got character.”

You spun, incredulous. “Are you kidding?”

Cassian glanced around, hands on hips, wings flaring briefly as he took in the wreckage. “No. I’m honestly impressed it’s still standing.”

“I’ve been here for hours.”

“I told Rhys I’d fly. You chose the early shift.”

You dropped the rafter with a satisfying thunk. “You’re late.”

He shrugged. “You started without me.”

And just like that, the bickering began—fast and fierce. Over the beams’ state. The rot creeping through the floors. Who got which tools. Where to start first—though, as you reminded him more than once, you were already well underway.

“You cannot patch a roof with brute force, Cassian.”

“Brute force’s been good to me for five hundred years.”

“Not on a roof.”

“You’re just jealous you can’t lift the roof.”

You came dangerously close to hurling a hammer at his head at that. Why would you want to? Why would you even need to?

Eventually, grudgingly, a plan took shape.

The supplies Rhys had sent arrived: thick lumber, nails, shingles, canvas tarps. Throughout the day, women from Windhaven appeared with baskets of food and tightly wrapped bundles of dried herbs and cloth, leaving as quietly as they came—always with a knowing glance. One winked when she handed you a loaf of bread.

You didn’t ask questions.

Cassian took to the high work, wings carrying him effortlessly to the eaves and upper beams. You handled the details—the door frames, window fittings, and cuts requiring more precision than power. You worked in parallel, never quite together.

Outside, the wind sharpened, prying at battered walls as if intent on tearing the house apart for good.

Hours later, you left the site, the day’s labor etched into your muscles and mood. The chill lingered, stubborn as ever, even when you reached the small home where you would stay.

Illyrian, of course—rough-hewn in both manner and build, but not unkind.

Harran, the father, stood tall and broad-shouldered, coal-dark hair threaded with silver, a jagged scar slicing down his jaw. His eyes were sharp but not cruel, and he moved like a man who’d seen enough battle to stop pretending it glorified anything.

His mate, Vesa, was smaller and wiry, her clipped wings folded tight behind her. Her gaze was steady and clear—missed nothing, endured everything. Her hands, scarred and chapped, were always busy—kneading dough, mending clothes, smoothing a child’s hair.

Their sons, Miran and Corven, were nearly Cassian’s height—broad-shouldered and muscular from long hours training in the mountains. Miran, the older, carried himself with a practiced swagger; Corven was never far behind, eager to match his brother’s pace. They elbowed and argued, squabbled over the first bowl of stew, and ignored you with the effortless indifference only Illyrian boys could master.

Their daughter, Nali, was younger—ten, maybe twelve—difficult to tell beneath soot-smudged skin and fraying braids. Her wings were untouched, not yet clipped. At first, she watched you warily—quiet, observant—before offering a tentative smile and a crust of bread, weighing you carefully as if deciding whether you were threat or fleeting stranger. When she spoke, her bluntness mirrored your own too closely to be coincidence.

Vesa met you at the door with a smile and warm hands. Inside, the hearth roared like a promise of safety. The scent of roasting meat and fresh bread filled the room, weaving through the low murmur of quiet conversation. 

You ate without much thought, muscles loosening with each bite as the cold finally released its grip.

Later, wrapped in thick woolen blankets lent by Nali, you lay awake, the mountain wind howling outside like a mourning song, the creak of old wood and scrape of ice against stone your only companions.

Your mind drifted—as it always did after too many hours spent circling Cassian’s orbit—back to that day. The day everything twisted between you.

You could still hear the shouted orders, feel the crushing weight of every mistake like shards of splintering wood pressing down, drowning you.

It hadn’t been just the mission going sideways.

It was everything that followed—the flicker of  grudging respect, the sharp words, the cold distance. The silent apologies neither of you dared voice. 

You closed your eyes and let the wind howl its grief through the mountains, the sound folding over you like a threadbare lullaby. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

A week had passed. Probably. You’d stopped counting somewhere around day four, when your fingers went numb midway through hammering a frost-stiffened plank and you’d seriously considered torching the entire cottage just to make a point.

Still—progress. Measurable, even. The worst of the rot had been cleared. Floorboards in the front room were sanded and patched. Rafters, once bowed and brittle, had been reinforced with new timber. Slowly, stubbornly, the bones of the house had begun to realign themselves beneath the weight of your shared labor.

Cassian had even rehung the front door—though not without three stripped hinges, several increasingly irrational arguments, and one wholly gratuitous flex of his biceps.

The worst part of it all? The hike.

And gods, it seemed to get steeper with each passing day.

Rhys had dropped you directly at the doorstep when he first winnowed you in, but ever since then, the journey from the foothills to the cottage had to be done on foot—an hour of merciless incline, uneven footing, and air thinned just enough to make your lungs burn.

Every morning, without fail, somewhere near the quarter mark, you’d hear it: the slow, rhythmic thud of wings overhead.

You didn’t know where Cassian spent his nights, but there he was each dawn, cutting a high path across the ridgeline like a shadow peeled from the rock. He never looked down. Never hovered. Never taunted. For that small mercy, you were grateful.

And yet—

Some traitorous part of you, breathless and aching and cold, found itself wishing—just once—that he’d stop. Offer to carry you the rest of the way. Just once.

The moment the thought formed, you slapped yourself in the face with your own glove.

You would rather collapse in the snow than ask. You were not that desperate. 

Today’s task: one of the larger ceiling beams had to be repositioned before the rest of the support frame could go in. It was easily twice your weight and stubborn as hell, and you knew without even trying that getting it in place would be a losing battle. That didn’t mean you wouldn’t try though. It was going to be a long day. 

You adjusted your grip on the timber. Morning frost still clung to the surface, and the grain bit into your palms like it could sense the tremor in your muscles.

Through the ragged hole where a window would eventually sit, you caught sight of Cassian outside. 

He’d hauled half the new roofing up the slope before sunrise. Now he was anchoring the lean-to’s frame—bracing a support beam with one hand, hammering with the other.

Snow crunched beneath his boots each time he shifted. His breath curled silver in the cold. The steady rhythm of nails driving into wood echoed through the half-finished walls, punctuated by the occasional muttered curse when one bent wrong.

It was the kind of work that demanded his full attention—

—which meant, unfortunately, that your job for the moment was this stubborn, gods-damned beam.

You turned back to it with a sigh. Dragged the step ladder from the corner. Braced it against what remained of the western wall. Climbed slowly, joints stiff from the cold, from the climb, from a week’s worth of bruises you hadn’t bothered to tally.

One hand on the beam. One on the top rung.

You pushed.

Nothing. 

You shifted angles. Shoved again, jaw locked tight.

Still nothing.

Your breath scraped in and out like it had to fight for space.

You braced your shoulder into the timber, legs straining. Something groaned—either the ladder or your spine—but the beam didn’t move. Or maybe it did. A hair. A tremble. Enough to fool yourself.

Your vision sparked at the edges.

Then your boot slipped.

Your shoulder clipped the top rung, too slow to catch yourself—

—and your head struck the beam, hard, a sudden, blinding thunk.

The world pitched.

Then the floor rose to meet your spine.

A flare of white. Then nothing at all.

Something tugged at you eventually. 

Light, at first. Insistent. 

—light, insistent. 

Then sound—distant, distorted, like your name being called through stone. A scraping wind. The dull, percussive drum of your pulse hammering behind your eyes.

You blinked.

The world listed sideways. Skewed edges. Sky, timber, a shadow leaning over you. It moved—broad shoulders, dark hair—and resolved, slowly, into a face much too close to yours.

Cassian.

His palms framed your face, steady and warm, anchoring you like you might float off otherwise. There was tension in his jaw, a furrow carved deep between his brows. He looked—

Panicked.

Why?

You blinked again. Tried to speak. Nothing emerged.

His thumb passed gently along your cheekbone. You felt it. That, at least, reached you.

Then the pain came.

Blinding. Sudden.

The throb behind your eyes flared white-hot, and you could only gasp, curling reflexively as the world slammed back into place—floorboards cold against your spine, rough beneath your coat.

Cassian’s voice cut through the fog. “Hey. Look at me.” Firm. Quiet. “You’re okay. You hit your head, but you’re okay.”

But his tone didn’t sound certain.

You tried to sit up. A jolt of pain arced down your neck like a whip. Cassian’s hand rose without thought—light on your shoulder, more brace than barrier.

“I’m fine,” you rasped. The lie felt hollow in your throat. You pressed your hand to your temple, willing the room to steady. “Just slipped.”

“You fell off a ladder,” he said tightly, crouching beside you. “You could’ve cracked your gods-damned skull. What were you even doing?”

He was too close. Too warm. He smelled like cedar dust and sweat and early morning frost—and his hands, even in their urgency, remained heartbreakingly gentle.

Steady.

He was always so steady. You hated him for it.

“I said I’m fine,” you muttered, shoving weakly at his shoulder. It was like pushing a boulder.

He didn’t budge. Just exhaled, slow and measured, as if dragging the breath up from somewhere deep in his chest. Then, softer, “You’re bleeding. Let me help you.”

You should’ve refused.

Should’ve snapped something sharp and final.

But your head throbbed like it was caught in a smith’s vice, and the floor kept tilting beneath you in queasy waves, and your knees—gods, your knees were shaking now.

So when he eased you upright, guided you carefully toward the nearest wall, you didn’t fight it.

Cassian knelt in front of you again, eyes sweeping over you with a battle-hardened thoroughness that made your skin crawl. You tried to turn your face away—

—but his fingers found your chin. Gentle. Unmoving.

“Hold still.”

You glared. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

He angled your face toward the light, jaw tightening at the sight of the gash above your brow. The blood had begun to clot, streaking thickly through your lashes. You didn’t need to see it to know the damage—his expression told you enough.

Then his hand shifted. Slid into your hair. Fingers careful, parting through tangles to find the source of the swelling.

You flinched.

He stilled. “Didn’t crack it,” he murmured. “But you’re lucky.”

“Or stubborn.”

A soft huff—barely a sound. “Those aren’t mutually exclusive.”

He checked the rest of you with a soldier’s precision—rolling your sleeve to inspect the elbow that had caught your fall, then skimming his hand down your leg, testing the bend of your knee, the give of your ankle. Efficient. Clinical. Detached.

It should’ve felt impersonal.

And yet—

You felt heat creeping beneath your skin all the same.

Cassian leaned back on his heels. “Rhys sent a basic first aid kit up with the supply run. I saw it in one of the crates—we’ll see how basic it is.”

You didn’t argue. Just watched him cross the half-finished room, boots thudding over the creaking floorboards, shadows shifting as he rifled through the stacked crates by the door. Tools clinked faintly nearby. Somewhere outside, the mountain wind threaded through the empty window frames, thin and cold and constant.

You used the moment to gather yourself. To breathe through the pounding behind your eyes, to will the heat still simmering in your chest to settle.

Gods, you hated this.

Hated how easily he’d helped you.

How careful he’d been.

How easy it had been to let him.

Because Cassian was infuriating. Arrogant. Impossible. But when the bluster dropped and left behind only steady hands, a tight mouth, and that quiet concern in his eyes—it made it harder to hold on to the anger you’d spent so long cultivating.

And you needed that anger. It was safer than remembering how it used to be between you. Safer than wondering if he remembered it, too. Safer than asking yourself why it still mattered.

He returned a minute later with a black canvas case and sank back to his knees in front of you. Snapped it open. Inside: a roll of gauze, antiseptic, a clean cloth.

“This’ll sting,” he warned.

You tipped your chin up. “Do your worst.”

He gave you a look. Then, with maddening gentleness, dabbed at the cut above your brow.

The antiseptic bit down sharp and cold and mean. You flinched before you could stop yourself, the muscles in your face twitching involuntarily.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

You let out a breath of a laugh, brittle and dry. “You apologizing now?”

He didn’t bite. Just kept working—focused, silent.

So you clenched your jaw and let him.

There was care in it. Not the loud, performative kind—but the careful press of cloth, the precise wrap of gauze. Intentional. Quiet. It made your skin itch.

He tore the strip of bandage with his teeth, wrapped your head in neat spirals. Tight, but not too tight.

“You’re not setting a bone,” you muttered. “Ease up.”

“Don’t pass out on me again and I’ll consider it.”

You rolled your eyes. Instantly regretted it as the motion sent another pulse of pain lancing through your skull.

When the bandage was finally in place, he leaned back, scanning you again—like he didn’t quite trust you not to have hidden some other injury just to spite him.

“You hit the back of your head too,” he said, voice low. “Hard. You’ll need to watch for symptoms.”

“No shit,” you muttered. “Maybe if someone had warned me about altitude and exertion and, I don’t know, lifting beams clearly designed by a drunk sadist—”

“I did,” he cut in flatly. “Three days ago. You told me to, and I quote, ‘shove it.’”

That… sounded like you.

“Still stands,” you grumbled.

Cassian exhaled through his nose, bracing his forearms on his knees as he studied you. Just studied—no irritation, no smirk, no retort.

Just that look.

You shifted under the weight of it. “What?”

He didn’t answer.

Only said, “You’re lucky you didn’t crack your skull open.”

You scoffed. “You’d love that. One less thing to trip over in this place.”

A quiet snort escaped him, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t tempt me.”

You hesitated. Then, grudgingly: “Thanks.”

It burned in your mouth. Bitter as iron.

Cassian stood. Brushed his palms off on his pants like he couldn’t quite figure out what else to do with them.

“Don’t make a habit of it.”

You wouldn’t. Gods, you wouldn’t.

You turned your back before he could say anything else, jaw tight against the ache behind your eyes.

Letting him take care of you had been bad enough.

Letting him see it? That was worse.

Letting it mean something?

Unforgivable.

So you wouldn’t.

You couldn’t.

You told yourself that was enough.

The work after that resumed without ceremony. No acknowledgment. No mention of the moment you’d let him bandage your face like it hadn’t cost you something. Neither of you spoke about that day.

You didn’t speak much at all.

Days blurred into weeks, thick with sawdust and silence. The roof had gone up two days after your fall, the outer walls not long after that, and the gash on your brow healed without much fuss. One morning, you’d found Cassian half-folded in the crawl space, swearing so colorfully at a snapped floorboard that a laugh slipped out before you could stop it.

He froze.

Eyes narrowing like a wolf catching the sound of prey rustling just beyond reach.

By the time you registered your mistake, it was too late—he’d hurled a clump of wet moss the size of a grapefruit directly at your chest.

You yelped.

He smirked.

And as if the gods demanded balance, he promptly knocked his head against a support beam trying to make a smug exit.

You went back to work, muttering something like, “Idiots shouldn’t be trusted with sharp tools.”

Cassian had gone quiet behind you. For a second, you braced for a retort.

But none came.

Just a grunt. And the steady rhythm of hammering resumed.

And so it went: progress, distance, and the occasional detour into something that almost looked like familiarity—until one of you noticed. And then it was gone again.

One such moment arrived today.

The structure was solid now—weather-tight, insulated, the bones of a real home. Furnishing had begun, thanks in large part to the villagers who insisted on treating the whole project like public entertainment. Two Illyrian females—names you never caught—arrived this morning with a pair of mismatched nightstands and a little girl no older than five, who darted into the house without hesitation.

Cassian was crouched by the hearth, checking the chimney seal, when she barreled into him like a pint-sized battering ram.

He caught her instinctively. Let out a startled grunt that softened into a laugh as she blinked up at him and launched into a breathless story involving her kitten, a bucket, and something about soup.

You stood just inside the doorway, mostly hidden by the frame.

He listened—actually listened. One elbow propped on his knee, expression intent, nodding at all the right moments. When she jabbed a finger at the uneven stonework and declared it crooked, he didn’t correct her. Didn’t scoff. Just flicked a glance at the hearth and said, “Y’know what? You might be right.”

She giggled. He tossed her a wink like they’d sealed some sacred pact.

You didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Because you’d forgotten this version of him.

The one who softened.

The one whose laugh, when it came easy, was low and warm and kind.

The one who didn’t bark or posture or carry every moment like a war waiting to be lost.

You’d forgotten.

And gods help you—

You liked it.

You turned away before you could fall any further, before Cassian caught the way you’d been watching.

Just in time, too—the crunch of boots on the path announced more arrivals. The two eldest sons of the Windhaven woman you were boarding with came into view, hauling a bedframe between them with the mattress already strapped on top. They moved in quiet sync, the way people do when the task is old and the rhythm familiar.

One of the females was chasing down the excitable little girl, who waved goodbye to Cassian with such enthusiasm she nearly toppled over. Her mother chuckled and called out, “Thank you both for building this. It’s a gift to see young love doing something useful.”

Your head snapped around. “We’re not—”

“Nope,” Cassian said at the same time, flat and certain. “Definitely not.”

The female just winked at her friend like she didn’t believe a word of it, and started down the path without looking back.

Then the Windhaven boys reached you.

“Brought the bed from the house,” Miran said, glancing at you, then turning squarely to Cassian. “Our mother said you’d need it sooner or later.”

“That was generous,” Cassian replied, stepping forward with easy authority. “Thanks for carrying it all the way up.”

Corven, with a permanent sneer stitched into his face, let out a low snort. His wings twitched like he was spoiling for something. “Didn’t realize you were playing house,” he said, eyes raking over the structure. “Figured you’d be back in Windhaven by now.”

“I’m not playing anything,” you said, voice cool and steady.

Neither of them looked at you.

Corven’s mouth curled. “Could’ve guessed you’d let her boss you around,” he said to Cassian. “They get mouthy when they think they’re helping.”

Cassian didn’t move. Not visibly. But his entire frame shifted—still, suddenly, as if something had locked in place. You felt it before you saw it.

“Watch your fucking mouth,” you said, stepping forward, sharp as a blade unsheathed. “I don’t need a male’s permission to speak, and I sure as hell don’t need one to lift a godsdamned beam.”

Corven scoffed and stepped in close—too close—his breath laced with arrogance. “Just surprised a fae female thinks she belongs up here,” he said. “Thought your kind liked to stay soft.”

You smiled—slow, cold. The kind of smile that made steel ring when drawn. “Careful. You’re one insult away from me showing you just how soft your skull is.”

That wiped the smirk off his face. A flicker of uncertainty passed through his eyes.

“Mouthy,” he muttered, “for someone who needs a male to keep her upright.”

“Try saying that again while I’m holding a hammer,” you said, stepping toward him until your chests nearly brushed. You didn’t blink.

To your left, Miran leaned toward Cassian and muttered, “She always like this? Or just when she’s bleeding for attention?”

Cassian turned his head toward him. Slowly. Controlled. “You wanna try that again?”

Miran’s lip curled. “Oh? Didn’t think bastards got this protective. Especially over a fae bitch who doesn’t know her place.”

The breath left your body like a snapped string.

Cassian didn’t yell. Didn’t raise a hand.

His voice dropped, low and lethal: “Didn’t think Windhaven bred males dumb enough to say that to my face.”

Corven snorted, not quite brave enough to meet Cassian’s eyes. His gaze slid back to you, crawling over your frame with open disdain. “Bet you don’t even carry your own weight.”

Your jaw tightened. “I carry more than you can lift, you smug little—”

“Real bold, with your guard dog here.” He leaned in, that oily smile spreading again. “Without him, you wouldn’t be mouthing off at all. We’d teach you some manners real fast.”

He took a step closer. That was his mistake.

Cassian moved—but you were faster.

The dagger came free from your thigh holster in one clean motion, your other hand fisting the collar of his leather tunic and dragging him forward. The blade pressed low beneath his ribs, gleaming like a promise.

“Try me,” you said, voice a whisper laced with venom. You saw the moment the smirk fell away, replaced by startled calculation. His hands lifted slightly—not surrender, just instinct.

Behind you, Cassian’s voice sliced through the air like flint on steel.

“She doesn’t need anyone to fight her battles.”

You didn’t take your eyes off Corven, not even as Cassian’s next words landed like a death sentence.

“She outranks both of you. And if I hear one more breath out of you, I’ll rip your tongues out and send them back to your father.”

Silence crashed around you, thick and absolute.

Then:

“Leave the bed,” Cassian said, voice now a command, no longer a warning. “Thank your mother for us. And get the fuck out.”

Miran and Corven exchanged a look—wings flaring, teeth grit, pride wounded but not enough to be suicidal. They walked off a few paces, boots crunching against packed snow, dirt kicking up as they launched into the sky.

Graceless. Rattled.

Not nearly as fearless as they’d like to believe.

You sheathed your blade in one smooth, practiced motion. Your pulse was a war drum beneath your skin, steady only because you willed it to be.

Cassian hadn’t moved. He was still staring at the empty air where they’d stood, jaw tight, chest rising with quiet fury.

And when he turned to you—

That fire was still in his eyes. But something else had joined it.

Something softer. Something that looked a hell of a lot like concern.

Like he wanted to ask if you were all right.

You didn’t give him the chance—refusing to be the object of that quiet, pitying gaze. 

“So,” you said briskly, nodding toward the bedframe, “we figuring out how to get that thing through the door, or do we throw out the door and build a bigger one?”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You tried not to look at him.

Really—you did.

But fuck, the way he moved.

His shirt clung to the line of his back, damp from the effort of dragging the mattress through the door frame. Broad shoulders bunching beneath worn cotton. Wings flaring once for balance, then tucking in with quiet control. Forearms flexing with each pivot, veins rising with the strain.

You didn’t look.

Not when he crouched to angle the frame.

Not when his shirt rode up and exposed a sliver of golden-brown skin.

Not when his back curved and a few strands of his hair came loose—soft, sweat-dampened waves falling just past his jaw.

“Gonna help,” he grunted, “or just supervise?”

You blinked. “I’m thinking about letting the bed crush you, actually.”

He huffed a laugh, the sound low and unbothered. “Touching.”

Still, you helped angle the frame through the narrow hallway, side-eyeing him the whole way because—Cauldron boil you—how the hell had you managed to ignore how obnoxiously ripped he was for so long?

You told yourself it was the work. All that lumber hauling. All that swinging of tools and lifting of beams and moving of furniture. You were tired. You weren’t thinking straight. 

The house had begun to feel… lived in.

The hearth had been stoned and sealed days ago. Mismatched chairs ringed a table you’d argued about positioning—too close to the window, he’d insisted. They hadn’t collapsed yet. Cassian had cobbled together bookshelves from spare planks, and someone had donated a carved bench with mountain birds etched into the backrest. The bed—this godsdamned bed—had been the last missing piece.

You’d kept your head down. Stayed busy. Swept corners. Shifted furniture. Tucked away the worst of the dust. Which was maybe why you didn’t notice the change in the air.

Not until the front door shook in its frame.

Cassian froze mid-step, one hand still braced on the bookshelf. His head lifted slightly. Wings adjusted.

Then the door rattled again—louder this time. A gust slid between the gaps, whistling high and sharp. The kind of wind that didn’t blow past, but through.

Cassian moved in three long strides, shouldering up to the door. His hand landed flat on the wood as he reached for the handle. You followed without thinking, stepping beside him just as he threw it open.

The door fought back.

Cassian grunted, leaning his weight into it. The hinges groaned. And then—

The wind hit.

A wall of it, like something with intent. It punched through the gap, ice slicing across your legs, snow curling around your boots and into the room. It howled in the chimney, screamed across the floorboards, clawed for your faces with invisible fingers.

Beyond the threshold, the world had vanished. The trees, gone. The path, buried. Snow fell in slanted sheets, driven sideways by the gale. It shimmered in the fading light, rippling like water, blinding and endless.

Cassian planted a forearm against the frame to keep the door from flying wide. His hair whipped loose behind him. His wings shuddered once before clamping tight to his back.

You pressed a shoulder beside his, blinking into the storm.

He didn’t shout—just said it low, over the wind.

“We’re not making it back to Windhaven tonight.”

You didn’t argue.

By the time Cassian managed to wrench the door shut again, the wind nearly took him with it. He staggered a step, braced a hand to the frame, and threw the bolt into place with a sharp thunk. His breath gusted out, chest rising hard beneath his soaked shirt.

Snow clung to you both in fine, glittering dust. Your boots were slick, pants damp at the hem. The cold had teeth now—sinking straight through the seams of your clothes.

Cassian blew out a low whistle. “And we didn’t bring in any dry firewood.”

You followed his glance to the hearth. The pile inside was pitiful. Damp, half-frozen. There might be enough to keep the coals breathing till morning—but only if you didn’t mind going numb first.

Then his gaze flicked toward the bed.

You beat him to it. “No.”

He didn’t even bother to smirk. Just reached for his belt.

“It’s not like I planned this,” he muttered, leather whispering through loops as he tugged it free.

The leather whispered through the loops, his movements unhurried as he pulled it free—sternly, deliberately. Your eyes followed the movement—against your better judgement. 

You forced yourself to look elsewhere. The bed. Then the floor. Then him.

“I’ll take the rug,” you said, already striding toward the folded throw blanket on the armchair. “The floor’s fine.”

Something soft slammed into your face.

You blinked. Staggered back a step. The pillow hit your chest and dropped. You caught it before it bounced to the floor.

“Are you serious?”

Cassian stood beside the bed, arms crossed. “You’re being an idiot.”

“I’m being considerate.”

He rolled his eyes. “The bed’s big enough for both of us, and the floor’s wooden—less forgiving than you think.”

“I’m not sharing a bed with you, Cassian.”

“Oh, please,” he muttered, already tugging off his boots. “Like I’ve never seen you drool in your sleep before.”

Your mouth dropped open. “I do not—”

He collapsed backward onto the mattress with a theatrical groan, then patted the other side without looking at you. “Come on, princess. I won’t even steal the blanket.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You snore.”

“Only when I’m comfortable.”

“I’ll kick you.”

“Not if I kick you first.”

You stared at him. At the lazy sprawl of him across the quilt. At the wind outside battering the shutters like it wanted in. At the hearth that hadn’t been lit in hours.

You muttered a curse and undid your laces. Toed off your boots one at a time—each thud against the floor sharper than necessary. Then you crossed the room, grabbed the blanket—

—and dumped it directly on his face.

He made a low, amused sound, muffled beneath the weight. You climbed into the opposite side of the bed, stiffly, yanking the blanket back into place and tucking it to your chin like it was armor.

“Back-to-back,” you ordered, not turning around.

Cassian shifted, the mattress dipping with his weight. “Sure,” he said quietly. He was already facing away.

Silence settled.

The wind keened against the walls. Something moaned in the chimney—deep and hollow. You lay still, spine straight, every part of your body tight with tension.

Cassian breathed slow beside you.

You clenched your jaw. “And don’t call me that.”

“What?”

“You know what.”

“It’s better than idiot,” he muttered. “And you wouldn’t like that either.”

“I didn’t like having a pillow thrown at my face.”

“Well, I didn’t like watching you try to martyr yourself onto the floor when we both know you’d be up every two hours with a stiff back.”

You rolled, just enough to glare at the back of his head. “Excuse me for trying not to make things weird.”

He turned too—slowly, deliberately—just his head at first. “Weird? You think I’m gonna roll over and hump your leg in my sleep or something?”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“I don’t know what you think I’d do,” he said flatly, “but it’s just a bed.”

“This isn’t just anything,” you snapped.

He shifted fully now, facing you across the narrow stretch of space. “Sleeping. In a bed. In the middle of a storm. That’s all this is.”

You sat up, braced on one elbow. “Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not.” He raked a hand through his hair, exhaling. “You’re acting like this is a massive deal.”

“Because it is.”

Your voice cut sharper than you meant. You looked at him—at the mess of him in the low firelight. Hair mussed. Jaw tight. Brow furrowed in that way that meant he was trying not to say something.

“I’m not like you,” you said quietly. “I don’t—”

You stopped. The words caught. Bitter against your tongue.

Cassian waited.

But you didn’t finish.

You just lay back down, hard and fast, curling the blanket tighter.

Neither of you spoke again for a long while.

The wind howled against the glass, the storm clawing at the corners of the house like it wanted to blow the walls down. And somewhere beneath it all, you could hear your heartbeat—steady, defiant, and too aware of the warmth at your back.

It was a long time before either of you slept.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It was warm.

That was the first thing you registered—not the cold, not the wind or the stiff ache in your back. Just warmth. Heavy, steady, inescapable warmth pressed along every inch of you.

Then: weight.

An arm slung low around your waist. A hand curled loosely against your ribs. A thigh tucked behind yours. One of your calves caught beneath his. Your nose was pressed to something solid and hot. Your fingers rested on something that was very much not a pillow.

Your eyes opened.

Chest. Bare chest. Scarred and golden-brown, rising and falling beneath your palm.

You froze.

Cassian’s breath stirred your hair. Slow. Deep. His nose was buried in it. One wing tucked behind you like an extra blanket.

Oh no.

You didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink. Just stared at the expanse of his skin beneath your hand—watched it rise and fall in sync with your own panicked breaths. You could feel him. Everywhere. His palm splayed warm against your stomach. Your knee hooked over his thigh. His mouth—soft, parted slightly—rested near your temple.

You definitely hadn’t fallen asleep like this. You’d been cold. Irritated. Back-to-back. You hadn’t even faced him.

So at some point—gods—one of you had moved. And the other hadn’t stopped it.

You launched yourself back like the mattress had caught fire.

Cassian jolted with a garbled grunt and flailed off the far side of the bed, hitting the floor with a heavy thud.

You scrambled upright, yanking the blanket to your chest.

He was on his feet in an instant—bare-chested, wide-eyed, a dagger gleaming in his hand.

Your heart leapt. Then your gaze dropped—quick. Shirt still on. Thank the Mother.

Cassian exhaled sharply, like he’d been holding his breath. Then, as if remembering himself, he slid the dagger away behind his back. Like it hadn’t just appeared there.

Neither of you spoke.

Your heart hammered. Not from fear. From—shit, you didn’t even know.

You sat frozen for a beat longer, eyes locked on the crumpled blanket. His warmth still clung to it. His scent, too—cypress and wind and something darker, smokier. Something that lingered.

Cassian dragged a hand through his hair. His eyes skittered everywhere but you. “That was—”

“Fine,” you cut in. Too fast. Too bright. “That was fine. We were just cold.”

He nodded once. Sharp. “Cold.”

Silence stretched.

You glanced over. “Why is your shirt off?”

“I run hot,” he said flatly. “Probably pulled it off in my sleep.”

“Right.”

“Right.”

You shoved the blanket aside and scrubbed your hands down your pants like that might wipe away the imprint of him. “Next time, I’m taking the floor.”

Cassian turned to look at you. Something unreadable moved behind his eyes. “You really think there’s gonna be a next time?”

You narrowed yours. “If there is, I’m bringing a second blanket and a fucking knife.”

“Great,” he muttered, turning away. “More weapons in the bed.”

“I wasn’t the one sleeping like a drunk bear on top of me.”

“You could’ve shoved me off.”

“I did. This morning!”

“Maybe try earlier next time.”

“Oh, so sorry for not waking up halfway through the night to fight off your snuggling.”

His head whipped around. “Snuggling?”

You pointed at the bed. “There was limb placement, Cassian. There were positions.”

He gave a full-body shudder. “Ugh. Don’t say it like that.”

You crossed your arms.

Another long, brittle silence.

You looked toward the hearth.

Cassian sighed, fingers dragging down his face.

You didn’t look at each other again. Not right away. But the red burning in your face wasn’t from the cold anymore.

When you passed him his coat, wordless, he took it without meeting your eyes—tugging his sweater back on in jerky, too-quick movements. Still warm. Still tense.

Still close enough that the silence between you felt like the loudest thing in the room.

“I’m gonna see if anyone in Windhaven’s hoarding dry wood,” he muttered, sliding his arms through the sleeves. His fingers moved deftly, fastening the flaps around the slits for his wings, sealing in the warmth with practiced efficiency. “Or if the Mother feels like being generous today.”

He ducked out before you could reply. The wind slammed the door shut behind him, hard enough to rattle the frame.

It still howled out there—louder than it should’ve for morning—but it was nothing like the chaos of the night before. No hail clawing at the shutters. No lightning tearing the sky into pieces. Just the steady, petulant churn of deep winter. Relentless and gray.

You stood there a moment longer, the back of your neck prickling with leftover heat.

Then you wrung your fingers once. Shook out your arms. You needed to move. Needed something to do.

So you turned toward the crates by the wall and got to work—sorting what was left, piece by piece. Anything to keep your hands busy. Anything to stop remembering the shape of him against you.

You didn’t mean to think about him. Not really. But the silence made it easy—made it too easy to drift back. To the heat of his chest beneath your cheek. The slow, unthinking rise and fall of his breathing. You paused, fingers resting lightly on the rim of a crate, and let the memory slip in: the way he’d looked at Miran yesterday—like it had taken real effort not to slam the male into the ground.

For a moment, it had felt like before. Before the cold fronts and the sideways glances. Before the contests and snide remarks and the constant need to prove something. Just the two of you, standing on the same side of something.

It started with a dinner table in the Autumn Court.

Too long by design, more gold than wood. Candlelight flickered along its length, caught in the carved antlers of an elaborate candelabra. The courtiers sat like scattered pawns—fifteen or so in total, all finely dressed and finely bored, murmuring beneath the weight of centuries-old manners.

You sat midway down, spine straight, gown cold against your skin. Feyre had chosen it—a pale, silken thing with thin sleeves and a plunging back, elegant enough to flatter, sheer enough to distract. You hadn’t realized how drafty the hall would be.

At your side, Cassian looked like a portrait of restraint. Formal leathers, dark and freshly oiled, with his sword strapped visibly to his back. His wings were tucked tight, shoulders set broad and proud as he drank from a goblet of spiced wine and pretended to listen to the courtier beside him drone on about hunting dogs.

“You must try the roast boar,” the male was saying. “Caught just this morning in the Ashen Wood. Hardly kicked at all.”

Cassian’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Sounds like a real fighter.”

You bit back a laugh and reached for your wine, lifting it with a hand you hoped wasn’t trembling. Not from nerves—from focus. Anticipation. The third course was being cleared. That was the signal.

You caught his eye. He gave the barest nod.

This was the plan: you’d slip out once the desserts arrived. Half the court would be deep in wine by then, and the rest too distracted with flattery to notice your absence. Beron was supposed to be away in Rask, and with him gone, most of the staff had followed. The guards were thinned, the route clear. You knew it by heart. Every hallway, every turn. Every blind corner. 

You and Cassian were to retrieve a satchel of documents hidden behind a false wall in Beron’s private study. Documents that, according to Azriel’s source, outlined a network of Autumn spies embedded across the Night Court’s border villages. Names. Routes. Quiet, deliberate betrayal. Proof Rhys needed in hand before the next High Lord summit.

Then the doors opened.

The wind hit first—cold and sharp, a ripple of tension that passed down the table like a shadow. And then came Beron.

Tall. Imperious. A crown of flame wrought in iron above his head. He didn’t speak as he entered, didn’t even look at the table—just let the silence stretch, let his presence do the work of a hundred guards. His eyes landed on you. Then Cassian.

Cassian didn’t move, not at first. Just shifted a fraction, jaw tight. The smile gone.

You leaned in, lips barely moving. “We still have time.”

His eyes stayed fixed ahead. “No.”

“We can be in and out in two minutes.”

“There are guards in the hall.”

“I counted three. They’re patrolling. We can avoid them.”

“It’s not worth the risk.”

“It is,” you said sharply, eyes flicking to him. “We’re already here.”

He gave a slow exhale, eyes still forward. “Let it go.”

You didn’t answer. Not with words. Just pushed your chair back, carefully, gracefully, as though all you needed was a breath of air. You adjusted your shawl, offered a smile to no one in particular, and laid a light hand on Cassian’s arm in passing.

He rose after a beat. Slower. Unwilling.

The hall outside the dining chamber was dim, lit only by amber sconces spaced far apart. The cold bit at your arms as you moved, your footsteps soundless on the marble floors.

“Turn back,” he said behind you.

“We’re already committed.”

“You’re committed. I’m cleaning up your stubborn—”

“You’re here because you agreed.”

“I agreed when Beron was in Rask.” His glare could’ve scorched the stone.

You didn’t answer. Just kept moving, your pace steady, gown brushing the floor. It felt heavier now. The tension thickened with every step. At the end of the corridor, you rounded the corner and slowed your breathing, ears pricked. No footsteps. No voices.

You reached the study door. Checked the sigil. Whispered the passphrase Azriel’d given you.

Cassian hovered just behind you, tense as a drawn bowstring.

The door clicked open.

The study was colder than the hall. Sparse, but grand—lined with dark, heavy shelves and a wide, weathered desk carved with swirling Autumn leaves. The false wall was behind it. You found it quickly, fingers slipping into the seam.

A panel swung free.

And there it was. A satchel. Worn leather, sealed with a Night Court clasp—proof that the spies were real. That the betrayal was already underway.

You had it in your hand.

Then—

“Oi!”

Cassian cursed. You turned in time to see him shove a guard into the wall, hard enough to crack plaster. Another guard’s horn lifted to his lips.

“Stop him—”

Steel flashed. Cassian cut the horn clean off before the sound could carry, but it was too late. The third guard was already gone, no doubt having sprinted for the main wing.

“Shit,” Cassian muttered. “We need to move.”

You bolted. The satchel hit your hip with every step. Shouts echoed behind you—more guards, more boots. You could feel them closing in.

“Go!” Cassian barked. “I’ll hold—”

You didn’t let him finish. Vaulted over the railing instead, your stilettos landing hard on the ledge two stories down. You were sure they snapped, but it didn’t matter when pain flared through your shoulder as you caught yourself. Something pulled—tore, and you couldn’t hold back the ragged cry that tore from your throat.

“(Y/N)!”

Below, the front grounds yawned wide. Gravel path. Stone basin. The koi pond Beron used to impress diplomats and scare off children.

The satchel had landed at the edge of it. Teetering near the water.

“I’m fine!” you shouted up, breath ragged, blood running warm down your arm. “Just jump—come on!”

Cassian landed beside you a second later. He didn’t hesitate. Just scooped you into his arms like you weighed nothing and vaulted off the ledge. The world tilted. The wind roared past.

But then, the real fallout began. 

Back home, Rhys didn’t yell. He didn’t need to. His silence in the River House study said enough. The satchel lay at his feet, soaked and half-caked in mud. Your side throbbed beneath a bloodstained bandage, and Cassian still had a smear of crimson dried along his neck—one you hadn’t noticed until the lamplight caught it. 

Rhys looked at the satchel. Then at you. Then at Cassian.

“What happened?”

You told him. So did Cassian.

Not all at once. Not over each other. Just… plainly. Like it was a report. Like it wasn’t still alive under your skin.

You hadn’t expected him to take sides. Not overtly. But when it ended, he absolutely had. Like the weight of it had settled heavier on your shoulders than Cassian’s. Like the mistake hadn’t been getting caught—it had been trying to finish the mission at all.

You squared your shoulders, tried to keep your voice from shaking. “I didn’t choose to get caught. I didn’t choose to mess this up.”

Cassian’s jaw flexed. “No. But you chose to keep going when you should’ve pulled back.” His arms crossed, his voice low. “You’re lucky you’re still breathing.”

Your throat tightened. You pushed through it.

“I did what I had to,” you said, sharper now. “You think I wanted it to go this way?”

“Wanting and surviving aren’t the same thing,” he snapped. “You gambled with your life—and mine. And the lives of everyone in this court, now that they know what we were doing there. Don’t pretend you didn’t have a choice.”

The air turned brittle.

Rhys’s voice cut through it like a blade.

“I don’t want to hear it.”

The finality in his tone stopped you cold. You flinched before you could stop yourself.

“Get out.”

Your eyes darted to Cassian, expecting him to move first—to scoff or curse or storm off with the anger barely leashed behind his eyes.

But he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just stood there. Still as stone. Unreadable.

You opened your mouth—confused, half-prepared to follow his lead—

Then Rhys looked at you.

That calm. That cold, razor-precise calm that never meant fury. Just decision. Just finality.

“Go,” he whispered—quiet, deliberate. 

And you understood. Suddenly. Horribly.

He meant you.

You left without another word.

Cassian didn’t follow. Didn’t call after you. Didn’t come by the next day, or the one after that. When you passed each other in the House of Wind, your shoulder in a sling and your pride hanging by threads, he didn’t say a word. Just kept walking.

And maybe that was the worst part.

Not the bruises. Not the frost still clinging to your lungs after the flight back from Autumn. Not even the look Rhys had given you when he dropped the satchel—dropped it—before sitting at his desk like it was nothing worth holding.

The worst part was that Cassian had let it lie.

Had let the blame settle and cling without brushing a single piece of it off. Like you’d earned it. Like silence was the lesson.

In the war room, it was the same. Around that long obsidian table where battle strategies lived and died, where the Inner Circle weighed lives like stones on a scale—he wouldn’t look at you. Wouldn’t say your name.

Just her, she, or nothing at all.

A flick of his eyes. A tilt of his chin. Like you were something he’d learned to step around.

Until now.

Because yesterday, for the first time in over four years, he’d defended you again. Had looked at Miran like he might tear his throat out just for raising his voice at you. Had spoken like the fight never happened. Like you hadn’t failed. Like he remembered what you were worth.

You blinked. 

And the crates were still there. Still needing to be sorted. So you bent your head, grit your teeth, and got back to work. Because if he could forget it—at least for now—then maybe you could too.

It was nearly twenty minutes later when the door creaked open again.

You didn’t look up right away—your fingers were halfway through scraping what felt like centuries-old candle wax from the underside of the table. How it had gotten there, you had no idea. Your shoulders ached from the angle, knees cold where they pressed into the floorboards.

But you heard the footsteps pause.

A beat. Then another.

“What the hell are you doing down there?”

You shifted, squinting up at him from beneath the table’s edge. “Scraping.”

Cassian blinked, then stepped fully inside, the wind tugging the door shut behind him. 

“Why are you under it?”

“Because someone,” you said, chipping harder now, “decided to shove this thing directly in front of the hearth and apparently didn’t notice the stalactites hanging from the bottom.”

He opened his mouth—paused. Then grunted and held up a bundled stack of firewood.

“Vesa gave me these,” he said. “Said it was the least she could do after yesterday.” A slow grin tugged at his mouth. “Told her what happened. You should’ve seen those kids’ faces—went pale as ash.”

You snorted. “Sounds about right. It’s always the ones who talk the most shit.”

He dropped the bundle beside the grate and crouched, sleeves shoved up, hair still tousled from the wind. You stayed under the table, willing yourself to focus on the wax and not the shape of him lit in profile by the first flickers of flame.

For the first few minutes, he was quiet, poking at the kindling until a small fire finally caught and crackled to life. Then—

“Why’s the table all the way over there?”

You didn’t answer immediately. Just leaned out and wiped your wrist across your cheek. 

“Because this spot gets the best light.”

Cassian rose and brushed his palms together. Then, without waiting, strode across and grabbed the table’s edge. 

“Don’t—” you started, too late. 

He dragged it five feet to the right, chair legs shrieking across the floor, some collapsing into a messy cluster.

“You’ll block the light,” you snapped, standing now and flinging the scraper onto the windowsill. 

He cocked his head. “You’re obsessed with the damn view.”

“You moved it into the corner.”

“The corner’s not a dungeon,” he muttered. “It’s still technically daylight.”

“Daylight doesn’t mean good light,” you shot back.

“And you’re suddenly a fucking artist?”

“I’m trying to make this place not look like a condemned training yard.”

He stepped closer. “Well, forgive me for interfering with your vision.”

“You always do.”

His brows lifted, expression cooling. “Oh, that’s rich. Because you’re the picture of collaboration.”

You folded your arms. “I would be, if you’d stop rearranging everything I’ve already done.”

“It’s a table.”

“It’s always a table with you!”

“What the hell does that even mean?”

“It means you show up, throw your weight around without consideration of others and the time they’ve put into something, and act like you’re doing them a favor!”

His brow lifted, expression tightening. “I am doing you a favor.”

“By ruining everything?”

“It’s a miracle this place has floors that don’t collapse under your ego.”

You took a slow, pointed step toward him. “At least I showed up on time.”

Cassian’s smile was sharp. “At least I didn’t get us both chewed out by Rhys.”

Your nostrils flared. “You still think that was my fault?”

“I think you never admit when you screw up!”

“I always admit it—because someone has to!”

He stared down at you, breathing hard now, chest rising in the same uneven rhythm hammering through your own. 

And then, just like that, you both realized how close you’d gotten. 

“What do you care so damn much?” he shouted, voice ringing off the stone walls.

“Because it’s our project!” you fired back, fists clenched at your sides.

Cassian scoffed, incredulous. “Our project? You barely let me touch anything without biting my damn head off—”

“Because you do it wrong!”

“I built half this place!”

“Exactly. Half. And I’m the one trying to make it livable.”

You were toe to toe now, breath mingling—furious and hot, sharp enough to cut. 

“It’s ours,” you snarled. “Whether you like it or not.”

Silence. 

One breath. Then another.

And that was all it took.

He lunged first. You met him halfway.

The kiss wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. It was teeth and fury and weeks of tension neither of you had dared name—finally breaking free.

His hands tangled in your hair before you could catch a breath, gripping like he didn’t know whether to pull you closer or shove you away. You grabbed at his shirt, fists twisting in the fabric, hard enough to stretch the seams.

You stumbled together—hip into the table. One of the dining chairs screeched across the floor as you crashed into it. Neither of you stopped. 

Cassian bit at your bottom lip like he wanted to keep the argument going that way, and you shoved him, nails dragging down his chest. He caught your waist, hauled you back in. You didn’t know if you were kissing him or fighting him anymore. Didn’t care. 

Your hand slid up his chest to his throat, not gentle, and he groaned into your mouth like it only spurred him on.

Four years. Four years of silence and blame and what-ifs collapsing in the space between your bodies, now gone.

You weren’t thinking—just grabbing, shoving, kissing like you meant to hurt. Cassian stumbled again, hard, tripped over one of the dining chairs and nearly went down.

He caught himself at the last second, crashing backward into the seat with a grunt.

You didn’t get the chance to laugh—because he yanked you down with him.

You landed on his lap, straddling his thighs, your mouth never leaving his. And then everything blurred into fire.

His hands gripped your hips, dragging you forward, grinding you down until you could feel every sharp line of him pressed beneath you. The friction wrung a raw sound from your throat. Your fingers scrabbled at his coat, his shoulders, fisting in the fabric like you didn’t know whether you wanted to rip it off or hang on tighter.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered against his mouth, biting at the corner of it.

“Shut up,” he rasped, catching your jaw in one hand and dragging you back in.

You rolled your hips again—deliberate now. Slow, filthy. He groaned, hips jerking up in answer. You did it again. Again. The rhythm turned hungry.

You weren’t sure who lost control first. Only that suddenly it was all heat and teeth and breathless swearing.

You tugged at the collar of his coat, wrenching it open just enough to shove your hands beneath—seeking the warmth of him through the coarse weave of his sweater. He growled into your mouth when your nails scraped down his spine.

The damn coat was still in the way.

You reached behind him, fingers slipping over the slats built to frame his wings, trying to find the clasps. Couldn’t get them. Didn’t care. You tugged anyway—frustrated, frantic, gasping against his throat as he mouthed his way down the side of your neck.

“This is—fuck, this is so stupid,” you breathed, hips stuttering against his again.

“Shut the fuck up,” he snarled, low and furious, like it scorched him to say it.

You got one clasp open, then the next snapped loose beneath your fingers.

He didn’t wait. Tore at the coat, shoving it down his arms, half-flinging it aside. Before it even hit the floor, you were already under his sweater, dragging it up with one hand while the other reached again for the second set of slats.

These were easier. Familiar. Your fingers worked fast. You got them loose and yanked. 

He helped this time, yanking the sweater over his head and tossing it somewhere behind him.

But you barely registered it.

Because his hands were already under your shirt.

Big, rough palms skating over your sides, greedy, without finesse—just hunger. You gasped, one hand braced on his shoulder, the other already tugging your shirt upward.

He didn’t wait. Grabbed the hem and yanked it over your head in one motion. Tossed it behind you.

You didn’t even feel his fingers before the clasp of your bra flicked open—just the sharp, practiced snap and the sudden looseness against your skin.

And then he was baring you to the air, to him, dragging the straps down your arms like he’d tear them off if they didn’t come fast enough.

His mouth closed over your nipple—hot, relentless—and you gasped, head tipping back as he sucked hard, teeth grazing just enough to make you jolt. One of his hands kneaded the other breast, rough and greedy, while the other stayed clamped on your hip, dragging you down like he meant to fuse you there.

It was frantic. Hungry. Mindless in the way only need could be.

You rode the hard line of him through your clothes, every grind a flash of friction that lit up your spine. Your thighs locked tighter around him, chasing more—harder, deeper—and his grip only anchored you firmer, like he couldn’t get close enough if he tried.

Shirts gone, his chest hot and bare against yours—

Mother above, the heat of him. The press of skin. How solid he was, how he moved like the contact might kill him or save him.

You were breathing hard against his ear, still grinding slow and filthy against him. He groaned into your chest, mouth dragging lower, sucking a dark, bruising mark onto the swell of your breast.

“You always this easy when someone mouths off at you?” you panted, lips brushing his jaw as he rolled his hips into yours. “Guess that explains the barmaid in Itica.”

He bit your collarbone—hard.

You cursed, breath catching.

“You’re such a little shit,” he growled into your skin, voice shredded.

Your nails raked down his back, catching at the sensitive base of his wings. He jolted.

“Takes one to know one,” you said, smug.

Cassian pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. “You gonna run your mouth the whole time?”

“Only when it gets you this worked up.”

Something in him snapped.

He growled—low and feral—and surged upright in one brutal motion, hands gripping your ass as he lifted you off his lap. You yelped, clinging to his shoulders, and barely registered the shift before your back hit the bed with a bounce, limbs flung wide beneath him.

He stood over you, flushed, breathing hard. His fingers were already on his belt.

You couldn’t help it—you stared. Watched the way his fingers gripped the worn leather. The sharp clink of the buckle, the whisper of it sliding through the metal loop. It shouldn’t have been hot. It was hot. Like watching him unholster a weapon. Like watching him bare his teeth. You swallowed, heat crawling up your throat, your thighs pressing together. 

His knuckles brushed his stomach as he dragged the belt loose, and the sight alone made your pulse skip.

“Oh, you like this?” he said, tone smug, a little cruel. “Yeah, I know you do. Couldn’t tear your fuckin’ eyes off it last night.”

The belt hissed the rest of the way through the loops.

“Shut up,” you said, but your voice came out too thin.

His smirk was pure sin.

And then he was on you.

One heartbeat flat on your back—next thing, you were flipped face-down with a grunt, cheek pressed hard to the mattress. 

“Cassian—” you started, twisting under him.

“Shut. Up.” It came low and sharp in your ear. 

One heavy hand yanked your wrists behind your back. The belt coiled around them a moment later. Not once. Not twice. Kept looping it tight through the buckle until your hands were cinched together in a firm, inescapable bind.

You cursed, bucking hard. “Fucking undo it—”

“Should’ve thought of that before you started mouthing off,” he growled.

He dragged your hips up with both hands, leaving your shoulders pinned by one broad palm pressed between your shoulder blades. Your face mashed into the sheets, breath caught, teeth gritted.

You twisted your wrists, tried to lift your upper body—

But he shoved you back down with humiliating ease.

“Stay the fuck down,” he bit out.

Then came the tug of your pants, the hook of his fingers in your underwear. You kicked out instinctively, but it didn’t matter. He manhandled the fabric down anyway, wrestling it past your hips, down to your knees, leaving your legs tangled and stuck. The cool air rushed over you—over the slick, swollen heat between your thighs—igniting a fresh spark that sent a sharp hiss from deep within you. 

“Shit,” Cassian growled, and his head dropped, forehead resting on the curve of your back as his fingers pressed against you. “You’re fucking soaked.”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Not when he dragged two fingers through it again—slower this time. Like he needed to feel it properly. Like he couldn’t quite believe it.

“From that?” he muttered, heat washing over your skin. “Just from that little show?”

You didn’t even have time to think before his fingers slammed into you.

No warning. No buildup. Just a sharp, brutal thrust that knocked the breath out of you, your body jolting forward with a choked gasp.

“Fuck—” you choked, wrists straining against the belt.

He didn’t slow down. Didn’t give you a second to adjust. His fingers drove into you hard and fast, relentless—each thrust ruthless, the angle unerring. Over and over, he found that spot that lit you up from the inside out, made your breath stutter and your vision white out.

The wet sound of it was obscene. It echoed between the groaning mattress and the wrecked, involuntary noises spilling from your mouth.

Cassian muttered something behind you—filthy and dark. You didn’t catch all of it. Just the tone—low and wrecked, like he couldn’t believe what he was doing. Like he couldn’t stop.

His free hand dug into your hip, anchoring you in place as he fucked you on his fingers. Your knees slipped wider despite the pants still tangled around them—your body betraying every biting word you’d thrown his way.

“All that mouth,” he panted, “all those fucking fights—just needed something stuffed in you, didn’t you?”

You twisted, tried to rise, but his hand left your hip and fisted in your hair, shoving your face into the mattress.

“Stay down,” he growled, fucking you faster now. His voice went ragged. Wild. “You wanted this, didn’t you? Mouthy little thing, and now you can’t take it?”

A harsh scoff.

“Should’ve done this years ago.”

Your stomach flipped. You hated that it flipped.

But you managed to turn your head—maybe he let you, maybe not. “Yeah? Maybe if you had, you wouldn’t be such a tight-fisted, control-obsessed asshole. Maybe I wouldn’t have spent the last four years wanting to claw your fucking eyes out every time you walked into a room.”

His fingers didn’t falter. If anything, his wrist stiffened, driving them deeper—meaner—like you’d proven something.

“Four years and you still can’t decide if you wanna kill me or fuck me.”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Not with the way his fingers were driving into you, relentless. 

“Nothing to say?” he murmured, teeth sinking into the curve of your ass. “No claws left, kitten?”

“Ew,” you hissed, hips jerking. “Don’t call me that.”

He just laughed—low and mean—then flipped you like it was nothing, your back hitting the mattress with a bounce.

Your wrists ached beneath you, fists digging into the small of your back. Uncomfortable as hell—not that you’d expect anything else from him. Wouldn’t be surprised if he’d done it on purpose. Just to irk you. One last petty jab before you talked about this later.

Oh, Gods. You were going to have to talk about this later.

A conversation. 

About this.

A hot spike of dread twisted low in your gut.

But you didn’t get the chance to dwell on it, because then he was undoing the buttons on his pants—and suddenly, you had a far more immediate problem on your hands.

Well. Not your hands.

He shoved his pants down, and—

Mother above.

Maybe those Illyrian wingspan rumors had some merit after all. Because fuck.

The first thing you saw was the cut of his hips, the sharp V leading down to a dark trail of hair—and then him. Thick, flushed dark at the tip, heavy enough to make your mouth go dry. Your thighs clenched on instinct.

Of course he’d be built like that. Of course he’d keep that hidden away behind all that smug, self-righteous bravado. Arrogant fucker knew exactly what he was working with.

He caught your stare, brows raised, mouth curving into something downright indecent. “You keep looking at my cock like that, sweetheart,” he drawled, wrapping a hand around the base, slow and unhurried, “and I’m gonna start thinking you’re not as mad at me as you pretend to be.”

He gave himself one lazy stroke. Your breath caught.

“That mean you ready to be nice for once?” His hand moved with practiced ease, pulling your pants and underwear the rest of the way off in one sharp tug. Your socks bunched awkwardly at your ankles, forgotten with the way the heat spiked between you. 

You narrowed your eyes. “The only thing I’m ready for is—”

“You gonna behave?” he murmured, almost sweetly. “Gonna play nice for me?”

You sucked in a breath, spine stiffening—but before the words could form, he shoved into you Thick, unrelenting. And just like that, your sentence vanished. 

He didn’t wait for you to catch your breath, didn’t give you time to adjust. He set a brutal rhythm from the start, fast and deep, fucking into you like he meant to tear something out of you.

You gasped, voice breaking on a startled cry. “Wait—shit, it’s… Ca—hold on, it’s—”

He laughed. Low. Rough. Right in your ear. “Too late for that now, sweetheart. You wanted to mouth off.”

His eyes met yours, dark and burning. “You feel like heaven.”

His hips slammed into you again, and the only thing you could do was choke on the shock—the white-hot bloom of heat unfurling inside you.

“Fucking tight around me like you were made for this,” he growled, teeth grazing your ear. His voice was raw, possessed—like he was branding every thrust into your bones.

Your body clenched involuntarily, muscle locking against muscle, every nerve bracing under the weight of sensation.

“You’re gonna take every inch,” he hissed, voice like smoke, “and you’re gonna like it.”

“Cassian, it’s too—”

“You’re gonna fucking like it, (y/n).”

It hit like a slap—the sound of your name in his mouth.

Not her, or she, or sweetheart, or the princess he’d thrown your way last night.

Just you.

Spat like a challenge. Drawled like a curse.

Your breath caught, your whole body locking up around him.

“Yeah,” he snarled, like he knew exactly what he’d done, the words vibrating against your skin. “You feel that? That what it takes to shut you up?”

His hand splayed across your abdomen, pressing down hard as he drove into you again—deep, brutal, claiming.

“Say my name again,” you whispered before you could stop yourself, before you could think.

He gave a dangerous, breathless laugh. “Greedy,” he growled. “Didn’t think I’d fuck the attitude out of you and make you beg.”

And gods, maybe you were begging. Maybe that’s all you had left, with your hands trapped, hair clinging to your damp skin, and the only thing anchoring you to this world the thick, punishing press of him inside you.

He slowed—just barely—to drag the next thrust in deep. Too deep. You felt the shape of him shift everything, rearrange everything. Your lips parted around a sound you barely recognized as your own. A half-broken moan, raw at the edges.

Cassian grunted at the noise, hips drawing back in one long, slow pull—only to slam forward again, harder. A cruel rhythm. A practiced one. Like he was testing your limits. Learning them.

“That’s it,” he murmured, voice thick against your ear. “Messy little thing. Can’t even pretend you don’t want this cock in you.”

Your breath hitched. Your back arched instinctively, desperate to escape the stretch and heat—but his hand clamped hard around your hip, dragging you back with brutal precision. Like you were leverage. Like your body was his now. Because you’d let that slip—say my name again—and he’d taken it for blood in the water.

You hated him for it.

You hated how good he felt.

“Fighting it won’t help,” he said softly, like he could see it on your face. “You already gave in.”

Maybe you had.

Maybe the second he said your name like that—like it still meant something—it had already been over.

You dug your nails into the sheets, teeth grit as you wrenched air back into your lungs. “Keep telling yourself that,” you gasped, forcing the words out around a moan. “Might help you sleep at night. Thinking I actually wanted you all this time.”

His laugh was low, vicious. “Sweetheart, you’re dripping down my cock.”

He punctuated it with a snap of his hips—hard, precise, merciless.

“You can lie all you want. But your cunt’s got better manners than your mouth.”

You twisted beneath him—more reflex than intent—

—and he caught it like he’d been waiting for it.

His grip shifted in a blink, dragging you onto your side. Your shoulder hit the mattress, legs folding awkwardly beneath you—until his hand caught your thigh and lifted, braced it open. The other settled hard at your waist. A warning.

You barely had time to draw breath before he drove back in.

The angle was ruinous. Sharper. Deeper.

He hit something that made your vision snap white. Made your spine curl. Made your mouth fall open in a wordless gasp.

“Fuck,” he bit out. “Tighter like this.”

Your hands—no longer pinned but still restrained—clawed at the sheets, grasping at nothing. And gods, you hated the way your body arched into him. Hated how fast he’d found a new rhythm and made it yours.

“Say it again,” he hissed. “Say you don’t want me. Look me in the fucking eye and lie to me.”

You tried. You tried.

But he rolled his hips just right—once—and the sound that broke from you tore your argument apart at the seams.

Cassian groaned. And gods help you, it sounded like satisfaction.

“Thought so,” he growled, grip tightening as he wrenched your thigh higher. “You feel that?” His voice dropped—rough, clipped, almost amused. “Used. Fucking used.”

You didn’t bother looking at him. But your voice cut through the air anyway, sharp and venomous:

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’m not the one losing control.”

He stilled for a heartbeat.

Then he drove into that angle again and again, harder and harder, until your lungs caught fire with every thrust. 

“You’re going to wish you hadn’t said that.”

His hand slid down your body, fingertips tracing a slow, deliberate path between your hips, barely brushing over the slick skin. The touch was maddening. Featherlight. Precise in its restraint. 

His thumb pressed gently at first, circling with measured patience, never quickening, never giving the release your nerves were screaming for. Cauldron, that was exactly what you needed, the pressure building just enough to ignite you. Yes, yes, yes, yes—each one tore from your lips like prayer, like instinct. You hadn’t even realized you were saying it, hadn’t noticed the way it spilled out—quiet, helpless, reverent. 

But he pulled back, and his thrusts slowed to a crawl—so measured, so agonizing, it may as well have been nothing at all.

You jolted like you’d been struck.

“Are you—” Your voice cracked, hoarse with disbelief. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He didn’t bother answering. He didn’t need to. That smirk, sharp and smug, said everything.

You twisted, desperate for leverage, trying to push back against him—to make him move, force his hand—but his arm only cinched tighter around your thigh, keeping you spread and helpless in that sideways sprawl. His body: a cage. A curse.

“You think this is funny?” you snapped.

Cassian’s mouth brushed your ear before you even felt him shift. “I think you’re beautiful when you’re desperate.”

He rolled his hips sinfully deep, just enough to brush everything you needed. Pleasure flared so hot and fast it took your breath, your cry catching halfway through your throat—

And then he stilled.

You swore, loud and vicious.

Cassian laughed low in your ear. “There she is.”

“You motherfucker,” you hissed, trying to move, to get something, anything. But his arm locked firm across your thigh, holding you open and perfectly still.

He hummed in mock thought, as if he wasn’t actively ruining you. “Y’know,” he mused, voice soft like silk over a blade, “I’ve got a few places I want to put my hands.” His palm slid slow up your side, curling beneath the swell of your breast, teasing without giving. “Could untie you. If you promise to be good.”

You snapped your head toward him. “I’m not promising you shit—”

He stopped moving entirely. Every inch of him thick and pulsing and unbearably still, the heat of him like a brand.

The whine tore out of you before you could stop it—high and broken, more plea than protest.

Cassian didn’t say a word. Didn’t smirk. Just looked at you. 

A single brow arched.

Your face burned. You grit your teeth. “Fine.”

Still, he waited. “No. Promise.”

You rolled your eyes. Looked away. Of course he wanted the words. Of course he wanted to win. 

His hand shot out, gripping your jaw with enough force to make you gasp—fingers squishing your cheeks until your lips puckered. You glared. He didn’t flinch. 

“I promise I’ll be good,” you muttered, syrupy-sweet, laced with venom. 

Cassian grinned, all teeth. “Good girl.”

Then he let go—of your jaw, of your thigh, of every last ounce of mercy.

You didn’t even register the motion before he reached down, unfastening the buckle in a smooth, unhurried sweep. The belt rasped as it loosened, the sound too loud in the charged air. He never stopped moving inside you—slow, shallow thrusts that felt more like a warning than a reprieve. A promise.

And then your wrists were free.

You didn’t have a second to process it. The moment the leather dropped, he drove back in like he’d been waiting for it—no rhythm, no patience, just heat and power and brutal momentum.

Your arms flew around his neck, hauling him down, desperate for something to hold. His chest crashed against yours, sweat-slicked skin meeting slicker skin, and you clung.

One leg stayed hitched over his shoulder, your thigh crushed near your ribs now, and gods, you felt every inch of him. Every brutal slide, every shift of muscle as he adjusted the angle like he was searching for the exact spot that would ruin you.

His hands were everywhere—one braced beside your head, the other sliding between your bodies, dragging over the sweat-slicked curve of your breast. His thumb swept roughly over your nipple, and you gasped, hips jolting in time with the motion.

You didn’t even think before your own hand moved, sliding down your stomach, chasing the pressure and friction you’d been denied. The second your fingers brushed yourself, your head fell back, breath catching on a moan that was far too desperate to pass as hatred.

He felt it—really heard it.

And when he looked down at you, it wasn’t smugness—it was something darker. Focused. Like now that you were free, he was going to see what you’d do with it.

He didn’t say a word as your fingers worked fast, frantic—just kept moving inside you with brutal precision, all heat and muscle and weight. His chest pressed tight to yours, breath rasping against your cheek. That leg he’d hoisted up stayed pinned, folding you open around him like he had all the time in the world to take you apart.

Then his voice, low and too close to your ear. Not a growl. Not a threat. A question.

“Is this what you wanted?”

You didn’t answer.

His thumb dragged over your nipple again, slower this time. Intentional. 

“When you mouthed off earlier. When you looked at me like that.” His teeth skimmed your jaw. “You wanted this?”

You shook your head before you even thought about it.

“Liar.” 

He angled his hips again, and you gasped—your body stuttering beneath him, back arching.

Your hand was so slick now. So close.

“You wanted me to fuck it out of you,” he said, like it was obvious. Like he’d always known. “You wanted to lose.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out—shoved aside by sensation, swallowed by heat.

His hand slid up again, cradling your jaw—firm, but not cruel. His thumb brushed over your parted lips. 

“Say it,” he breathed. “Say what you wanted.”

You swallowed hard, eyes squeezed shut, the words catching in your throat like they might burn coming out. But he didn’t wait. His hips slammed forward—once, twice—hard enough to shake the frame like he’d rip the truth from your body if he had to.

“I… wanted… you to—ah—fuck me.”

Everything stilled—just for a breath.

Then he let out a sound that was half laugh, half snarl, low and razor-sharp. 

“Yeah?” he rasped, the next thrust stealing the breath from your lungs. “You wanted me to break you in? Fuck you so hard you’d forget how to run that pretty little mouth?”

Your answer was a strangled sound, no shape to it—but it was enough.

Cassian didn’t need to hear any more. 

He moved like he meant it—vicious, savage. Every thrust drove deep, shaking the mattress, the frame, the pictures on the walls. You could feel it everywhere—down to the soles of your feet, behind your teeth, pounding inside your skull. And still, your hand worked furiously between your thighs, desperate and slick, chasing the pressure his rhythm only stoked higher.

You were close. Too close. The kind of close where your thighs were beginning to tremble, where your breath hitched into broken gasps, where your stomach coiled so tight it felt like you might split open from it.

And then his hand shot down, catching yours just as you were about to tip over the edge. He yanked it away, holding it up like a prize, like proof of your need.

“Cassian—fuck—” you sobbed, your hips chasing after what he’d stolen, body spasming from the denial.

He leaned in, breath hot at your ear, and pinned your hand above your head, fingers lacing through yours like he owned them. Owned you.

“What was it you said earlier?” he murmured, the words cruelly soft, hips still driving into you with ruthless intent. “Something about losing control?”

His meaning, along with a sharp thrust, deep and slow, made you cry out.

He hummed, mock-thoughtful. “Tell me—who is it, exactly, falling apart now?”

Your breath hitched, broken on another sob. The pressure was a blade now, poised to split you open. 

“What do you want from me?” you begged, voice cracking. “Just—just tell me what you want, I’ll—please—”

His answer came without pause, like he’d been waiting for you to ask. “Apologize,” he said, dark and absolute. “For saying you didn’t want me.”

Your eyes fluttered open, glazed and wide.

“Tell me,” he ground out, each thrust a brutal punctuation. “Tell me how badly you want me. No—need me.”

You hesitated, teeth sinking into your bottom lip hard enough to sting. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to say it—it was that saying it meant surrender. Saying it meant he’d won. 

Still, your voice came out hoarse and thin. “I didn’t mean it…”

He gave a low, amused hum, cock still grinding into you like there was no rush. “That’s not an apology, sweetheart.”

You tried to glare at him, but your head was thrown back too far, body too wrung out to muster more than a gasping curse. 

“Fine,” you spat. “I’m sorry I said I didn’t want you.”

“Better,” he murmured, mouth brushing your cheek, near your jaw, his breath all heat and command.. “Keep going.”

Your next breath came shaky. “I wanted you,” you said, barely audible. “I’ve wanted you for—fuck—for so long.”

“That’s it,” he praised, voice molten. “Say it like you mean it.”

And gods help you, you did.

“I need you,” you choked, thighs trembling around his hips. “I fucking need you, Cassian.”

“Look at you,” he breathed, something reverent beneath the filth. “All that attitude, all that fight—and now you’re here, begging. Dripping.”

His hand slid between your bodies like it belonged there. Two fingers found the aching, swollen mess of you, rubbing tight, punishing circles. You jerked at the contact, a broken cry ripping from your throat.

“So sweet for me now,” he groaned, working you with ruthless precision. “Was that so hard, baby?”

You whimpered, hips twitching. “No,” you whispered. “Just—please, let me—”

“Then come, (y/n),” he growled, his fingers moving faster now, rough and wet and perfect. “Come on my cock. Let me feel it.”

And with those words, you did—you shattered around him, back arching hard as white-hot pleasure crashed over you, wave after merciless wave. His name tore from your throat—sacred, wrecked, a plea and a prayer all at once. Your body locked tight around him, the sounds ripping from you falling somewhere at the intersection of a shout and a cry and a moan.

Cassian swore—raw, reverent—and didn’t stop.

In one seamless, brutal motion, he grabbed behind your knees and shoved them higher, folding you in half. Your thighs pressed tight to your chest, ankles hooked over his shoulders as he pinned you there—helpless, trembling, wholly his.

“Fuck,” he bit out, voice hoarse. “Look at you—still fucking squeezing me.”

You couldn’t answer. Could barely think. That new angle had him hitting something devastating—something deep and bruising that sent stars bursting behind your eyes.

He didn’t slow. Just kept going, those deep, relentless thrusts rocking the bedframe, obscene slick sounds cutting through the ragged rhythm of your breath.

“Taking me so well,” he groaned, one hand braced beside your head, the other gripping your thigh like a vice. “This what you needed? Me to fuck you this deep—this full—until you can’t think straight?”

Maybe it was. Maybe this had always been what you both needed—this unspoken breaking point, all heat and fury and surrender.

“Keep making those sounds for me,” he rasped, pounding into you like he meant to leave a mark on your soul. “Those pretty little sounds—fuck, you sound so needy.”

And you were. Every noise that spilled from your throat was high and broken and raw, punched out of you with every snap of his hips.

His eyes locked onto yours, dark and ruined with want. “You want it that bad?”

“Yes,” you breathed—then louder, filthier, no shame left in you. “Want you to fuck me full, Cassian. Want to feel you dripping out of me for days.”

He choked on a sound—half snarl, half moan—his rhythm faltering.

Then he drove into you hard, to the hilt, deep enough you swore it pressed behind your ribs, and stilled.

A ragged groan tore from him—your name, cracked and guttural, as his whole body locked above you. You felt every shudder, every pulsing wave of heat spilling into you. Felt him unravel, felt the weight of it—of him—pouring into you until there was nothing else.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Then Cassian let out a breathless laugh, low and wrecked. “Fuck.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The storm had passed.

In every sense.

Morning sun spilled amber through the cottage windows, brushing over fresh paint and new shingles, over repaired beams and the once-crooked door that now swung true on its hinges. The faint scent of pine smoke clung to the air—evidence of the fire Cassian had built earlier, more out of habit than necessity.

You stood at the hearth anyway, one hand braced on the mantle, the other smoothing absently over the front of your sweater. The house was quiet. Not silent, but quiet in the way a place becomes once it’s been lived in. Settled.

Behind you, a soft thud marked the last box lowered to the floor.

“That’s the last of it,” Cassian said, voice low, content.

You didn’t answer right away. Just turned, slowly, letting your eyes move across the room—the clean lines of the walls, the honey-warm kitchen, the faint gloss of varnish still clinging to the new floors. Light glinted off the old tools hung neatly by the door, each one a reminder of what this place had been.

“It doesn’t look like it’s going to fall over anymore,” you said.

Cassian glanced at you from where he knelt by the hearth, coaxing the embers back to life. “You say that like you’re disappointed.”

“I’m not.” You let the corner of your mouth curve, soft. “I think maybe it was meant to stand after all.”

That earned a quiet huff of laughter. He stood and stretched, arms arcing above his head, the hem of his shirt lifting just enough to reveal a sliver of golden skin. You didn’t let your eyes linger.

Not too obviously, anyway.

“Rhys said we can take the rest of the week if we want it,” he said after a beat, wandering to the little kitchen table and adjusting one of the chairs. His voice was easy. Too easy. 

You paused, taking a mental tally. Three days—maybe four—since that night. The ache hadn’t quite left your muscles, and neither had the tension between you. It lingered in the space, quiet and unspoken, like something waiting to be acknowledged. 

“Do we want it?” you asked

He shrugged. “No one’s waiting. We don’t have to rush back.”

And it was true. There were no war meetings waiting, no urgent messages. The world, for once, wasn’t on fire.

Just this place—sturdy now. Still a little imperfect. But whole. 

The thought of another morning here, slow and golden beneath thick quilts… of evenings warmed by the fire, maybe even stealing a moment outside bundled up with Cassian to watch the snow settle while his laugh echoed soft across the rafters—

It didn’t sound terrible.

You reached for two ceramic plates, their edges chipped and familiar, the way all good dishes are. “You’re building the fire, I’m setting the table. We’re staying.”

Cassian looked at you over his shoulder, one brow raised in mock challenge. “That an order?”

You set the last plate down with a gentle clink. “It’s a plan.”

His grin bloomed slow and real. A little tired. A little surprised. But warm, all the same.

When he moved to your side and bumped his hip lightly against yours, reaching for the bread and honey, it wasn’t the kind of touch that asked for anything.

It just was.

Uncomplicated. Easy.

The fire crackled. 

The floor no longer creaked beneath your feet. 

You poured the tea.

And maybe—for the first time in a long time—something had been fixed that wasn’t made of wood or stone.

Maybe something else had been meant to stand, too. 

[sundives]

Magnets ✶ lhs.

Either way, you have me at my wit's end.

Summary: Lee Heeseung, according to your sort of college crushes, falls under the category of the unreachable. One being he's a bandmate and friend of your younger brother, (which automatically means he's off-limits), and two, he's popular, intelligent, and every girl's dream guy, which still validates your sort even if we cross out the first reason. And yet, a small part of you wondered, if Lee Heeseung can be just at an arm's length. 

And somewhere, in the middle of your junior year, a mystic force somehow pulled you and Heeseung together. A push and pull of feelings that had you wondering if he’s really unreachable. (or not, you just don’t want to assume really.)

✰ Song Inspiration: Magnets by Niki, Sway covered by Beabadoobee (original by Bic Runga), Take A Chance With Me by Niki

✰ Word Count: 25.6k

✰ Tags: Tooth-rotting fluff, best friend’s older sister, kinda realization of feelings, jealousy, drunken confessions ig, a bit of angst, smut! Yang Jungwon as reader’s younger brother, band au! College settings, classmates! Bar parties, mentions of alcohol. Heeseung is such a natural flirt (and is an epitome of mixed signals.) He is also in a band, mentions Enhypen members, mentions of kpop idols, Yunah and Karina as your best friends. Jungwon calls reader “noona.” He’s also so protective that he can be an asshole sometimes. Reader is kinda delusional but in denial but I get her. Heeseung has a high-alcohol tolerance for the sake of the plot. Switch of POV at some point of the story. 

✰ CW: Smut! Plot with little porn, p in v sex, unprotected sex lmao (pls don’t) drunk sex, creampie, oral (f and m receiving), aggressive making out, mentions of blood, fingering, squirting, light spanking, multiple orgasms, names (pretty, baby), grinding, cowgirl, aftercare!!! Multiple smut scenes because I’m practicing for my next fic but still shitty. Hope you enjoy though.

✰ Asul’s note: It’s Heeseung’s story this time! Third installment of Arcanum series. I also kinda made Enha members same-aged in this series, (hyung line are juniors while maknae line are sophomores, and idk why I am telling y’all this now lmao.) This one is lighter compared to my other stories hehe. Some talks about “The Virgin Suicides” because I love that novel sm and I’m going to nerd the hell out of it. 

And kinda spoiler? But the self-composed song of Arcanum is actually this song! (give love to the og singer pls) I just remembered Heeseung covered this during Fate Concert in New Clark City (and he did posted a short cover of it WTF.) The song and lyrics matched the story that’s why I included it here. Anyways, enjoy this not proofread, tooth-rotting story.

You can check the other member's stories here: Jay | Sunghoon

✰ Taglist: @kiikiisblog @chuuyaobsessed @k1ttyjwon @bussolares @rosepetals09 @m1kkso @dearestdreamies @dreamiestay @cloud-lyy @iamliacamila @heeseungsgf26 @dulcetnostalgia

-

According to your list, you have two types of crushes. 

The first ones are the reachables. Meaning, your crushes that you can potentially date or maybe pull if you’re lucky.

The first one being Jake Sim, who’s an orgmate of yours. You two only started as a staff for the Student Aid Organization during your first years in college, assisting students with their grievances. It wasn’t until Jake became the vice president of the said organization while you became his executive assistant, wherein you two became much closer. Jake was the ideal boyfriend. He was smart, good-looking, and fun to be with. You might have a chance with him if he reciprocates your small crush on him. 

The other one is Lee Chanyoung, a sophomore who is the rookie of Decelis University’s swimming team. He’s tall, handsome, but was a shy kid that you interviewed back when you were part of Decelis Publications. You remembered flustering him with your compliments, making the poor kid blush hard. You don’t mind dating him if only your interaction with him becomes frequent, but for now, he’s just an eye candy crush. 

Then, there are the unreachable ones. Your crushes who will forever remain in the crush-zone. Those crushes of yours that you had 0.0001% chance to date with, and so what? It’s just a crush, a small admiration to them.

Like Kang Taehyun. The most popular student in your department. He just happens to be the president of the Education Department’s student council. He holds a good reputation among his peers. Friendly and has a good aura around him. You had a few interactions with him and the rumors about his kindness exceeded you. Despite that, he remains (and will remain) unreachable due to the fact that he has a girlfriend. — you don’t want to ruin a relationship of course. 

Then, there’s Lee Heeseung. The one that you considered as the most unreachable crush of yours. 

There’s not enough words to describe Lee Heeseung, but he was everything. That man is everyone’s dream guy. Considering that he’s been a classmate of yours since freshman year, it’s undeniable that he’s an intelligent student. Considered as one of your department’s top students. 

Aside from that, he’s like Decelis University’s Troy Bolton. Heeseung lives a double life of being part of your department’s basketball team and playing in a band. While Decelis’ official basketball team tries hard to recruit him, Heeseung refuses to join because he knows that he’ll have to dedicate every minute of his time for it. Meaning it has to be his top priority and nothing else.

And everyone knows why. Heeseung can’t leave his band. How can he when he’s the one who formed the band and is basically the center of it? Lee Heeseung just happens to be the vocalist and guitarist of the band Arcanum, a university band that he formed along with some other students, that includes your younger brother — which leads you to another reason why he’s unreachable.

Your younger brother, Yang Jungwon was Arcanum’s drummer. His passion in music had convinced him to join the band, befriending his seniors and forming a bond with them through making music. 

That’s when you found yourself as the older sister who comes home to her house that served as a band practice for Arcanum. Perks of living in a house just a few blocks near the university.

Heeseung being Jungwon’s friend automatically meant he was off-limits since both you and Jungwon found it weird dating his friends, (in vice versa, so does the thought of Jungwon dating your friends.) Even though you and Heeseung were classmates first, and somewhere there, you had a crush on Heeseung first before he became friends with Jungwon, you decided that he’s automatically off-limits the moment Arcanum was formed. 

Still, in your mind, even if Heeseung wasn’t Jungwon’s friend, he is still unreachable. 

Heeseung’s aura and charisma can be seen from the way he controls the stage up to how he presents himself in court and classroom. He’s proud of it, and can be defined untouchable like the rest of his bandmates.

He’s like a star that is far from your reach. Hundreds of girls would die to be his girlfriend. There’s not a day where he receives confessions. But Heeseung would just laugh it off, rejecting it with a kind tone and apologies, and everyone knows why: Lee Heeseung isn’t looking for a relationship at the moment, which crushes every girl’s dream of becoming his. 

And that sort of includes you, but you know that you’re far from becoming Heeseung’s girlfriend. There were prettier, curvier, and even smarter girls who got rejected by Heeseung. That’s why you know it’ll never cross his mind to even spare a glance at you — his friend’s older sister. 

You’re decent, average grades, and probably being an independent sister who looks after her younger brother is the only thing that you can brag about. Still, that doesn’t make you stand out of the crowd. That’s why you’re long convinced that Heeseung wouldn’t even notice you, hence making him more unreachable.

Yet, there has always been a small part inside you, wondering — probably yearning, if Heeseung can still be reachable for you. 

-

Second semesters are always hell. For some reason, you feel like there’s a curse in the second semester because the course subjects always feel heavy and draining as if it’s challenging you to give up before the academic year ends.

“This project will take about 60% of your midterm grades, so I want everyone to be crucial in this paper,” and to make it worse, you choose an elective that demands more than your major subjects. A straight thin line forming on your lips as you jotted down the instructions that’s currently flashed on the tv screen.

“You can choose your own partner in this project, but you can also opt to do it solo, just kindly inform the class beadle and have her send me the list by the end of the day, any questions?” You stared at your notes. Although the paper analysis will be heavy for you, you’ll rather do it solo than do it with someone who’ll probably slack off and leave you to do all the work. 

The professor dismissed the class. Everyone was scurrying on their desk, eager for lunch while you took your time putting down your things inside your bag, even grabbing your phone to check any message from your friends that you didn’t notice the figure approaching you.

“Y/n hey,” you felt someone tapping you back and as you turned around, you saw Heeseung standing in front of you. You only stared at him and his boyish smile while his hands were in his slack’s pockets. His backpack swinging on his right arm while he had his hairstyle like he just messily brushed it using his hand and yet, it doesn’t look like a mess. 

God, you always forgot how handsome Heeseung was up close, but that's not what you had in your mind right now. 

“Hi,” you said, barely audible. Confusion got into you since this is the first time Heeseung approached you. 

“Can we be partners for the project?” he asked, and it took you a minute to process what he just said. 

“Why?” you immediately blurted out, hopefully it didn’t come as offensive as you intended it to be. Just surprised.

“Well, you’re the only one I’m kinda close with here,” Heeseung pointed out, and that made you confused. “And you’re good at this kind of project.”

Now the second sentence made sense. “Lee Heeseung, I’m not going to carry your ass in this project.”

Heeseung’s eyes widened, “wait, that’s not what I meant. What I’m trying to say is that I trust you not to give us low grades, we’ll work together of course.” 

You only blinked. Together. For the years you and Heeseung had been classmates, this is probably the first time you and Heeseung become partners for a project. Sometimes, you two do end up in a group but this one’s different. It’s just going to be the two of you. Alone. And the fact that he asked you to be his partner had your heart going crazy. 

“You can’t do it alone? Like, genuinely?” you asked once again. 

Heeseung looks away embarrassed, “have you seen me reading a whole novel? I’ll doze off before I can go to the second page. Plus I think two heads are better than one.” 

You looked away. A part of you is panicking inside. Screaming “Emergency!” the more you interact with him, the more you’re going to be convinced that he’s reachable. But another part of you is screaming, “go get that bag!” this is your chance! You shouldn’t turn it down. 

“Fine. This one’s a month-long project, the deadline is during the examination period but I prefer passing it a week before our exam so that I can focus on my other subjects,” you explained. “Is that okay with you?”

In the end, your crush on him is bigger than your rationality. Brain short-circuiting and just convincing yourself that this is a good idea. 

“All good for me — oh right, we have a band practice in your house later after class, we can meet up there so that we can choose what novel we are going to analyse and distribute the task, how’s that sounds?” he suggested. 

See this is why Heeseung is such a dream guy. He knows how to balance his academics, even with the hectic basketball practice and band practice, he can still find time to prioritise his studies and even acing it out. 

You hate that he’s so admirable yet out of your reach, and even though he’s standing in front of you, asking you to be his project partner, you can still feel the barrier between the two of you. 

“Fine, but I might go home a bit late, I have dinner with my friends.” that was the only thing that you said before grabbing your bag. “Is there anything else that you need?”

“Nothing else, I got the instructions on my notes too. So, see you later?” Heeseung smiles. 

“See you later Heeseung,” you only said, trying your best to act nonchalantly even though your heart’s going to explode any minute.

“Oh right, eat well! Bye!” and with that, Heeseung leaves you alone there standing, caught-off guard with his words. 

What the actual fuck. You cursed internally. His words loop in your mind until you’ve met with your friends. 

“Eat well!? Girl! You should eat a lot, not spend your lunch with iced coffee!” your best friend Karina, shrieks. 

The three of you are at some small coffee shop outside Decelis for lunch. Of course, you’ll have to report your interaction with Heeseung to your friends, who were almost celebrating because of it.

“If he says that to you, then he should’ve given you money to buy your lunch so that you’ll eat well,” Yunah added, almost laughing. 

“Stop it guys, you two are being too loud,” you said in defeat, but the faint blush on your cheeks gives off the fact that you were flustered. “Okay fine, I’ll buy a sandwich and fries.” 

“Oh Heeseung’s impact~ I mean if my crush told me that, I’ll buy myself food too,” Karina teases.

You could only roll your eyes in annoyance. Standing up from your seat to buy some food for you — and not because Heeseung told you to eat well, but because you know that iced coffee wouldn’t suffice. 

You returned to your table with a tray of selected savory breads instead. Karina and Yunah are still eyeing you teasingly, which makes you cautious all of the sudden. 

“Have you ever thought about why he approached you to become his partner for the project?” Yunah asked. 

“He did say I’m the only one he’s closed with in our section,” you explained. 

“Close? Since when are you guys close? He’s much closer to Jungwon than you,” Karina rebutted.

Karina wasn’t lying. You and Heeseung aren't close. He’s the only one you interacted the least out of Arcanum. And whenever you think about it, it’s probably because your romantic crush on him makes him intimidating to you. 

“Okay? Well at least we know each other?” you weren’t sure why Heeseung did approach you, and you were holding yourself to not jump into any other conclusions. “It’s just a project guys, it’s not like he’s asking me out on a date.”

“See, what if that project of yours will lead to that conclusion —”

“You guys got to stop feeding into my delusions, I’m still not going to date him, he’s Jungwon’s friend,” 

“And if he doesn’t?” Karina asked. 

“I told you guys this about a hundred times, Heeseung’s not looking for a relationship at the moment, means he’s not serious about commitments, while I prefer committed relationship,” you explained further. 

“Okay and? You might be the girl that’ll make him commit,” Yunah added. 

“Guys oh my god, stop enabling me! You two are just making it worse!” you frustratedly laughed, making the two of them laugh. 

“But I’m still suspicious about Heeseung, you need to update us girl!” Karina eagerly said. “My bet is that Heeseung does have other intentions on approaching you,”

“This is nothing guys, I swear.” you casually said to them, even though deep inside you wanted to trust your friends’ words. Because, what if really? There’s a reason why Heeseung approached you all of the sudden?

The remaining afternoon classes went on. Reports, lessons, and recitations were done with ease even though you almost dozed off in one subject. The afternoon slowly darkens, with the orange sky welcoming you as you step outside your department building. 

You’ve met up with Karina and Yunah to have early dinner at a small local eatery outside Decelis University. The sun had completely set but the three of you remained at the eatery, spending a few hours gossiping and talking shit about your classmates. Later then, you three decided to leave the place and opt for frozen yoghurt as dessert. 

Yunah bid goodbye first, since her dormitory is just nearby the yoghurt place. While you and Karina walked towards the bus stop since she lives an hour away from Decelis. Conversations never stop until your friend’s bus arrives. You hugged her goodbye and as you watched the bus leave, that was your cue to go home. 

Your home, the house that you grew up in, is located just a few blocks away from Decelis. Your parents were always away due to their job, rarely home only during important events like holidays or graduations, that’s why you’ve grown accustomed to its silence. Back when you were kids, you had servants attending you but now that you and Jungwon are old enough, it has always been the two of you now, learning independence while your parents aren’t around. 

As you reached the front door of your house, you could already hear the faint sounds of their instruments, you glanced at your watch and noticed that it’s already seven-thirty in the evening, which means that they had started practice an hour ago. They’ll finish it around nine but that doesn’t mean they’ll be going home by that time. Sometimes they would play games or have snacks, either way, you’re used to it. 

You open the door quietly enough to not disturb them, removing your shoes and placing it on the racks near the doorway before you make your entrance. 

They continued practicing but all eyes darted on you, making you walk faster. A few nods and soft “hi” and “hello” were exchanged as you passed by them. It has become a usual scenario wherever you go home by the time they’re practicing, you’ll greet them out of decency.

You’re careful not to disturb them in their practice, that’s why you’re always in your room whenever they’re practicing. They do sometimes ask you to join them for dinner, which you’ll gladly do for free food. Usually, you’ll just sit there and listen to their conversation, but most of the time, they do include you in their talk. Jay and Sunghoon, being the most talkative, made you comfortable around them. 

“Noona, we have pizzas on the dining table!” Jungwon shouted, not even stopping from playing the drums. 

“I’m already full! I’ll be in my room!” you shouted before going upstairs towards your room. It wasn’t that soundproof but it was muffled enough for you not to be annoyed by the noise. 

You took a short shower before changing into a fitted shirt and pajamas, wearing a zipped jacket in addition because you were feeling cold that night. As you sat on the edge of your bed, your mind was racing all of the sudden, remembering that Heeseung was supposed to meet you tonight for the project.

Coincidentally, a knock on the door startled you, and as you opened it, Jungwon was standing in front of you. 

“Heeseung hyung is looking for you,” he said, and you can see the weird look he was giving you. Like a cat judging your whole existence.

“Did he tell you why?” you asked him.

“He said something about a project, you two were partners,” noticing the way Jungwon cringed when he said “partners.” 

“Okay, just a minute,” you grabbed your iPad and phone before going out. Patting your brother’s shoulder before you push him to start walking. You two went downstairs where the boys are on the couch, drinking some colas and eating the cold pizza. 

“Hi y/n, want some pizza?” Sunghoon offered as soon as you’re near them, but you only gave him a smile. 

“Thanks still full,” you said as you approached Heeseung who immediately darted his attention to you.

“Should we start now?” he asked, round eyes staring at you. “I’m still eating.” 

“Okay fine, why call me now then?” you crossed your arms. 

He raised the bitten pizza before giving you a smile. “Want some?”

His bandmates looked at him like they were judging his whole existence. While you only stared at him for a second before a “Huh?” escapes your lips, immediately brushing it off with a soft laugh. 

“I already told you guys, I’m still full.” you repeated. “I’ll be outside by the patio, just call me if we can start the project.” 

Heeseung watched as you went towards the hallway where the backdoor of the patio is located, his stare went for long until he felt a crumpled tissue land on his face. 

“The fuck was that?” Jungwon asked in a serious tone. 

“I’m just offering her some food,” Heeseung shrugs. “You didn’t call out Sunghoon, he’s the first one to offer.”

“Well, if you had known that I offered her first, you wouldn’t have offered either,” Sunghoon rebutted. 

“Maybe she’ll eat it if I’m the one who offered her food.” The vocalist said so casually that it made his bandmates laugh. 

“Wow, that’s rich coming from you,” Jay taunted. “You guys aren’t even that close.” 

“Yeah, that’s why it’s okay if I offer her pizza, we’re close,” Sunghoon added, a hint of teasing in his voice.

“Stop talking about my sister like I’m not here,” the youngest groans. “Really, hyungs, not only you, Heeseung hyung. Seriously —”

“Don’t date your sister, we know Jungwon, that’s like the first thing you said during our first practice in your house,” Jay answered. 

“And you have nothing to worry about? I’m literally engaged while Jay’s still yearning for that mystery girl of his.” Sunghoon stated the obvious. 

“Okay maybe you can get worried about Heeseung,” Jay grinned. 

Heeseung immediately sat up from his seat, an awkward chuckle leaving his lips. “You don’t have to worry about me too, I am not looking for a relationship you know that.” 

“Sure Hee, whatever floats your boat,” Jay mocks. 

“Yeah sure, now if you excuse me, I’ll be going to the patio because y/n and I are going to discuss our project which is a novel analysis, and you have nothing to worry about Jungwon,” Heeseung explains, saluting mockingly to Jungwon who could only do nothing but watch his friend go towards the hallway where the backdoor was. 

“Not going to stop him?” Sunghoon teased.

“I don’t want to be that annoying brother who’s too protective,” Jungwon replied, taking a sip on his drinks. 

Jay lets out a sarcastic laughter. “You didn’t just fucking said that right now.” 

Meanwhile, you're sitting peacefully on the long couch of your patio. Reviewing the instructions given by your professor when you heard the metal door creaking. Startled, you glanced at it and saw Heeseung leaning against the doorframe. 

“So, our project?” he started, approaching you as he sat on the other chair, immediately, you fixed your position, sitting legs criss-cross as you tried to act as normal as possible even though your heart was racing, mind panicking internally. 

You couldn’t even look at him for so long that you immediately scrolled through your iPad, trying to act serious even though you're palpitating inside. Is it the iced coffee you had for lunch or just the thought that Heeseung’s sitting near you? You don’t know but it’s not helping at all.

“Right, any suggestions on the novel we will be choosing? Prof. Jeon told us we can choose any novel that we wanted as long as we were able to make a good argument about why we chose it,” you explained, still eyeing your iPad where your notes were. 

“Hmm good question, you choose our novel, I don’t even know what’s good or not,” Heeseung suggested. 

That’s when you only look at him, “Heeseung, I told you I’m not going to carry you in this project.”

A nervous chuckle escaped his lips. “No, that’s not what I meant! You suggest a novel and I’m going to read it, even buy it for our project’s sake, and try my best to understand it. I’m just really not that great at this type of project so please help me with this one.”

You only blinked. Staring at him who’s pleading at you, which is funny because you never expect Heeseung — one of your department’s top students, to be failing in some areas.

“Okay but why did you even choose modern literature as an elective?” you asked suddenly confused. 

“Ran out of slots in analytical economics.” Heeseung casually said. “Come on, don’t leave me with this one y/n, I can’t fail this elective.” 

“I’m not, don't worry,” you laughed. “I’m just surprised that you’re not good at this one.” 

Heeseung chuckles because of your statement. “What? What makes you think I excel in everything?” 

You stopped for a second, “I mean — you’re one of our top students, Heeseung, that’s why.” 

“Hey, I’m not that smart, I just study hard,” Heeseung nonchalantly said. “Going back to our topic, how about we go with your favorite novel?”

“Okay, no need to flaunt it,” you sarcastically remarked. “My favorite novel? It’s The Virgin Suicides.”

“Does this involve actions and stuff?” 

You laugh at his words. “You really think a novel titled ‘The Virgin Suicides’ involves actions and stuff?” 

“I’m just kidding! Watch the movie and sure, let’s go with that one.”

A chuckle of disbelief escapes your lips, “you’ve watched the movie?”

“Hey, it’s a Sofia Coppola movie.” Heeseung pointed out. 

“So you’re a cinephile of sorts? Is your favorite movie American Psycho or some 1980s Korean independent film that has low budget but great cinematography?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes I do love watching movies but no, my favorite movie is Toy Story 3.” 

Another laughter escapes your mouth, hearing Heeseung’s laughter made you forget the reason why you two were at that patio. You don’t know whether to believe his words or not, but hearing his soft laughter just made the butterflies in your stomach flutter so hard that you’re trying your best to conceal the fleeting feeling. 

With the cold breeze of the summer night, along the thousands of stars in the night sky, made the atmosphere lighter. Brighter along with the soft yellow lights around your patio. Heeseung’s smile never left as he stared at you, which made your smile turn into a thin line. 

So, this is what talking to your ultimate crush feels like. You thought. And for a moment, your heart stopped, realizing that this is too good to be true — making you snap from reality. That’s why you diverted back to the reason why you and Heeseung are talking in the first place. 

Going back to your meeting, you two equally divided the parts. The project seems to be lighter now that your task has been divided. Heeseung suggested that you two should brainstorm after finishing the novel, which you mindlessly nodded, jotting down the deadlines you two made so that you can finish the project in no time. 

“You know it’ll be interesting if we compare the movie adaptation to the novel,” Heeseung suggested as the two of you decided to finish the meeting. Going inside your house, but stopping midway in the hallway. 

“You’re really dedicating your time for this project huh?” you teased. “I mean I don’t mind at all.”

“Oh great! We should watch it together, what do you think?”

“What —” you were caught-off guard. Did Heeseung just ask you to watch it together with him?

You became quiet for a moment. Recalling your friend’s words — how Heeseung has other intentions on why he approached you for the project. Is this the reason? You’ve got to be kidding because why would Heeseung ask you to watch The Virgin Suicides with him? For a project that’s only a novel analysis? There’s got to be another reason why. 

But from the moment you were too quiet, too deep in your thoughts, a loud clearing of the throat snapped you out. You glanced and saw Jungwon raising an eyebrow at the two of you. 

“Jay hyung and Sunghoon hyung had left a while ago,” Jungwon stated. “They said you’re taking your time with y/n.”

“Ah shit, now I have to commute back home,” Heeseung groans. “Sorry Won, we just want to make sure our project’s perfect and organized.”

Jungwon only shrugs before glancing at you — that’s when you remembered.  

“I’m okay with it, let’s just do it after finishing the novel,” you answered Heeseung. “I think that concludes everything about our project.”

“Yeah sure, well thanks for your time y/n. I have to go now before Jungwon kicks me out,” Heeseung laughs. 

“I really am about to,” Jungwon said with a glare. 

Heeseung gives you a small smile and wave before walking towards Jungwon who only followed his friend, leaving you standing there, heart bursting out any moment. 

You could only curse internally. You didn’t just fucking spent a few hours with your ultimate crush alone in your patio. God, your preconceived notion of him being everyone’s dream guy with all the brains and charisma is the tip of the iceberg. He just happens to be pathetic in some areas but at the same time, still knows the littlest details in niche topics. You want to curse the gods because why would they create such an ideal man but make him unreachable for you. 

You could only stomp your feet out of frustration before calming yourself for a minute. Taking deep breaths, you decided to call it night, leaving the hallway and going upstairs when midway, your younger brother called you, watching him climb the stairs before standing next to you. 

“So, you and Heeseung hyung —”

“Are partners for our elective project, nothing more, nothing less,” you replied immediately. “It’s normal Won, we’re classmates remember.”

“Just reminding you noona, about our agreement,” Jungwon heaves out a sigh. “Don’t want you to fall for Heeseung hyung, he kinda tends to give girls mixed signals.” 

“Funny that you’re saying that when he’s a friend of yours,” you pointed out. 

“He knows it himself too,” Jungwon shrugs.

“Don’t worry about it Won, I don’t think Heeseung finds me attractive though.” you answered, thinking that Arcanum sees you as ‘Jungwon’s older sister.’ 

“Hey! You’re pretty, what on earth are you talking about?” your younger brother immediately replied, seeing him all worked-up, you could only laugh as you pat his shoulders.

“You’re just saying that because we’re siblings,” you teased. “You don’t have to worry about anything Won, this is just a project. Okay, I’m kinda tired now, so let’s just go to sleep.” 

The two of you went upstairs together, saying goodnight to each other before proceeding to go to each other’s room. The beaming silence makes you lost in your thoughts. You made your way towards your bed and as you lay down there, clutching on your iPad, the smile on your face never faded, heck it even grew wider at the thought that you have reasons to grow closer with Heeseung. 

Of course, it’s still under the disguise of the fact that you two were project partners, but it’s a way to show to you that Heeseung is, somehow, reachable. 

-

The next few weeks were nothing but a fast forward in your life. 

You continue going on with your routine, with one sudden turn — the novel rests idly inside your bag. Rereading it for the project, and as you turn every page you wonder about your partner. 

It halted to you that everything was actually for project purposes. You and Heeseung remained the same. The barrier between the two of you going back to the same height and him returning to your unreachable category — and you were okay with it, no more heart burns and an imaginative mind clouding your delusional self.

Of course, Heeseung continued coming over to your place. Their band practices went normal where you would just greet them with short conversations before you lock yourself in your room. No more private conversations and such, you can tell that Jungwon felt at ease, thinking what you and Heeseung had is just some academic collaboration. 

But by the end of the week, you were surprised when Heeseung approached you. 

“I’m like halfway through the novel and there’s a lot of scenes that were so important but weren't included in the film, we need to brainstorm that.” Heeseung told you.

“I thought you'd be the type to doze off before proceeding to the next page?” you teased. 

“Well I need to lock in because I’m required to read it, but it's an interesting novel though,” he replied. 

And just when you thought you'd be at peace. Heeseung asked you for a short brainstorming. “Alright, you choose when and what time since you’re the busy one here.”

“I’m thinking Saturday, it’s my free day. I literally just sleep and play the whole day, so I wouldn’t mind spending my free day with you.” 

You tried your best to ignore his words. Cursing him internally because why does he always catch you off guard? You let out an awkward chuckle before glancing at him. “Okay, Saturday — wait, this Saturday right?”

Heeseung only nods. “Cool — uhm, what time and where?”

“Wait, how about we exchange numbers? So that we can contact each other.” 

Woah. This is going to be the end of you. Lee Heeseung asking for your number? Now that’s a reach. You mindlessly nod, letting out a squeaky “sure” before grabbing your phone for him to type his number — same goes with him on your phone. 

“There, I even put my photo there too,” Heeseung laughs, giving you back your phone. 

“You’re fast, I would’ve put a meme photo on your contact list.” you only replied as you gave him back his phone. You glanced at his contact number wherein his selfie is already plastered on his contact photo. You can tell that he just took the photo just now and why the hell does he know his angle? Now you’re just frustrated because he’s too good with everything he does. 

“You didn’t put a photo of yours,” Heeseung said, looking at the dull contact. “Come on, I’ll take a picture of you.”

And as if his words were like a spell, you only smiled in front of him as you held out a small peace sign. Heeseung smiles as he captures the photo, saving it as your contact photo. 

“Cute, now, we match,” Heeseung flaunts his contact photo on you, which only made you chuckle. Trying so hard not to give his words meaning. 

“Just tell me the details Heeseung, see you on Saturday,” you told him. “I have to go now, my friends are waiting for me.”

“See you! Stay safe!” he said, waving lightly as you left. 

You wanted to scream. Really, you’re internally screaming. You need a pillow where you can muffle your screams but the only thing you could do is cover your face with your hands as you scream. Both Karina and Yunah looked at you teasingly as you dropped on your knees inside Yunah’s dorm room. 

“No, why would he do that!? Why!?” you whined, as you dropped dead on the floor. 

“See I told you he has intentions,” Karina pointed out. 

“No! He can’t! Maybe he’s just nice —”

“Girl, are you serious? He said, and I quote “I don’t mind spending my free day with you.” and you’re going to conclude that he’s just nice!?” Yunah frustratedly shouted. 

“Let’s break it down y/n. First, he asked you to meet him on a Saturday, his supposed free day but he doesn’t mind spending it with you. Then, he asked for your number, and he fucking took a photo of you! And what did he say afterwards? You two match? What the actual fuck because the last straw was him telling you “stay safe!” if that doesn’t conclude anything other than he’s interested in you, then I don’t know why you’re so in denial about it.” Karina summarized.

You could only let out a deep sigh. Karina had summarized EVERY hint that Heeseung may be into you, not until you remember — “But Jungwon said he’s a mixed signal type of guy, I just don’t want to jump into conclusions guys,” you immediately rebutted. 

Both Yunah and Karina looked at you, a furrow of eyebrows and forehead creased before a disappointed “ahhh” escaped their lips.

“I mean, have you seen the guy? He has a natural flirty attitude! So the tendency is girls will really think that he’s interested in them — even me! But I don’t want to assume anymore but ugh!” that’s when you grabbed Yunah’s plushie and smashed your face right into it. Letting out a muffled scream for five seconds before looking at your friends once again with a pitied look. 

“We get it, your long-time crush, who you always say is unreachable suddenly became reachable midway junior year, your crash-out is valid girl,” Yunah assured. “But don’t forget to address the other problem, he’s Jungwon’s friend.”

“Fuck, I forgot that one,” you only let out a breathy laugh. “Okay, I’m calmed now. This is just a crash out, just a small vent because Heeseung approached me and asked for my number. This is nothing guys! It’s totally nothing.” 

“If he really is a mixed-signal giver, then just be careful y/n, those are the worst type of guys,” Karina huffs.

“I know, just don’t enable me anymore! You guys are at fault in this one too,” you pointed, making your best friends laugh. 

-

When Saturday arrived, you and Heeseung agreed to meet at a small coffee shop near Decelis after lunch. 

By the time you arrived at the coffee shop, you quickly noticed Heeseung near a corner. He’s reading the novel, even wearing glasses that you assumed were fake yet, it suits his visual. You only smile before walking towards him, who immediately felt your presence. 

“Hi” he greets, smiling as you sit in front of him. 

“Hi, have you ordered coffee?” you asked. 

“I did, how about you?” he asked you back.

“Maybe later, since I’m still full from lunch,” you simply said. “Should we start our brainstorming or do you want to read more pages?”

Heeseung softly chuckles, closing the book as he looks at you. “No wonder this is your favorite novel, it’s a good novel to be honest.”

A skip in your heart was all you felt when he said those words. Smiling, you said, “really?” as Heeseung continued explaining to you why he liked the novel. You only sat there, watching Heeseung ramble about the novel — your favorite novel to be exact.

You know that this is only for academic purposes but hearing Heeseung talk about “The Virgin Suicides” tugs your heart with joy. It’s your favorite novel! It felt like he was getting to know you through your favorite stuff.

“How about you? Don’t tell me, you’re not reading it anymore because you’ve read it?” Heeseung suddenly blurted out, making you laugh softly before grabbing your bag, revealing your old copy which was full of anecdotes and bookmarks. 

“Woah, that’s impressive,” he said, grabbing your copy and skimming through it. 

“I have notes and have bookmarked my favorite quote and everything, but it’s not bad to reread it again in case I missed something,” you simply shrugged. 

“Glad I chose you as my partner in this project,” Heeseung casually said and you only stared at him for a second before taking a sip on your coffee. 

“Consider yourself lucky,” you stated, trying hard to conceal your flusteredness. 

As Heeseung returned you the book, your phone suddenly started ringing. You immediately grabbed it from your bag, and saw that it was Jungwon who’s calling. 

Heeseung watched as your soft expression turned into a different one in a span of your call with Jungwon, your tone rising higher than before like you were lecturing your younger brother. He only smiled as you rolled your eyes along with your frown. 

“You owe me Jungwon,” you told your brother before ending up the call. 

“You need to go now?” Heeseung asked. 

“No, but maybe later. Jungwon and I were supposed to do groceries but he’s busy he told me, he’s going to cram a whole lesson for their quiz, and you know how he is when he’s too focused on reviewing,” you explained to Heeseung. “Now I have to go to the store alone —”

“I can come with you,” Heeseung volunteered. 

“What? No, it’s okay Hee, I’ll just book a car on the way home —” 

“Still, it’s heavy for you to carry it, come on, I don’t mind,” he insisted.

“You might end up going home late,” you rebutted, praying internally that he’d take the hint. 

“And I don’t mind at all,” Heeseung stands up from his seat, and that’s when you realise that you’re doomed. “Come on now, we managed to make progress with our project. Let’s go get those groceries.”

The supermarket is just a bus stop away from Decelis. Once you two entered the busy store, Heeseung automatically pulled a cart which made you stop, glancing at him who only gave you a smile. 

“Go on, I’ll just follow you behind,” Heeseung gestured and you only nod, going straight for the nearest aisle. 

You’re not going to give meaning to everything. You chanted internally. It’s just Heeseung accompanying you to go on your weekly groceries run, because your brother ditched you. He’s just there to accompany you. Nothing more, nothing less. 

But curse the movies and novels because you know groceries. They’re sweet and cute, and have a touch of domesticity in it. Catering to each other’s references, choosing what kind of cereal you two will buy or something. 

The thought of you doing groceries with Heeseung had your imagination go so creative that you almost bumped to the fruit stand. If it wasn’t Heeseung who pulled you immediately, you would’ve knocked down the pyramid of oranges. 

“Careful there,” Heeseung laughs. “Going to buy some fruits?”

“Maybe some bananas since Jungwon likes snacking on them — oh, strawberries too.” you awkwardly walked away from his touch and proceeded to the selection of fruits, eyeing on the fresh looking ones. 

Heeseung could only stare at you as your brows furrowed, grabbing every container, staring at it for every second before moving on to another. It wasn’t until you picked the best and proceeded to the other section. 

He follows you quietly. Watching you grab some products as the cart started to become halfway full, and you two haven’t gone to the other sections. Heeseung silently observes you as you mumble some words like how you’ll probably cook the chicken by Thursday, or you need this ingredient. 

Now, he understands why Jungwon still depends on you even though their drummer tends to have a matured streak. His older sister is reliable, and he thinks that that’s admirable of you. 

“You’re taking these groceries seriously,” Heeseung blurted out, snapping your thoughts. That’s when you realized that you spent a few minutes walking around and picking up products while Heeseung only followed you behind, pushing the cart for you. 

“Sorry, I’m not really fun to be with, especially in a grocery store,” you apologetically replied. 

“It’s not like that, but you look cute to look at,” Heeseung pointed out. “You’re pouting too much just staring at what kind of tofu are you going to buy.”

A faint blush rushed over your cheeks, you awkwardly laughed as you looked away from him. “Just a habit — come on now, I know you’re dying to go to the snacks section.”

As the two of you went through the snacks section, you skimmed around the aisles of chips, grabbing your favorite along with Jungwon’s. As you returned to Heeseung, you noticed how he sneaked in some snacks for him, while he innocently looked away.

You only smiled as you placed down the chips, “fine, I’ll buy it for you Heeseung.”

“Wait, I’m going to pay you with cash,” Heeseung argued, grabbing his wallet when you stopped him.

“A compensation for accompanying me,” you rebutted. “So that you have your own chips in our house.”

Heeseung only has an embarrassed look on his face as he grabs another one. “Fine, but I’ll add another one.”

You two were able to finish the groceries after a half an hour, paying it with the credit card your parents left. Now, the two of you are by the small food court beside the supermarket, buying some snacks for the two of you. 

“This is nice,” Heeseung said. The bowl of instant ramen is warm in front of him as he blows off some steam before eating it. 

“You’re much more patient than Jungwon,” you replied, taking a small bite on the fish cake. “I always wanted to try the snacks here, but Jungwon would prefer going home after.”

“Then next time you go buy your groceries, text me so I can accompany you again,” Heeseung suggested. 

“You’re just here for the free snacks.” you jokingly said.

“That, and I don’t mind accompanying you.” Heeseung rebutted. “Something about doing groceries feels nice, not gonna lie.”

Who would’ve thought? Lee Heeseung doesn’t mind doing groceries with you? The thought sounds nice — sweet if you’re being exaggerated. Heeseung helped in placing the products inside the box, even carrying the box so that you wouldn’t lift a finger. But you know that this is just a one time thing. Jungwon will kill both of you if he discovers that Heeseung accompanied you to do groceries.

-

A few days had passed and your progress in the project was halfway done. Just a little smoothing on the analysis and adaptation comparison (which wasn't from the instructions but you and Heeseung put it in in hopes of gaining additional points.), and you can pass the project even earlier than you two had scheduled. 

Heeseung’s analysis and reports were on spot. No need for you to revise since it was clear and concise, and you’re glad that you agreed to become his partner. You weren’t stressed throughout the paper, making you admire Heeseung for his dedication in the project. 

Now, you’re sitting on your couch, biting on your nails as you remember that today was the day that you’re half-anticipating, half-dreading for — your movie screening with Heeseung. 

Considering that you’re just doing it in the abode of your home, and considering that you two are just project partners who insisted on watching the movie together, you call it a movie screening rather than a date. (and you consider that your younger brother might join in case something happens between you and Heeseung — which, your very imaginative mind shouldn’t have clouded your thoughts but anyway.) 

A ring on the doorbell startled you, almost tripping as you tried to put on your house slippers. As you opened the door, there stood Heeseung in his glory, wearing his department jacket with a fitted sleeveless shirt underneath that hugged his leaned body. Not to mention, those baggy denim pants and cool sneakers.

Your first thought is why he’s overdressed for a movie screening but fucking hell, he’s so handsome that your mind short-circuited especially when he’s holding a helmet. Did he just drive all the way here using his motorbike? God forbids Lee Heeseung to be ten times more attractive than what you’ve thought. 

“Come in,” you said in a quiet yet high-pitched tone that as Heeseung passed by, you physically cringed because of it. 

“So, are you ready for some movie date?” Heeseung asked, slumping on the couch comfortably. 

It’s a movie screening. A movie screening, not a date. This doesn’t look like a date — “of course! Just open the tv, I already selected it there. I’ll just go get some snacks.” you said, going towards the kitchen where your stock was.

“Need help?” Heeseung asked.

“No thanks! You’re a guest, make yourself comfortable!” you answered, because deep inside you’re about to burst any moment.

What the hell. Of course, Heeseung doesn’t know how to take a hint because he stood up from the couch like the gentleman he is and followed you towards the kitchen. You let him wander around as you placed the microwaveable popcorn inside the microwave, and while waiting, you opened your fridge to grab a few drinks for the two of you. Placing it on the tray as Heeseung found the pantry of snacks. 

“Hey, my snacks are still here,” he laughed, grabbing the bag of chips and sweets you bought for him last week.

“You didn’t eat it when you had practice here?” you asked. 

“I told myself I’ll just eat it during our movie date,” Heeseung casually said, and you are holding yourself back from asking him why he keeps on saying that this is a date.

Mixed signals. Mixed signals! Heeseung probably didn’t mean it. You gave him an awkward smile before shifting your attention towards the microwave where just in time, had just finished cooking the popcorn. 

“Heeseung hyung? You’re here?” the two of you stopped when a familiar voice echoed inside the kitchen.

“We’re going to watch a movie for our project,” Heeseung casually said. “Wanna watch it with us?”

As you turn around, Jungwon gives you a knowing look. The “our agreement, don’t forget.” look and you only gave him a nod as he glanced back at his friend. 

“No thanks, you guys enjoy it though — hyung what I told you!” Jungwon warns once again, making Heeseung chuckle. 

“I know dude, calm down,” then, he looks at you. “Let’s go?”

As the two of you arrived at the living room, you two opted to sit on the long couch — sitting on both ends of the couch. You relaxed your legs on the extension of the couch, hugging the throw pillow while Heeseung had his legs sprawled on the space between the two of you. 

Jungwon passes by, glancing at the two of you, contended that you two are a few feet apart, he returns to his room and that was your cue. You grabbed the remote and clicked play, the sound of the movie slipping through the speaker, and there, the two of you watched in peace. 

For the duration of the movie, you two were too immersed with it. Only eating the snacks as both of you were too focused on the scenes, trying to understand the plot and narration, especially since both of you know that the movie’s adaptation is far from the novel. 

“I hate Trip,” Heeseung suddenly blurted out midway through the movie. You only glanced at him, clutching the pillow you were holding. “He’s such an asshole, leaving Lux on the field alone? That’s so sick.” 

“All of the guys are assholes,” you explained. “They don’t even know these girls, they just fantasized about them.”

“Yeah that too, but Trip’s the most jerk out of all of them,” Heeseung laughs. “After stealing Lux’ virginity, he immediately dropped her.”

“All guys do that,” you bitterly said. 

Heeseung didn’t say a word, immediately catching your bitter tone. He glances at you as you munched a few chips to ease the tension. 

“You don’t have to answer it but…saying from your experience?” he asked, body shifting to face you. 

“My ex-boyfriend he…it was after prom too, everything was special and wholesome — from what I feel, then a few weeks later he broke up with me,” you laughed bitterly. “But that was back in high school, I shouldn’t have dated high school guys, they’re immature and horny.” 

“Woah, that’s shitty of him,” Heeseung could only say. “Does he study here?”

“Why? Are you going to hunt him down? He went overseas, and don’t worry, Jungwon gave him a punch and kick in the shin,” you laughed.

“Is that why Jungwon’s so protective of you?” Heeseung asked out of the blue. 

“Half of it is the reason why,” you answered. “My ex was already a walking red flag before we got together, Jungwon warned me and I didn’t listen to him. So when it happened, he kinda had that ‘I told you so’ look but at the same time, he didn’t push it. Simply because I was really hurt at that time.”

Heeseung nods, watching as you shrug with your words, like you’re over it.

“I mean Jungwon’s not that overprotective at all. He’s not the ‘they have to go through me’ type of younger brother. He doesn’t care who I date but because of my experience, I pretty much held a high standard on dating guys.” you laughed.

“Oh really?” Heeseung lazily leans on the couch. “What’s your type then?”

You blinked at his words, knowing damn well that your whole ideal type is in front of you.

“Are we really pausing the movie midway for that question?”

“Come on, in exchange I’ll tell you my type,” he bargained.

Now you’re curious, wondering what kind of girl Heeseung wants, so you bite on it. 

“Okay, I want someone taller than me — that’s the only physical trait that I want. He’s got to be smart and handsome because Jungwon will judge me if I date an ugly and stupid guy. What else? I prefer a straightforward guy because mixed signals are shitty, I don’t want to waste my time overthinking your words.” you replied. 

You saw Heeseung's expression shift when you mention ‘straightforward guys.’ His jaw slacking before quipping a small smile before he spoke, “that’s all?”

“Do you want it to be really specific? Like he’s good at cooking or what type of sport he plays? I don’t go there, just be genuine and straightforward with your feelings for me, and we’re good.” you brushed off. “So, your type?”

“My type?” Heeseung ponders it for a moment, before glancing at you, his stare on you was too long but he doesn’t notice it — but you do. “Probably someone who’s mature and independent, but not too distant that she’s not open about her feelings. You get it right? I don’t mind their physical appearance. I just don’t want girls who are too clingy that it’s suffocating but at the same time, I still want them to be affectionate to me.” 

Not what you expected. Most boys would describe their ideal firstly by their physical appearance. Some want short girls, long hair or short hair, even the skin complexion. While Heeseung’s ideal type doesn’t rely on those, you can still conclude that his standards are high. 

“Sounds like your dream girl needs to be invented in a lab.” you teased. “Have you ever thought that maybe your dream girl is one of the girls you’ve rejected?”

“I know this kinda sounds egoistic but most girls, those who would confess their love to me, they sometimes just like the idea of being with me, Lee Heeseung. Most of them really don’t know who I really am and wouldn’t bother knowing me.”

And to think that you’re one of them gave you a hint of guilt. You have a lot of preconceived notions about Heeseung, assuming that he’s this dreamy guy that’s charismatic and everything. But with the small interactions that you had with him, you slowly realized that he’s more than what you thought. 

A small smile escapes your lips as you shift your attention to the paused screen of your tv, grabbing the remote and fiddling with it as the awkward silence hovered between the two of you. 

“So you’re just like the Lisbon sisters?” you gawked, and Heeseung stared at you for a second before bursting out into fits of laughter. 

“You have your way with words y/n,” Heeseung stated. “But you could say something like that — except the suicide part because my parents are actually decent people who wouldn’t put me on house arrest.” 

You two continued watching the movie. Both falling into a tranquil silence until the end of the movie. The ending credits were rolling but neither of you moved. That’s when you grabbed your phone to check what time it was — it was almost eight in the evening. 

“Great movie,” Heeseung started. “Cut out a lot of scenes from the novel, but Coppola managed to retain the whole vibe of the novel.” 

“I think our project will be successful, given that you had a lot of things to say, I feel like Mr. Jeon should give us additional points if we exceed his maximum number of pages.” you jokingly pointed out. 

“Hey, I’m sure you have much more to add to our project than I do,” Heeseung assured. “Either way, we’re a great team don’t you think?” 

Heeseung raises his hands, smiling at you who didn’t sink in what to do first. Not until Heeseung waves his hands one more time before you clasp his hands, shaking it as both smiles become wide. You didn’t miss the way Heeseung’s hands squeezed your hands lightly before letting it go. 

“We have a week before our agreed deadline, let’s get this done so that we can focus on our midterms,” Heeseung said, standing up from his seat. “I should get going now, Jungwon might wonder why I’m still around.” 

You only laughed as you stood up to walk him towards the door. “I enjoyed the movie Heeseung, take care on the way home.” 

But what surprised you is Heeseung suddenly brushed the stray hairs that almost covered your face, smiling as his hands linger near your cheeks a bit longer than you expected. 

“Goodnight y/n, I enjoyed the movie too,” Heeseung smiles. 

You watch as Heeseung hops onto his motorbike, waving at you before starting its engine and driving away. You stood there speechless in front of your doorway that you didn’t even notice that Jungwon had witnessed the scene. 

So when you turned around, you were surprised when you made eye contact with your younger brother. 

“Have you been there the whole time?” you asked, heart beating fast like you were a deer caught in the headlight. 

“No, I just got down,” Jungwon lied instead. “Heeseung hyung went home now?”

“Yeah — he just did,” you said, almost stumbling to your words. “It’s almost late, do you want to eat dinner or —”

“I’m curious, with the way Heeseung hyung acts around you, have you ever thought of having a crush on him?” Jungwon said, and that made your world stop. 

Were you that obvious? There’s no way Jungwon was able to catch it but then again, this is Jungwon we’re talking about. Your younger brother who’s observant and quick to pick up things. He’s the only person that knows you damn well.

“Why would you think of that?” you immediately asked instead.

“I mean, he’s a guy, he’s also handsome and how he acts — as a girl, have you?” and relief was all you could feel because Jungwon wasn't able to pick it up. 

“Jungwon, whenever I see Heeseung, I see him as your friend, and we’ve said it many times, it’s weird to date your friends.” you answered quickly, since it has always been your excuse. 

“Well, if he wasn’t my friend?” Jungwon asked, crossing his arms.  

You raised an eyebrow, now there’s a sudden change in Jungwon’s tone. Like he was asking you hypothetically. “Where is this going Won?”

“Nothing nothing,” Jungwon said, shaking his head as he headed towards the kitchen, with you following him behind. “You two have been close lately, that’s why. I’ve already told you about Heeseung hyung.”

“And I’m not going to give meaning to everything he does,” you assured, pinching your brother’s cheeks which made him scowl. “I’m not that stupid girl anymore Won.”

Despite internally, you were celebrating every interaction you had with Heeseung, you know that you’ll never have a chance with Heeseung. 

You can only hold on to the fact that Heeseung may be considered reachable in your sort. But of course, just like your other crushes, whatever you feel about Heeseung was just a crush. A fleeting feeling of admiration along with the butterflies in your stomach. Nothing more, because the deeper your feelings may go for him — it’ll just end up hurting you. 

-

You submitted your project just a few days before your planned deadline. Everything was perfect for you and Heeseung. The flow of the paper was readable, arranged properly with a clear analysis of the novel. Light revisions were made before passing it to Prof. Jeon. Your professor was impressed that you two were able to pass it earlier compared to others. Making you two confident that you’ll receive a passing grade from it.

But submitting the project also means that there’s no reason for you to approach Heeseung. But you find that situation better than getting closer than him. It’ll just save you from falling from him deeper. No more crash outs, no more venting of feelings, and assuming that everything Heeseung does has meaning —

“Hey, you’re going to that art exhibit?” Heeseung approaches you suddenly.

You glanced at him twice before your mouth moved, “wait, the one from Prof. Lee’s subject?”

“Yeah, I mean it’s voluntary but you’re interested in art right? I remember you told me that one time.” 

You couldn’t even recall when you told him that. Was it when you two were on your ride home from your groceries? Or was it when you two were discussing your novel analysis but got segue midway? Either way, you found yourself surprised to hear that from Heeseung. He remembered something that you’ve mentioned. 

“Oh — well, I do of course,” you stuttered. “Why?”

“Let’s go together? I also wanted to see it, they seem interesting,” Heeseung casually said. 

“Right, Saturday?” you asked. 

“Saturday afternoon? I’ll see you at the museum? Or should I just pick you up?” 

And let Jungwon see the two of you? “No, let’s just meet at the museum, around three?”

“Sounds great, see you!” Heeseung waves goodbye to you and you almost melt from where you were standing. 

Who would’ve thought that after the project. Heeseung will still find a way to approach you. Should you give a meaning to this one? Because there’s no way in hell that he asked you to go see an exhibit that is voluntary, on a Saturday, as what? As friends? You don’t even know if you could consider him as your friend. 

You tried to conceal your beating heart, but anytime it’s going to burst out at any moment. You wanted to go to an empty, hollow place and scream into the void, because as much as you want to deny it, you couldn’t help to conclude that you’re going out with Heeseung, alone, with no Yang Jungwon watching you two like a hawk. 

Yet, the thought of Heeseung being Jungwon’s friend was thrown out of the window the moment Saturday arrived. You stood there outside the entrance of the museum. Your hands clammy and sweaty as you stood there awkwardly, internally cursing yourself for arriving ten minutes earlier than your agreed time. 

You were wearing a white maxi skirt, pairing it with a baby tee and thin cardigan, not your usual get-up but you wanted to at least look decent in front of Heeseung. The art exhibit was located inside the museum of the art. It’s an exhibit dedicated to children’s rights. They displayed hundreds of drawings and paintings drawn by kids alongside important and historical paintings. 

Your professor, Ms. Lee was an advocate, that’s why she encouraged your class to visit the exhibit. While you’re thinking of going there along with your friends — Heeseung approached you first. 

Speaking of Heeseung, your eyes landed on him who’s walking towards you. The smile on his face widening as he stood in front of you. He was wearing a long-sleeved buttoned shirt, tucked in front of his washed denim pants. Some silver jewellery on his hands and neck, and to compliment it all, he was wearing his fake eyeglass with his hair bangs down.

“You look beautiful,” Heeseung started, and that’s when your heart started to beat rapidly.

“Thanks, you look good too,” you complimented him back. “Should we go inside?” 

The two of you made its way inside the entrance. Signing up for the exhibit before going inside the first room of the museum. 

It was quiet, a bit cold, and there were a lot of people who came by to visit the exhibit. You and Heeseung walked side by side, stopping at every painting just to read the description, and perhaps fawn over it even though it was obvious it was a kid’s painting. Sometimes, you gawk at the historical paintings. Despite visiting the museum a couple of times, you never failed to be mesmerized by it. 

“This one’s cute,” Heeseung pointed out. It was a painting of a kid’s pet — obviously, it looked like a monster rather than a dog. 

You stifle a laugh as Heeseung glances at you with a confused look. “Why? Did I say something wrong?”

“Nothing, you seem to be enjoying this one,” you pointed out. 

“You think I’m not the type of guy who would go to museums or some art gallery?” Heeseung asked. “Guess you don’t know me at all.” 

You became quiet for a minute, “I actually don’t, I’m surprised you agreed to come with me here.”

“Couldn’t miss the opportunity, it’s great to see kid’s scribbles beside historical paintings,” Heeseung laughs. 

“You seem fond of kids,” you told him. 

“That’s why I chose education, I always wanted to teach kids. I know they’re hyper and loud, but better to teach the alphabet than high school chemistry,” Heeseung explained. 

“Oh so education has always been your first choice?” you asked, surprised. 

“What? Surprised that a guy like me actually wanted to become a teacher? Yeah, a lot of people say that.”

“I don’t know, I’m just used to education students who weren't accepted to their first choice so they ended up choosing it,” Heeseung glances at you and you give him a smile. “I know because education wasn’t my first choice.”

“Wait right there, what?” Heeseung asked, surprised. “Not gonna lie, you give off the vibe of a girl who wanted to become a teacher.”

“I was planning on taking architecture but I failed the drawing test, so here I am,” you simply shrugged. “But I learned to love education too, so don’t come at me mr. education is my first choice.”

A small chuckle escapes on Heeseung’s lips, “I guess we really don’t know each other that well.”

“Right.” you only said. Realizing that you two are still on that stage where you two aren’t friends, but aren’t more than that — acquaintance? Maybe you’ll put you two in that category. Contended with that conclusion, you hum lightly as you shift your attention towards the paintings. 

The two of you continued walking around the room. You were simply amazed at the historical paintings but it’s funny seeing a six-years-old’s painting of her family beside it. But you can only feel nothing but small jumps of joy looking at it. 

Heeseung, on the other hand, seems to be more immersed in the gallery than you. Eyeing on every display the museum has. Laughing at some kid’s painting but at the same time, cooing at it. Finding it precious and innocent for him. 

As the two of you moved to the second room, only a few people were there. There weren’t any kid’s paintings anymore, only artifacts and displays but you and Heeseung decided to completely tour around the museum. 

“Why don’t you ask me a question?” Heeseung blurted out of nowhere. 

“What for?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Well, we don’t know each other very well,” Heeseung stated. “And you seem to have a lot of misinterpreted impressions about me.”

“Sounds like you just wanted to talk about you,” you grinned. 

“No, this is like, twenty questions. After you ask a question, I ask you a question back,” he said. 

“Alright,” you hum, thinking of what’s a decent question to ask him. “Will you still continue performing after graduation? You seem like you really wanted to become a teacher.” 

“Big question already? That’s hard,” for a minute Heeseung pondered about it, glancing at every display before looking at you. “I don’t mind, actually it depends on the others. Jay and Sunghoon wanted to, Jungwon isn’t still quite sure especially since he’s a year below us. We’ll talk about it next year.” 

“I’m pretty sure that Jungwon wanted to play for the band, he loves being part of Arcanum,” you shared, making Heeseung smile.

“Okay my turn, if Jungwon didn’t establish the ‘don’t date my sister’ rule, who would you date out of all his friends?” 

You awkwardly chuckled. “Why are you asking that?” 

“I’m just curious,” Heeseung nonchalantly replied.

“Will it boost your ego if I chose you?” you teased, and Heeseung scoffed in disbelief.

“It’s a hypothetical question y/n.”

“Fine, hypothetically I’ll choose Jake.” you answered. 

Heeseung’s brows furrowed. “Jake?” 

That’s when you laugh, “What? You thought it only revolved around Arcanum? Aren’t there like seven of you?” 

“Yeah but — Jake?” His tone surprised more than ever.

“It’s a hypothetical question, Heeseung,” you grinned. “No explanations, my turn and since we’re talking about dating, why are you still single?”

“I’ll get back to you y/n, but to answer your question, I just like being single. Having a girlfriend isn’t what I have in mind right now, and I don’t do casual shits too.”

“Jungwon told me that you’re a mixed signal giver,” you snitched, and Heeseung only laughed. 

“Everyone thinks that, but trust me, I don’t leave girls hanging. I guess they just assume that my gestures have meaning to it, that’s why they think I’m into them,” Heeseung explained. “I mean if I helped you carry some heavy things, would you give meaning to it?”

It’s funny because he did accompany you to do groceries one time. “That depends, if you helped me numerous times, then I’ll give meaning to it.” 

“Yeah well some girls don’t, one time, I helped a girl cross the street one time, and she thought I liked her,” Heeseung explained. “I’m just being nice!”

You only laughed at his words. “I mean if a handsome guy helped me cross the street, I’ll assume a lot of things too.” 

Heeseung groans, “whatever, I’ll just keep rejecting them, I enjoy being single. It’s chill and no love problems, look at Jay and Sunghoon, I don’t think I can do that to myself.” 

Your smile faded. Shifting your attention towards the display. Thinking that whatever you two are doing right now is probably a friendly date.

But at the same time, this is different from him helping someone cross the street. Heeseung could’ve asked his friends to accompany him, but Heeseung asked you and that’s all because he remembered that you like art. So how can you not give meaning to it?

“Okay my turn, so why Jake?” Heeseung changes the topic. 

“You’re seriously not going to let go of that one huh?” you let out a small chuckle before letting out a sigh. 

“I don’t know, he’s the first one that came to my mind,” you simply said, and in some ways, your answer wasn’t wrong. “He’s the one I’m closest to the most, maybe that’s another reason why.”

“How come you and him are closer than you and me?” Heeseung asked. “We’ve been classmates since freshman year.”

“I think it’s pretty normal, I’m not even close with most of our classmates either,” you laughed.

“I hope we become closer after this,” Heeseung blurted out. 

You stopped midway, glancing at him who only gave you a smile. 

“You’re too obvious you want me,” you teased, joking with your words.

“What if I told you that I do, want you?” he grins, before grabbing your hand as he pulls you towards the next hall. Surprised by his answer and gesture, you remained quiet as his hand remained on your throughout the whole exhibit. 

You two decided to have dinner outside after finishing touring the museum. At a fast food chain because you were craving their burgers. You two continued the twenty questions, until it was almost late and the traffic had slowly dissolved.

By the end of the day, Heeseung drove you home, even opening the car of the passenger seat for you. You could only smile as you find not only the action sweet — but your whole day with Heeseung.

Not only that but Heeseung walked you towards the front door of your house. He watched as you pressed the doorbell, before looking at him. 

“I had so much fun today,” you told him. “Thank you Heeseung, I didn’t expect that you would remember that I’m interested in art.” 

“I pay attention to what you say, I also had fun too,” Heeseung casually said, acting like it’s nothing but for you, it meant something. 

“Goodnight Heeseung,” you waved, but before you went, Heeseung suddenly grabbed you by your shoulder. 

Surprised, you only stood there. His round eyes staring at you like he doesn’t want you to leave yet. But what surprised you the most was when he faced you towards him. 

Close. Way too close. Heeseung’s eyes never left yours. You can feel it, your cheeks heating up, your heart beating fast like crazy. You don’t know what to do as Heeseung's eyes darted to your lips before glancing back at you — like he’s asking for permission. 

But before you could utter another word, the door swung open and you almost fell flat when you pushed yourself away from Heeseung. 

“You guys think that I’m fucking stupid!?” Jungwon stood there, his tone dripping with anger as you were frozen from where you were standing. 

“Jungwon, it’s not what it looks like —”

“I told you many times, you can fool any girl that you want but not my sister!” Jungwon pushed Heeseung on the chest, but Heeseung didn't move.

“Dude calm down!” Heeseung shouted instead.

“You know it yourself that you’re not ready for a relationship then what the fuck is this? Taking her out on a date and almost kissing her? Stay the fuck away from my sister!”

But a mocking laugh escapes on Heeseung’s lips, looking at Jungwon like he was taunting the younger one. “I wouldn’t be surprised if y/n ends up being single forever, you’re scaring guys away,”

“Guys like you hyung! You’re not even that serious when it comes to love.” Jungwon pointed out, making you realise that he was right, but that doesn’t give him the right to get angry at Heeseung. 

“Jungwon, we weren’t doing anything, Stop it,” you butt in.

That’s when he darted his attention to you. “I’ve warned you about Heeseung hyung many times, but you never listen to me — you never listen!” he shouted, and hearing those words felt like you’re in high school again. Remembering how angry Jungwon was when he discovered what happened to you. 

You stood there as the disappointment in Jungwon’s face became more clear. You wanted to defend yourself when Heeseung stepped in.

“Jungwon stop that. She’s older than you, have some respect.” he stated.

“Don’t interfere hyung, this is between me and my sister.” Jungwon coldly said. 

“You’re the one who should stop. You know you’re suffocating y/n don’t you?” a taunting smile forming on his lips. “She’s her own person, and she couldn’t even move because you’re breathing under her neck.”

Jungwon didn’t say a word, he didn’t rebut Heeseung’s words because deep inside, his friend was right. Still, a pissed expression was written over the younger’s face. Shooting glares at Heeseung. 

“I’m not that stupid to hurt her Jungwon, maybe you should try trusting her instead of caging her.” Heeseung added, and you wonder what he meant when he said that. 

But you watch as Heeseung walks away. Leaving you and Jungwon alone there. Your lips were tightly sealed before your brother faced you. 

“Do you like Heeseung hyung?” Jungwon corners. “Don’t lie to me noona.”

You stared at him for a moment. Guilt rushing in you because in some angle, there’s a part of you who’s at fault. “Fine, Jungwon, I have had a crush on him since freshman year but it’s just a crush.”

Jungwon could only laugh in disbelief. “So all the times I told you to stay away from him were useless?” 

“No, because from the start, I know I never stood a chance on him,” and every word you said hurts you. “Even now, our hangouts, whatever this was, and every gesture he does, I’m not going to give meaning to it. I don’t want to make an assumption unless he really confessed to me that he likes me.”

“You’re just leading yourself to a cliff,” Jungwon raised an eyebrow. “Why would you still entertain him even though you know you don’t stand a chance. I don’t get you — both of you actually.” 

“Maybe Heeseung’s right, you should just trust me instead of caging me,” you answered instead. “I know what I am doing Jungwon, maybe you should just let me make my own choices this time.”

Jungwon stared at you for a whole minute, before heaving out a sigh. “Don’t come at me when Heeseung hyung hurts you, I’ve already warned you many times.” 

But before he could leave, you grabbed your brother by his arms. “Don’t be mad at Heeseung, I don’t want to be the reason why you two fought — or worse, Arcanum disbanding.”

“You should’ve thought about that before you even interacted with Heeseung hyung, the same goes with him.” Jungwon swatted his arms harshly, glaring at you before going inside the house.

-

Despite that night, Jungwon’s words still managed to stop whatever you and Heeseung had. 

It was weird. For the past few weeks, the two of you are always beside each other, talking about ‘The Virgin Suicides,’ getting to know each other through oddly specific details, and planning meetups casually, followed by a museum date, deeply knowing him more and almost kissing each other — then the next thing you knew, you two were back to being strangers.

Back to normal. You could say. Band practices continued in your house, tension seeping away with you giving them small greetings before going inside your room, and the way you and Heeseung ignored each other — both knew that whatever you two had was pointless.

For the past few days, there were no more Lee Heeseung approaching you and everything. And somehow, that should ease you — reminding you that he’s unreachable. 

You almost fooled yourself, but with the way Heeseung distanced himself after defending you from Jungwon, you were quick to conclude that he still respects his friend’s decision to not go near you, just like you should with dating your brother’s friend. 

And if Heeseung had distanced himself from you, so should you too. 

But somehow, you still ended up wherever he was. Now, he’s sitting in front of you, at a noisy bar, along with your classmates who were celebrating the end of midterms exam. The table is full of alcohol, different ones — beer, cocktails, tequilas, and vodkas. All assortments that will have everyone passed out drunk before the night ends. 

You have a decent alcohol tolerance, you’re not that close with most of your classmates and you don’t even like going out but here you are, because you overheard Heeseung joining the night out.

Avoiding him was the best option, you know where it all leads if you continued talking to him — Jungwon getting furious, Arcanum might disband, and hurting your own feelings. Lee Heeseung should’ve remained unreachable, but for all the times of him noticing you, flirting and almost kissing you, you want to know more. 

There’s an itch inside you that wants to confront him, and your normal self would get flustered if you approached him first. That’s why a bit of alcohol and drunkenness might help you gain the courage that you need. 

The night was still young. You can do your confrontation later but for now, you’re spending the first few hours enjoying and laughing along with your classmates, trying your best to socialize not until a classmate of yours raises her glass. 

“Let’s play, truth or shot!” Sieun suggested. Because all of you are seated at a long table and a spin the bottle won’t suffice, everyone gets to do it. No one wants to ruin the mood, and perhaps it was because most of them are tipsy, everyone agreed to join. 

You watch as all of them get daring questions, somewhere bold to answer the questions while others choose to drink the shot. 

“Y/n, it’s your turn!” Sieun announced excitingly, clapping her hands as she stretches the shot glass towards yours which is a mixture of tequila and beer.

“Do you guys have a question for her?” she asked the crowd. 

“I have!” Lily said, obviously drunk. “Kiss, marry, fuck, Arcanum members except your younger brother of course.” 

The whole table hollered in excitement, patting Lily because the question was too good. You only laughed at their teasing but everyone was insisting that it’s a hypothetical question especially when one specific member is present at the table. 

Heeseung looks at you, eyeing every move you make as you look at the shot glass, wondering if you’ll answer it or not. 

But you were brave. It’s just a stupid drinking game, there are chances that they won’t remember it by tomorrow. “Okay hypothetically? I’ll kiss Sunghoon but on the cheeks! And it’s a platonic kiss because I don’t want to be a homewrecker!” you laughed before pondering between the two, too long that all of them are starting to get impatient.

“Girl, Heeseung is waiting for your answer!” Sumin shakes your shoulder but you only laugh as you stare at Heeseung, a smirk forming on your lips. The alcohol clouding your mind as a bright idea popped into your mind.

“I’d marry Jay, and I’d fuck Heeseung,” you answered truthfully, which earned amountful teasing and screams from your classmates, banging the table as you could only take the shot in front of you despite answering the question. 

“We need an explanation!” Lily insisted. 

“Well Jay is the most husband material out of them, and since Heeseung mentioned that he prefers being single. A one-time sex wouldn’t be bad, right Heeseung?” you fired the question towards Heeseung who only smiled in disbelief. 

“I’ll give you a good fuck then,” Heeseung answered back, completely shutting you off. You sat there frozen as Heeseung took a sip on his beer, even wiggling his eyebrows like he was teasing you, while both your classmates continued teasing both of you. 

“Since the topic is on you Lee Heeseung, would you date y/n? If you’re not such a stuck-up guy who insists that he likes being single?” Sieun interrupted, giving the shot glass in front of Heeseung. 

Heeseung looks at the shot glass for a moment, before glancing at you, an evident smirk on his lips that makes you nervous. 

“Yeah, why not?” he said casually which made the table noisy again. 

“Oh my god you two, just make out already!”

“I dare the two of you to kiss for five seconds!”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if the two of you ended up together after tonight.”

The table had placed the attention on the two of you. Your classmates continued the teasing which only made you laugh while Heeseung remained in his seat, drinking his beer and completely ignoring the dumb request your classmates had. 

But it wasn't the peak of the night. More alcoholic drinks were ordered. There were some strangers going to your table, flirting with your classmates, asking for their numbers. Some were already crying as the song in the club reminded them of their ex, others went out for a smoke, while you remained at your table, doing some stupid game along with your classmates. 

Slowly, you’re losing yourself. Your eyes are getting heavier and as you glanced at your watch, it was already 3 am. The table was still full of your classmates when you stood up, almost falling if it wasn’t for your classmate quickly guiding you. 

“I need some fresh air!” you shouted at her. 

“Okay, do you want me to accompany you?” she asked. 

“No, I can do it!” you giggled, grabbing your purse before going outside the bar.

The cold night welcomed you, mixed with the smell of smoke of strangers talking and smoking on the empty road. You could only close your eyes as you sat at a pavement beside it — not caring if it’s dirty. Your head is spinning, everything is blurry but the only good thing is that you don’t feel like you’re going to vomit anytime. 

You looked at your watch and saw that it’s almost late. Your energy’s all drained out, you don’t feel socializing anymore, and you just want to slump against your bed and doze off. You have to tell your classmates that you’re leaving, but your butt is glued to the pavement, too tired to move that you could only lower your head and groan louder.

“Get up,” you looked up and there he was. A serious expression written on his face, like he was disappointed in you. 

“Hi Heeseung,” you laughed, finding the situation too funny. After the exchange earlier, this is probably the first time you and Heeseung had talked throughout the night. You wanted to ask him questions but your mind was spinning and everything was just too blurry for you. 

“Come on now, let’s get you home,” he offered, approaching you as he only brushes his hand on your shoulder.

You only hummed at his words, “home? Sure, I also want to go home now — wait, I have to go back and pay my share.”

“I already got it, and I told them we’re going home. Come on now, can you walk?” 

“Of course! Wait —” you stood up from the pavement but you almost fell, Heeseung immediately grabbed you by your waist. Guiding you as you could only lean on his touch, eyes almost close. 

Heeseung carefully guided you towards his car, opening the door of his passenger seat while you almost stumbled inside. 

“My head hurts,” you groan as soon as Heeseung gets inside. 

“Just sleep for a while,” Heeseung advised. “I’ll wake you up when we get home.”

You only nod as you close your eyes, Heeseung starts the engine and drives away from the bar. 

But fifteen minutes into the drive, you regained your consciousness, head still spinning but you try your best to think where you are right now and then realise that you’re not inside the bar anymore — nor at the pavement you were sitting on. 

Then it hit you, looking at the interior of the car as the smell of a familiar perfume made you glance at the driver. And there he was, driving you home. 

“You’re allowed to drive?” That was the first thing you said. 

“I’m not even tipsy y/n,” Heeseung said. “I can’t say the same thing to you.”

“I’m never going to do that again,” you mumbled to yourself as you could only lean on the car’s window. Watching how Heeseung drove smoothly towards the empty streets of the city. 

“Considering all the things you’ve said and done tonight, I am not surprised,” Heeseung taunted, that’s when you looked at him, a teasing smile formed on his lips. 

“You also said some weird stuff tonight,” you rebutted, words slurring out of your mouth. 

Heeseung turned to a familiar street, his smile never leaving as he parked in front of your house’s gate. “Would you put a meaning to it?”

“Why would I put a meaning to it? It’s just a dare.” you answered, dodging his question. “Like mine, it’s a hypothetical question.”

“What if I want you to put a meaning to it?” he boldly said. “What if I told you, that night when we went to the museum, I really wanted to kiss you?”

It took your drunken mind a minute to process everything. “What?”

“I really want to kiss you right now.”

Heeseung was serious. He was looking at you with much intensity. The atmosphere became quiet, but suffocating due to the tension between the two of you. You could only blink as your eyes darted on his lips. Thick and soft, pinkish and tempting that it made you bite your lips.

“Fine, just a kiss,” you said, removing your seat belt as you faced him. There’s no harm with a short kiss right?

You watched as Heeseung unbuckled his seat belt too. Leaning towards you as he cups your cheeks and without any hesitation, crashes his lips onto yours — too fast that you weren’t prepared for it.

That’s why it didn’t take a few seconds for you to separate from him, worrying Heeseung as he looked at you, confused.

“I’m sorry —” you laughed. “This just doesn't feel real to me.”

Kissing your long-time crush? That crush of yours who you always convince yourself that you don’t stand a chance? Wanted to kiss you? And had kissed you just now? Sounds like a dream for you, something that the alcohol inside you had convinced was real. 

“Then let’s do it again,” Heeseung said before pulling once again for a kiss. This time, softly like he was being careful with you. Unknowingly, you kissed him back, along with soft whimpers escaping from your lips. Try your best to balance yourself as Heeseung’s kisses become sloppy, almost breathy.

As you pull out from his lips. The two of you only stared at each other, the tension was rising and the inside of the car started to heat. Something in his eyes screams that he wants more — hungry for you and that’s when you felt your heart beating fast. 

“Come here,” Heeseung adjusted his seat further to the back to make space for you. He pulls your body and the next thing you know, you’re on his lap while his hands are on your waist as he pulls you to a feverish kiss. 

You must be dreaming, you muttered to yourself as Heeseung’s soft, plump lips are all your lips could feel. The taste of alcohol mixing along, bitter yet sweet for you while both hands became busy with feeling each other. Your hands trailed mindlessly to his shoulders down to his chest, wanting to feel that this is real for you.

While Heeseung’s hands made a bold move by brushing it on your clothed chest. Breaking the kiss, Heeseung leans towards your left ears, murmuring sweet words while his hands work on its way to cup your soft tits, wanting more to feel the skin beneath your clothes.

“I want you,” he whispered huskily. Planting kisses on your jawline down to your neck. “Want to feel you good — fuck, your lips are so soft.”

It didn’t help that his words go straight to your core. His flirty words that made you fall more deeply into him. Soft whimpers escaping your lips as he pushed you closer towards him, making you grind on his dick underneath, clearly printing on his pants. Guiding you as you rocked your hips towards it, earning moans from Heeseung. His lips leave your neck trailing towards your opened collarbone, softly and dangerously near your cleavage.

His hands slipped underneath your shirt, and in a snap, your bra is undone and he’s playing with your breast, flickering your nipples as he grinds his hips upwards to create more friction with you.

“Fuck — feels too good,” you moaned loudly as you continued to grind against him. Panties soaking wet due to the action.

“We can stop here. I don’t want to push you further if you don’t want it.” Heeseung stated before planting a kiss on your ears, and you know very well what he meant. 

But despite his sweet gesture, Heeseung wasn’t subtle, his gleaming round eyes had a stare lust-struck on you. Pleading but wanting, and you know that you can just stop right there — afraid of the consequences. 

Having sex with Heeseung doesn’t sound that bad. He’s your crush, and everything about this is mutually agreed. This is like a dream come true to you. But having sex with your younger brother’s friend? That’s a different story. It’s forbidden, and you’re breaking the only rule you and your brother established.

Jungwon had warned you many times about Heeseung. He’s a mixed signal giver. This might be nothing for him, but for you, sex was supposed to be intimate, a gesture only lovers should do. 

But as you look at his soft, round bambi-like eyes, you just can’t help but to be lured into it. You know the moment you two kissed, you two have crossed the line — and the swirl of alcohol in your mind is eager for more.

Biting your lips, you could only brush his messy hair as you whispered to him, “Let’s go inside,” fuck it, you don’t know if it was the alcohol that’s talking, but it gave you the courage to say those words. You’re convinced that this is a one time thing, and you’ll have no regrets whatever happens tonight. 

Heeseung turns off the engine before the two of you enter your house. Empty and quiet given that it was almost 4 am. Heeseung was wary at first, knowing that Jungwon’s asleep in his room. While you're a drunken mess, laughing and almost stumbling as you remove your shoes, tugging Heeseung with you. 

“What about Jungwon —”

“He’s having a sleepover with Sunoo at Riki’s dorm.” you casually replied. “We have the house all by ourselves.”

Those words are all it takes for Heeseung to push you against the wall. Trapping you with his knees in between your thighs, almost brushing on your core that a moaning gasp escapes your lips. 

“No wonder you’re so bold,” Heeseung smirked. “We can be as loud as we want to.” 

“Make me,” you challenged, grinning as you boldly palmed his cock, even squeezing it teasingly making him groan.

“Remember what I told you earlier?” he leaned towards you, stopping an inch in front of you, nose almost touching yours as he smirked, gaze menacing. “I’ll give you a good fuck.” 

A soft chuckle escapes your lips before Heeseung leans in for a kiss which you gladly reciprocated. Pulling him closer as he grabs you by your waist, almost lifting you with your clothed cunt resting on his right thigh. Grinding against it as the kiss turned harsher, both hands eager to touch each other as it trailed on each other’s body. 

It didn’t take seconds before both bodies started to feel hot and sweaty. Heeseung shrugged off his shirt while quickly doing the same with yours — along with your bra. Both half-naked, you didn’t care that your living room might be witnessing something scandalous. Sex were supposed to be intimate for you, but now, you’re just eager to be fucked by your long-time crush. 

Heeseung lowered his head between the cave of your breast, kisses trailing around it as he sucked and flickered your left nipples with his tongue. His large hand cups the right side, fondling it and making you more sensitive than ever. 

“So pretty for me,” Heeseung grins as he continues to play with your tits, earning soft moans from you. 

Heeseung removes his touch from you for a minute and kneels on the floor. Hands holding your thighs as he pushes it for you to open it. 

You look down on him, surprised but dazed to see him kneeling in front of you. Your heart starts to beat fast when his face is just a few inches close to your clothed pussy, breathing heavily as he touches the end of your skirt.

“Wearing this flimsy thing, you never fail to surprise me huh?” he teased, lifting it up to see your laced red panties. “Fuck, keep the skirt on, pretty.” 

Heeseung kisses the insides of your thighs, slowly and soft like he was worshipping it. Every touch feels like heaven for you, his hands making their way to hold your thighs firmly as Heeseung lightly as he presses his lips on your cunt. The wet patch evident where he swiped his tongue languidly on it, knocking you out of your breath. 

You can feel your body becoming more sensitive than ever. Heeseung didn’t hesitate to pull down your panty, displaying your pussy out which only made him groan. 

“Gorgeous for me baby,” he looks up to you. Eyes darkening as he grabs your right leg, swinging it on his shoulder so that you could put a weight on him. He doesn't care that his knees are aching red on the marbled tiles, Heeseung watches as you fall for him the moment he kisses your pussy’s lips.

Gently, he wanted to taste every inch of you, his mind hazing as your musk drunkens his mind. That’s when Heeseung started to swipe his tongue on your core, making you let out a loud moan that almost echoed inside.

“We got the whole house for ourselves right? Make those lovely noises for me,” Heeseung taunted before he continued eating you out. 

It felt better than when you touched yourself. You can feel your body heating up twice, sensitive and eager for the rush of climax. You were shameless in making sounds, moans and whimpers escaping your lips, wanting Heeseung to know that you’re feeling good because of him.

Heeseung lightly grazed on your clit, making you twitch which made him gripped on your leg harsher. The heel of your feet digging his back. 

“Stay still for me baby,” he ordered, tugging your body closer to him as he started devouring you again. Tongue lapping on your lips and clit simultaneously until he decided to use his free hand to insert a finger inside you.

“Fuck —” 

“You’re feeling good baby? Moan for me, let me know how good I make you,” he inserts another finger. Circling inside your gummy walls as he continues to play your clit with his tongue, faster and harsher that your body starts to shake. 

You couldn’t help but to grab his hair for balance, unconsciously grinding your hips for more. You can feel your orgasm coming, and you were eager to chase after it. Your breathing started to become unstable, trying to hold on to the feeling of being pleasured not until Heeseung’s slender fingers curled into a specific spot that made you moan loudly. 

“That’s your spot baby? Come on don’t hold it back, cum for me,” Heeseung orders, his fingers bruising that spot that it didn’t take you seconds for you to whimper, body shaking as your orgasm came rushing to you. Heeseung savored every drop of your release. Latching on your pussy as he drinks it sloppily, juices trailing down on his chin as he continues to eat you despite reaching your orgasm.

You could only cry as you tried to remove Heeseung out of your cunt but he presses himself further, clit brushing on his nose making you whine louder as he holds your shaking hips tightly that it’ll leave a bruise. 

“Heeseung — shit, fuck —wait!” your incoherent babbling didn’t stop Heeseung. 

“I bet your ex couldn’t even make you cum,” he taunted, looking up at you. Seeing you all messy, sweating, and panting, made him want to devour you more. He wanted to hear more how you weaken in front of him.

Thumb grazing on your clit, you started to cry loudly again. Eyes shut harshly as Heeseung inserts his fingers inside you once again. Your walls trapping his fingers that Heeseung could only wonder how your tight walls would feel around his cock. The thought made him hard and aching.

“Want to make you cum more, make a mess for me baby,” Heeseung stated, lapping on your pussy once again. You could only cry in pleasure, feeling something coiling inside you which isn’t your orgasm. 

Heeseung continued abusing your pussy, tongue sucking your clit while his fingers scissored your inside, finding the spot that had made you cum. Fingers curling and pumping in a harsh manner until something gushed out of your pussy. A messy and clear liquid which Heeseung didn’t hesitate to taste. 

“Fuck,” he laughs devilishly. “Did you just fucking squirt? Shit, that was so hot. Come on, I know you can do more.”

“I don’t know —”

“Come on, do it for me again,” Heeseung encouraged, fingers continued pumping inside your pussy, until your legs started shaking once again. Another wave of orgasm hits you, squirting shamelessly in Heeseung’s fingers. 

Too fucked-out to understand anything, you didn’t notice how Heeseung carried you towards the couch, placing you down on the extended part of the long couch. 

“Told you pretty I’ll fuck real good and that’s just the start.” Heeseung stated. Hastily, he unbuckles his belt along with his pants’ zipper, pulling his pants down enough for him to release his huge dick. Red and aching to be inside your pussy. You whimper in pleasure as you stare at Heeseung who spits on his hand, stroking his dick slowly as he eyed on you lustfully. 

Heeseung pulls you closer before he flips you on the couch. Pressing you down with your stomach flat against the couch. A heat of embarrassment churned in you as you felt like a doll being manhandled by Heeseung. 

It didn’t help that Heeseung pulled your skirt upward, revealing the curve of your ass in front of him. He can feel his dick twitching just by the sight. 

“Look at you, all pretty for me,” Heeseung hums. Slapping your ass cheeks making you flinch. The pain felt good that it went right through your core. 

“Gonna fuck you so good, you’ll be shaking til morning,” he mumbled to you. He pushes your back further to flatly lay you down on your stomach, face pressed down on the couch as Heeseung lifted your hips enough for him to see your entrance.

He brushes his tip lightly on your pussy’s lips, sensitive from your previous orgasms, you couldn’t help but to crawl away from Heeseung — not until he pulls you back. 

“Still sensitive —” you stopped midway when you could feel his tip protruding your entrance. A muted cry escapes your lips as slowly Heeseung pushes it inside. 

“Don’t worry baby, I'll take care of you,” he assured, brushing the stray hairs that covered your face before planting a kiss on your temple. 

Heeseung carefully thrust inside until he’s fully sheathed inside you. You could only groan as you feel yourself full.  “God — so fucking tight, bet you’re a virgin again because you’re so tight for me.”

Slowly, he began to move, earning moans from you as your sensitive pussy started to shape Heeseung’s huge shaft. Ramming into the places that your fingers couldn’t reach. You could only leave hefty cries as your knuckles turned round from the pleasures. 

“Look how your pussy is sucking me in,” Heeseung taunted, slapping your asscheeks once again before gripping the left cheek, turning red against his hands. He could only smirk as he felt nothing but heaven thrusting inside your warm walls. — never in his life would’ve thought that he’ll be fucking his friend’s sister, the one that his friend always told him to stay away.

He’s sorry for breaking the rules, but you were just so fucking sweet and the way your pussy is clench everytime his tip abuses your cervix, he has no remorse to it anymore. All Heeseung knows is that you’re so fucking good for him. 

He pulls you upwards, your back pressed against his warm chest. Both sweats started mixing togethers as his arms wrapped around your stomach. That’s when Heeseung continued to thrust faster, eager to leave you breaking into loud cries.

“Feel how you’re taking me baby, you feel so tight that I’m bulging in you,” he whispers to you. His hands press your palms below your stomach, feeling his dick rail you made you moan more louder. Everything just feels so good and you’re just too dazed that the only thing you can feel was how Heeseung’s dick continued to slide through your g-spot. 

“Hee —” his right hand started playing with your breasts once again, flicking and pinching your hard nipples as he busied his mouth on your shoulder, leaving kisses and faint marks that had you praying that it wouldn't leave a mark. 

“More — please,” you cried as you felt your stomach coiling, your breath becoming louder and heavier as Heeseung became rougher than usual. 

“Fuck, you’re coming again baby?” he asked, removing his hands from your tits, he slid it onto your clit, rubbing circles that made you moan. “Go on, cum for me baby.”

Heeseung grabs you by your cheeks, locking you to a torrid kiss. Heavily making out as he thrusts your pussy harder. You’re too fucked-out to kiss him back, moaning on his lips as his fingers rubbed your clit harder. 

That’s when your another orgasm came, you felt your body turning into a jelly as you melted onto Heeseung, your body shaking as tears fell from your eyes. Heeseung slowly laid you back but he didn’t stop ramming his dick inside you, his thrust became faster as you could hear his breathing becoming harsh along with soft groans escaping his lips.

Heeseung chases after his orgasm, thrusting inside you a few times before pulling out, you could only whine loudly as Heeseung moans while he pumps his dick through orgasm. Cum spilling all over his hand and painting your ass and back. 

It didn’t take a few seconds when you felt Heeseung’s hands on your back, brushing your hair away as he kissed your nape softly. 

“You did good,” he whispered to you, planting another kiss on your right temple. “Just stay there okay? Let me clean up the mess.” 

You’re too tired and sticky to move. You could only hear Heeseung shuffling to put on his pants as his light footsteps made its way towards the main bathroom — you only lay there naked with nothing but your skirt as everything felt overwhelming to you. Slowly, you closed your eyes, wishing that you’ll be awake by the time Heeseung returns. 

Heeseung returns with a wet towel he found inside the bathroom. Noticing that you’ve passed out, he lets it be, knowing that you’re probably too drunk and tired. Carefully he tugs off the spoiled skirt to clean your body, wiping your cunt which made you whine softly by its touch, along with the cum on your back which he made mental notes for him to apologize to you the next time you two meet. 

He picked up the discarded clothes on the floor. Cleaning every spot you two have touched, and hopefully it won’t smell like sex and sweat by the morning. 

That’s when Heeseung decided to carry you towards your room — the first time he ever did that to a girl he had slept with. He just couldn’t bear to leave you there on the couch especially when Jungwon might walk in later in the morning. 

Heeseung places you down on your bed. Looking at your naked figure, he felt a bit ashamed to just leave you like that. Luckily, he found a decent shirt and shorts on your clothing rack. Clothing you before tugging you neatly underneath your blanket. 

He stared at you for a good minute. Seeing that you’re peaceful in your slumber, he lightly brushes off your bangs before kissing your forehead. 

“Sweet dreams y/n,” he whispered.

“Heeseung…” you mumbled before Heeseung could even open the door. 

Heeseung remained quiet, observing if you’re going to say anything. A few minutes had passed and that’s when he twisted the doorknob — seconds just for you to mumble some words again. 

“I…like you Hee…” you said. Although it was soft and almost mumble, yet, Heeseung was quick to comprehend what you meant. 

He was frozen from where he was standing, his hands remained on the doorknob. Staring at your sleeping figure, wondering if those words meant something. 

-

Your words had Heeseung thinking throughout the weekend. 

He remembers the saying, drunk words are sober thoughts. Even if you were intoxicated, he’s not just going to let your words slip away. He wonders if you truly meant those words, or just a whirlwind slip of a post-sex haze. 

But the way you said it, mumbling, like you were being careful to say it. Thoughts started clouding in his mind throughout the weekend, he barely had sleep and he wanted to blame you for putting him in that situation. 

When Monday arrived, you went to school like a normal student. A bright expression on your face as Heeseung watches you pass by him. Not even a hi or hello. His lips turned thin as he tried to act like you ignoring him didn’t hurt him a little. 

Classes went on pretty normal, but Heeseung’s mind is still afloat. Eyes darting towards you every minute, stealing glances on you. But you only had your head low, writing on your Ipad and looking only upward towards the direction of the screen in front, making Heeseung realize that he’s like a fool looking for your attention. 

Heeseung isn’t usually like this, so he wonders why he's acting like this. Heart racing, mind afloat, and it’s only your words that kept him occupied. 

But it’s right there. The answer is just right there but Heeseung doesn’t want to acknowledge it, somehow a part of him isn’t ready for it. But as he looks at you, a lingering what-if crosses his mind. A thought of committing on to something that he’s been avoiding throughout his college life.

His intuition wanted him to do it, but he’s still holding back, and Heeseung knows that the only solution to it, was you. 

That’s why the moment the professor dismissed the class, he hastily placed his things inside his bag before going towards you. 

“Y/n,” he called out, almost loudly, that some of his classmates looked at him. 

“Hey,” you smiled casually, and Heeseung swore that it almost knocked the breath out of him. Have you always had this effect on him? Why did he just realise it right now? 

“Can we talk?” he asked, and saw your eyes surprised by his words. 

“Sure,” you only nod before the two of you leave the room, going to a small corner by the hallway. 

“About what you said that night,” Heeseung asked. “Is it true?”

You raised an eyebrow, “Did I say something? I barely remember anything even the…you know.”

Heeseung felt like his world crashed. Of course. You’re too drunk to remember everything. Even what you two did, you barely remember, and that made him scoff in disbelief. 

“Did I say something weird or?” you asked nervously. 

“You said you like me y/n,” Heeseung said in a serious tone. “Now tell me if it’s true.”

Heeseung watches your eyes widen in realization. A breathy curse slipped out of your mouth. That’s when he knew — that’s when his heart also knew.

“Listen y/n, it’s okay, I also —”

“Heeseung, you’re Jungwon’s friend,” you interrupted. “I can’t date you, I really — look, I like you, yes that’s true. But I care more about your friendship with Jungwon, and whatever happened that night. That’s just it, but please don’t tell Jungwon. He’ll get angry at you too. I hope you understand that.” 

Heeseung blinks. Looking at your pleading expression, that’s when it hit him that it’s not that Jungwon is caging you, but it’s the fact that your love for your younger brother is stronger than your romantic feelings for him. 

You two know that what you did was wrong. Both lines were crossed, and rules were broken. Jungwon trusted him not to go after you, and so do you. It’ll not only ruin friendship but Arcanum. Heeseung knows that you know how much Arcanum means to Jungwon, and it might even result in him leaving the band. 

And seeing how you’re willing to set everything aside for Jungwon, Heeseung couldn’t do anything but to admire you — even if it means he will not continue his confession to you. 

“Plus, you enjoy being single right?” you said lightheartedly, trying to ease the atmosphere. That’s when it slipped into Heeseung. 

An awkward laugh escapes his lips. Ironic because he was planning to throw it away for you, but talking about wrong timing because you got him first. “Right — you’re right. No worries y/n, I won’t tell Jungwon.”

You gave him a smile, patting his shoulders as you mumbled your thanks before leaving him there alone. Watching you walk away, Heeseung could only lower his head as he walked towards the opposite direction — not knowing that you turned your head towards him once again. 

That should be it. In the end, the two of you are some ways forbidden because of Jungwon. You’re right. Heeseung knows that he prefers being single. Right? Maybe what he’s feeling right now is just a temporary attachment to you because you two had sex, plus your confession caughting him off-guard. It’ll pass. Hopefully, for him, it’ll pass. 

But it didn’t help that a few days after you two had a talk, Heeseung caught you together with Jake. 

He knows that you two are orgmates. Coincidentally, you’re Jake’s executive assistant. Heeseung shouldn’t give meaning to it, especially when Jake’s not exempted from Jungwon's rule. 

It shouldn’t bother him. Who is he even anyway? An obvious frown forming on his lips when he saw your instagram story with Jake, you two went to eat k-bbq alone. One would think that you two are actually dating. It’s the way that you’re leaning towards Jake who’s smiling widely, holding the barbecue tong. It's cute, but all Heeseung could feel was annoyance.

Heeseung remembered your conversation with him. Out of all Jungwon’s friends, Jake’s your choice to date. And seeing you two together, Heeseung doesn’t know why but there’s a strange feeling growing inside him. Something ugly because why would he feel that to you? Someone who he’s not allowed to date, and to Jake, who is a close friend of his.

He shouldn’t feel that bubbling jealousy brewing inside but it didn’t help that there are days where Heeseung sees Jake waiting outside the department building. Jake would even smile and wave at him who only gives him a small smile back. Then, he watches you pass by him, going straight towards Jake who only ruffled your hair while you punched his shoulders lightly. 

Sweet. Way too sweet. Heeseung almost wanted to report you two to the disciplinary officer for pda. But as he watches the two of you walk away while laughing, leaving him alone there standing like a fool, that bubbling feeling continues to grow no matter how hard he concealed it. 

It didn’t help either that when they went to your place to practice, he immediately noticed a familiar pair of shoes by the doorway.

“Isn’t that Jake hyung’s shoes?” Riki pointed out. 

“Oh right, he told me he’ll be here early, he’s with noona,” Jungwon explained nonchalantly as he removed his shoes. 

“How come you’re not wary of Jake being too close with y/n?” Sunghoon asked, but there’s a taunting tone in his words. 

“They’re orgmates, y/n noona directly reports to Jake hyung. I trust Jake hyung to not break the rule.” and Heeseung is pretty sure that Jungwon gave him a side eye when he said that.

“So you don’t trust us?” Jay teases.

“I didn’t say that,” the younger one went inside first, while Jay and Sunghoon only laughed at the conversation.

As the rest of them entered the living room, they saw you and Jake by the couch. Heeseung raises an eyebrow, seeing you two together, by the couch — where you and Heeseung fucked, had his jaw tightening. Finding it funny how you pretend that everything’s normal. 

Files sprawled all over the coffee table along with some half-full iced coffees and a box of donuts. Jake is seated on the floor, glasses on top of his head with his expression as serious as always. While you’re seated on the couch, still wearing your uniform with your laptop on your lap, typing some documents needed. 

“Hi guys!” you greeted them first, with Jake following after.

“Y/n noona! I miss you!” Sunoo shouted with glee, sitting beside you and hugging you sideways. As always, you reciprocate the younger’s action. 

Heeseung lightly scoffs at how Sunoo can be so close to you, even hugging you while Jungwon doesn’t bat an eye on it. 

“I miss you too Noo, how’s part-timing at The Rabbit Hole?” you asked, shifting your seat to face the sophomore.

“Tiring, the new part-timer was so lazy! I have to multitask with everything,” Sunoo sulks, even pouting as he leans on your shoulder, glancing at your laptop’s screen. “What are you doing?”

“Some inquiries and grievances from students and incoming freshmen. Others wanted to transfer programs and also, student assistant job opening,” you answered before scrolling through your file. 

“Soobin hyung wanted us to finish it before the end of the school so that we don’t have to worry about the turnover for the next term,” Jake added, letting out a deep sigh as he grabbed the mountful of papers in front of him. 

“Well, we’re not disturbing you guys right? We’re going to start our practice,” Sunghoon asked, setting up in the huge empty space in front of them. 

“We can move to the dining room, so that it wouldn’t be too loud — are you okay with it?” Jake suggested, glancing at you who only nodded. 

“That would be better, we can continue there,” you answered, knowing that you’re still wary around Heeseung. 

As Arcanum set up, you and Jake moved your things on the dining table. From there, you can still hear Arcanum practicing, but with the divider and displays, it’s enough to cover you and Jake for privacy and muffle the sound a little. 

You and Jake sat together to continue your reports. Heeseung could only glance at the two of you. Seeing how close you two are, both heads are almost touching. If Jungwon had seen it, he would probably be throwing knives now. But Jungwon was too busy practicing the beat on his drums, and instead of knives, Heeseung’s darkening glare is what’s putting a hole on you and Jake.

He hated how close you and Jake are. He hated how he could hear your soft laughter just by looking at you — and you weren’t looking at him, you’re looking at Jake who’s probably cracking some jokes. He couldn’t believe that for the past few weeks, the two of you were together, but now, you’re with somebody else. 

And it’s not just somebody else. It’s Jake. A friend of his, the person you’ll hypothetically date if Jungwon’s rules doesn’t exist. The guy that has more chances of dating you than him —

“Heeseung!” A light kick on the shin snapped Heeseung out of reality, turning to his left where Jay looked at him confused. 

“We’re good to go, should we start now?” Jay asked, and that’s when Heeseung realized that he’s been staring for too long. 

“Oh — yeah, we’ll start in three,” Heeseung replied, signaling them with a countdown.

Riki and Sunoo cheered for Arcanum, sitting on the couch comfortably while Heeseung tried to focus, closing his eyes as he started to strum his guitar. 

“Your type of mind, so hard to find,” he sang, cold yet desperate like he was yearning for someone. A soft yet heartbreaking song to start their practice. He can hear Sunoo’s gasp while Riki lets out a whistle. 

Heeseung sings the song with feelings, something about the way he sings a song captivates their audience. But Riki and Sunoo were quick to notice how Heeseung’s eyes kept on looking to his left — by the dining room where you and Jake were seated.

Both sophomores looked at each other, a deciphering stare before glancing back at Heeseung whose eyes are still glued to you. It all circled back to them, realizing that there’s something their friend is hiding. 

With the way he sings, it doesn't sound like he’s just covering the song, it felt like every word, every lyric came straight from his heart. And looking at you, they know that he’s dedicating it to you.

As they finished the song, they were quick to start for another song. A low strum on Jay’s electric guitar — different from the first song. 

“I wanna be your vacuum cleaner. Breathing in your dust,” Heeseung sang in a low tone.

“Woah, Heeseung hyung’s good,” Sunoo mumbled. 

“It’s like he’s captivating someone under his spell,” Riki added, glancing at Sunoo who only nodded, knowing what he meant as the two watched as Heeseung sang. His head turned to his left once again.

“Secrets I have held in my heart, are harder to hide than I thought. Maybe I just wanna be yours,” Staring darkly, as he holds onto the mic stand, head turned towards your direction as he continues the song. Dark and tempting like the original. 

As the song finished, the band had a short break. Jay looks at Heeseung, a teasing smirk evident on his lips. 

“Seems like your audience is somewhere else,” Jay teasingly said. 

“Shut up Jay,” Heeseung brushes it off, but it was evident that he immediately shifted towards your direction once again. Like he was hoping that you’ll turn around. 

But not even a spare glance was given to them throughout the whole practice. By the time Arcanum finished their practice, so did you and Jake with your reports. Food arrived a few minutes later and the eight of you spent dinner in the living room. 

“Can you hear their practice in the dining room?” Riki asked. 

“Yeah, but it’s a bit muffled so it wasn’t distracting us, don’t worry,” Jake answered casually, not noticing how Riki and Sunoo snickered at each other. 

“You guys seem to be too busy with your reports, that you guys weren’t distracted by Heeseung hyung’s singing,” Sunoo added, tone hinted in a teasing manner. 

“Well, Jake insisted on finishing it tonight, and I heard you guys are drinking after dinner,” you laughed, not being able to catch the sophomore’s tone.

“And we did, because y/n is such a great assistant,” Jake compliments, making the other guys holler in teasing. 

“Jungwon, did you hear that?” Sunghoon nudged Jungwon who got confused immediately. 

“Hey Jake, don’t forget Jungwon’s rule,” Jay added, earning laughter in the living room — that including you and Jake. 

“I only said she’s a great assistant! Is it bad to compliment her?” Jake defensively replied.

Meanwhile Heeseung could only roll his eyes discreetly as he continued stuffing himself with rice. From there, Jungwon chuckles — a different reaction from his usual get-go wherein he’ll be pissed the moment they got linked to you. 

“Shut up hyungs,” Jungwon could only say. “By the way, you’re not going to join us noona?”

“I think I’m going to avoid drinking from now on,” you answered, knowing that the last time you drank, disaster happened. 

You could hear Heeseung clearing his throat, but you chose to ignore it and took the last bite on your food. Standing up from your seat before thanking them for the dinner, and reminding Jungwon to clean up the mess after. 

It was nine in the evening when you decided to call it a night, the remaining of them stayed in the living room with some alcohol to drink the night away. You’ve already known that they’re going to stay overnight — and probably will wake up by lunch. 

Saying goodbye to them, even drinking one shot because they insist, you went to your room and had your alone time. 

After taking a shower and changing into your sleeping clothes, you grabbed your laptop to do some last minute write-ups. Reviewing every page you’ve written, and then closing the tab to watch some youtube videos. 

You don’t know what’s going on downstairs. You sometimes hear their loud laughter and teasing, it was muffled enough for you not to be disturbed, and as the night deepens, the noise downstairs slowly becomes quiet. 

That’s when you decided to go to sleep. Closing your laptop, and locking your door. You turned on your nightshade and closed your bedroom’s light. As you nestled underneath your blanket, you closed your eyes, immersing yourself with the silence.

But it didn’t help you relax at all, you can feel your heart beating fast and as you open your eyes, that’s when it hits you that you’re not sleepy yet. 

Thoughts running inside your mind that whenever you close your eyes, and shuffle through different positions, you just can’t bear to sleep. You placed your hand on your chest, feeling your heart still palpitating and you’re blaming it on the coffee you bought. 

Frustratedly, you sat up to grab your phone, noticing that it’s already past one am. 

You don’t know what to do, so you scrolled through your social media in hopes that sleep might knock you down. But minutes turned into an hour and you became frustrated furthermore. 

Your frustration was interrupted when a knock on the door startled you. You let out a sigh because you already told Jungwon that he doesn't have to knock on your room if he’s going to inform you that his friends’ are going home. 

But instead of your younger brother, your eyes widened when it was Heeseung who’s in front of your room.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, whispering. “You can’t be here!”

“Don’t worry, they’re either passed-out drunk or deeply asleep,” Heeseung laughs, the smell of alcohol reeking on his breath as he leaned on your door frame. 

“What do you even want, Heeseung?” you asked, crossing your arms at him.

But Heeseung looks at you drowsily, “you’re one of a kind, you know that?”

You didn’t say a word. Slowly, he enters your room, making you step backward. Quietly, you watch him close the door even locking it — and you let him be. You didn’t stop him nor pushed him away. You remained from where you were standing, because deep inside, you wanted to know why Heeseung suddenly barged into your room in the middle of the night. 

“I’m still thinking about that night, about us, everything about us y/n — you’re driving me crazy you know that?” you can hear the frustration dripping on his tone. 

“Heeseung, you’re drunk.” you answered instead. 

Heeseung only laughs at your words. “Oh no sweetheart, I didn’t even drink that much. So I know damn well what I’m saying, and since you’re sober and completely awake, I’m confident that you won’t run away from me anymore.” 

You didn’t say a word. Heeseung gives you a smile. The boyish sweet smile that tugs your heart.

“After you told me that you like me, even though you were drunk, it made me realize something,” Heeseung became quiet for a second. “I really thought about it. Even convincing myself that being single is fun, but fuck it, maybe I prefer being with you.”

It wasn’t a direct confession, but you know what he was trying to say. You stopped your tracks, softly glancing at him who slackens his jaw. 

“I was ready to tell you that but you shut me off first, because you know how important Arcanum was, and you don’t want to ruin my friendship with Jungwon.” Heeseung explained, and that’s when it hits you. That talk you two had, he was supposed to say something but you cut him off. 

“And I respected that y/n — that even made me admire you more. You were willing to set aside your feelings for Jungwon. I even convinced myself that maybe the single life is for me,” Heeseung heaves out a sigh. Brushing his hair before glancing at you, his eyes darkening. 

“Really, I tried my best to respect your decision, but seeing you with Jake? What was that? Are you playing with me?” 

“Heeseung —”

But Heeseung lets out a mocking laughter, finding himself stupid for accusing you of that. “Of course you’re not, I’m just overthinking and who am I even to overthink? I’m just your brother’s friend.”

Silence. For a moment, no one said a word. Heeseung approaches you darkly, making you step backward until you hit the edge of your bed, clumsily making you sit at it. Heeseung boldly hovers over you, both arms trapping you as he leans closer to you, face an inch close to you. 

“But maybe I don’t want to be seen as your brother’s friend anymore. I want to be yours instead, I want to be your boyfriend.” he whispered to you, surprising you with the statement that your eyes could only widen. 

“And I don’t care about Jungwon anymore, he’ll have to fucking live with that fact.” He stated. Heeseung doesn’t care about the consequences anymore. All he wants is you, and if it means ruining friendship, he’ll be willing to fight for your relationship with him.

“Heeseung —”

“Don’t think about Jungwon anymore y/n, I like you — hell, I think I’m in love with you. I want to be yours. Just tell me that you want this too.” Heeseung pleaded, and you just couldn’t believe it. Heeseung begging for your love? You know that this is too good to be true — too good that it’s forbidden at the same time. But as you look at Heeseung’s soft, round bambi eyes, you just couldn’t help but to melt for him.

“I just never thought that you’ll be within my reach.” you confessed, hands cupping his cheeks. “Heeseung, I’ve liked you since we were freshman, but you’re just so unreachable for me.”

“Unreachable? y/n, you’re the unreachable one, you’re basically locked in your younger brother’s rule.”

“Not what I meant but, everything just feels so surreal for me, everything about us — is this even real?” your mind is still clouded, but your heart was racing rapidly. It’s celebrating inside. There were fireworks, butterflies, any fluttering feeling that you can feel to convince you that Heeseung, the guy that you’ve been yearning for years, likes you back. 

“I’ll make it real for you then,” Heeseung leans closer, locking you to a kiss. Immediate and hungry, feeling his soft lips against yours made your knees weak, the fluttering feeling becoming too good that your heart is going to burst at that moment. Tasting the alcohol on his tongue as it swipes it lightly on your lower lips. Moaning against your lips as he bites onto your bottom lip harshly that his teeth scratches a wound to it. 

You broke from the kiss, catching your breath as you tasted the blood on your lips, but Heeseung grabs your face, pulling you for another kiss. Feverish as he sucks the blood oozing from your lips, making you whine as his tongue laps on the wound. 

“You were pretty drunk that night we did it, how about I recreate it for you? Show you that I mean everything?” he swore the moment you two broke the kiss once again. 

Gently, he pushes you down to your bed, crawling over you and crashing his lips on yours again. But it’s softer this time, gentle like he’s trying to memorize your lips. 

He started peppering you with kisses, full of love as he began lowering his lips on your neck. His lips raveling every skin as he planted marks near your collarbone. One, two, three — until every skin around your neck and chest is full of marks. Heeseung stands up to see his art. Lust-struck stare as he looks at you, teary-eyed and swollen, wounded lips. His heart swells with pride because you’re his to keep. 

“God, look at you gorgeous,” he whispered, as he started to unbutton his school uniform. You followed his actions as you sat up from your bed, taking off the thin, old shirt revealing your naked chest underneath. 

“Want you,” you told him, round, innocent-like eyes staring at him as you boldly palmed the print of his cock underneath the slacks. 

“Go on,” he gestured, giving you a kiss on top of your head as you unzipped his slacks, pulling it down along with his boxers. 

Heeseung’s cock sprang free. Your eyes wide at how it’s huge despite being soft. Remembering how it pounded into your holes. Feeling your core pulsing at the sight, wanting for it to be inside you but your mind wants to return the favor. You wanted to pleasure Heeseung like what he did to you. 

You started by giving its head soft kitten kisses. Glancing at Heeseung who only nods, hands finding its way towards your hair, holding it like a makeshift ponytail which was your approval. Your tongue started to find its way. Swirling on the tip, salivating every inch it can reach until you gathered enough saliva to drool on his almost hardening cock.

You hold his cock in a soft grip, stroking it as your hand lubricates it with your drool. Looking up at Heeseung with lust-drunken eyes before slowly sinking your mouth on his cock, and Heeseung could only throw his head out of pleasure. A breathy moan escaped his lips as you started bobbing in and out of his cock. 

Adjusting to its size, you started slow and gentle, just enough to make him hard. Heeseung’s grip on your hair started to tug, unconsciously pushing your head which made you fasten your pace. Cheeks hollow as your lips sucked him. Tongue trailing along with it, licking its underside. 

“Fuck just like that, a pretty girl is sucking me hard,” Heeseung moans as his dick twitch inside your warm mouth. Knowing that it’s been so long since a girl has given him a head, Heeseung would’ve never thought that it’ll end him being sensitive. 

You continued bobbing your head, fast and hard leaving Heeseung moaning and whining as he unconsciously bucked his hips towards you. The tip of his dick hitting your throat, making you gag by the action but that didn’t stop you, it only had your cunt throbbing.

“You can be rough with me,” you said as you pulled away from him, something inside you awakened. Teary-eyes looking up at him, and Heeseung swore that you even looked prettier than ever. 

“You sure? I don’t want to hurt you,” Heeseung asked with a worried tone. 

You only roll your eyes, “You’re acting like you weren’t rough that night.” you said before you sucked him once again.

“I’m not holding back then,” he started by thrusting his hips inside your mouth, earning another choking gag from you. “You’re so warm, your pretty little mouth is so tight for me too.”

Both hands find its way on your head, holding it steady as he started to fuck your mouth. You could only hold onto his hips for balance as his thrust became fast and harsh that drool started to trail down your chin. 

“You feel — fuck,” Heeseung moans. “So good to me — can’t believe you’re mine.” the sounds Heeseung made had you throbbing more than ever. Your eyes are pooled with tears as his bulging head continues to abuse your throat.

“Want you to be inside you,” Heeseung breathes, mercilessly pounding inside you before pulling his dick out of your mouth, leaving you gasping for air. 

“Want to come inside you,” Heeseung drunkenly said. Grabbing your chin and wiping the drool away before sloppily giving you a kiss. “Ride me baby, want to see a pretty girl on top of me.”

You hastily remove the rest of your pajamas as Heeseung climbs over your bed, resting on the headboard as he straddles you to his lap. Your wet pussy on top of his dick, grinding on it while both hands are on your waist. 

Raising your hips a little, you grabbed Heeseung’ cock to align it on your entrance, whimpering as his bulging tip kissed your pussy’s lips before you slowly sink down, feeling every inch of his dick open your pussy, moaning in pleasure until he’s fully sheathed. 

“Heeseung — fuck,” you moaned as you started bouncing up and down. Your walls wet and warm, as his cock slides inside you, feeling him deeper than before. Every inch and veins of his dick is all you can feel as his head continues to kiss your cervix, knocking you out of breath everytime it happens. 

Heeseung could only moan loudly as he watched you ride him. You had your head thrown back as your tits bounced in front of him. He could get off just by watching you. His pretty girl, riding his dick, whining loudly as you continued to call his name — not caring about whether Jungwon or his other friends might hear you. 

You let out a yelp when Heeseung smacks your ass cheeks, his smirk widening as he meets you thrust, bucking his hips upwards. Vulgar sounds and body slapping against each other echoed around the room as the two of you continued to drown into each other’s pleasure. 

Heeseung adjusted his position, sitting up and pulling you closer to him. Stopping your movement when you feel him wraps his arms around you. Coming face to face with you, Heeseung could only smile as he swiped your hair that was stuck on your face, making you fawn a smile. 

“Can’t believe your mine,” he said excitedly, like he was a high school kid, making you laugh before cupping his face, cheeks squeezing which delighted you more. 

“I’m yours Hee,” you mumbled, and you can’t believe that those words came out from your mouth. 

Heeseung pulled you to a loving kiss, before he started thrusting inside. With him continuing your movement, you remove yourself from him before resting your head on his shoulder as your hands find their way on his back. Nails scratching as the pleasure became too intense to you.

Loud moans and whimpers continued to fill the room. You cried to his ears as your nails pressed harder on his back. Tears falling away from your eyes as Heeseung felt you twitch above him, slowly not being able to bounce on him as your toes started curling. 

“You want to cum pretty girl?” he whispered to you, and you could only nod feverishly, making Heeseung thrust harder than before, adjusting his pace until his cocks slid into your most sensitive spot. 

“Heeseung — ah!” you choke out a moan as your orgasm came in just a glimpse. Your body was shaking, holding Heeseung tightly while his thrust became faster, chasing after his orgasm, which made you cry harder.

“Hee — inside” you cried. “Inside please — ugh, want to feel you.”

Fuck. Heeseung curses internally. You just can’t say that and expect him to act rationally. With the way your pussy’s sucking him in had his dick twitching. Heavy groans and whimpers escaping his lips as he continued to fuck your overly sensitive inside. 

In a minute, Heeseung groans loudly as he spills his warm seeds inside you, making you moan in pleasure, as he continues to thrust you until he’s too tired to move. 

For a moment, none of you moved, Heeseung held you tightly as he caught his breath. His dick still inside yours, twitching and sensitive. So warm for him that he just wanted to be inside you. Heeseung lays down in bed along with you. Everything was sticky and warm, but you two didn’t care. The only thing you can feel was Heeseung’s warmth and the faint beating of his chest.

“What now?” you asked, clarity finally getting inside your senses. 

“Well —” Heeseung groans as your hips unconsciously move. “Don’t move, you’re making me hard.”

But you smile at him evilly, grinding at him who let out a soft moan.

“Stop that — fuck.”

“Or what?” 

Heeseung glares at you. And before you could say another word, he grabs you by your waist and pushes you down with your back hitting the mattress. Heeseung hovers over you as he does an experimental thrust inside you, making you whine. 

“You’re going to pay for this,” Heeseung swore, and you can only chuckle as you feel him hardening inside you. 

“I wouldn’t mind that,” you said, hands finding the back of his hair and pulling him down for a kiss.

Surely, it was a long night for the two of you. 

-

You stared at Heeseung’s sleeping figure. Peaceful and gentle as your hands reached for it, trailing on his messy hair. The way his cheeks are squeezed against the pillow, soft lips pouting in default. Heeseung looks so pretty and you can’t believe that this is the first thing you saw the moment you open your eyes. 

You don’t know what time it is. All you know is that it’s morning. The sun is up, and the spring breeze passes through your window’s curtain. Underneath the sheets were your naked bodies, warm and sticky, yet intimate to feel.

It’s been a few minutes since you woke up, and unlike the last time when you woke up alone, Heeseung is right next to you. You were staring at him for so long that you know that you’ll look like a creep, but it’s the morning haze that has your mind still unwinding everything that happened. That’s why it’s still not sinking into you that Heeseung is sleeping beside you. 

It’s as if he felt your gaze, Heeseung’s lips curved into a smile. Your eyes widened when you felt his arms pulling you towards him, head resting on his chest as you two bathed in the warm sunlight passing through the window. 

“You’re going to melt me with your stare,” Heeseung mumbled. 

“Sorry, I just — haven’t sinked in everything,” you replied. 

Heeseung softly chuckles, a soft kiss planting on top of your head as he caresses your hair, “you want to do it again?”

“We had enough Hee!” you said immediately, punching his chest which only made him laugh.

“I’m just kidding,” he said, resting his chin underneath your head. 

Silence faltered the room. Only your soft breathing can be heard, Heeseung’s hands continue to caress your hair while as you rest on his chest, you can feel his heartbeat — faster than usual, and you wonder if it’s because of you. 

“We should go on a date,” Heeseung suggested. “Our first official date as a couple, what do you think?”

“That would be nice,” you whispered. 

“Should we do it later? It’s a Saturday, do you want to go out or stay indoors? Oh wait — do you want to go to other museums? Oh maybe we should try those painting sessions with wine.”

You only laughed at his words. “You’re taking this seriously.”

“Why wouldn’t I? I am so happy that you’re my girlfriend now, we’re going to do everything together~”

“That has a nice ring on it boyfriend,” you look at him before giving a quick kiss. “How about we decide on that later? For now, let’s just stay like this for a while.” 

Heeseung nods, closing his eyes as he pulls you closer to his touch. The solemn silence hovering as both hearts hold each other dearly. Everything feels like a dream. You felt peaceful not until a loud banging on the door startled you. That’s when you remember —

“Heeseung hyung! I know you’re in there!” you scrambled from your position as a familiar voice boomed outside your room, but Heeseung remained unfazed. 

“Jungwon might see us!” you panicked, trying to look for your clothes on the floor. 

“He’ll live,” Heeseung drowsily said, grabbing you and trapping you in his arms. “Let’s just rest here for a while.”

“Heeseung! Can we at least get dressed!?” you shouted, glancing at the door wherein any minute now, your younger brother will barge in. 

But a teasing smile formed on your boyfriend’s lips, kissing the end of your nose as he snuggled you closer like you’re his teddy bear. “Don’t worry about that.”

“Heeseung hyung! You’re dead to me — what the fuck!?” The banging stopped, but you can hear shouting and cursings from the outside, along with Sunghoon’s loud laughter followed by a light scowling from Sunoo. 

“Don’t worry about Jungwon! But you owe us one, asshole!” Jay shouted through the door. 

“Holy fucking shit, he’s like a wild cat,” Jake laughs. 

“What the hell, Jungwon hyung scratched me!” Riki shouted.

You don’t know what’s happening outside, they’re probably tackling your younger brother. You can hear Heeseung snickering as he lightly sways you, assuring you that everything will be alright. You glance at him, he has a soft smile on his lips making you melt. Slowly, your worries disappear as you feel safer in Heeseung’s hold. 

-

Epilogue.

“Decelis are you ready!?” Heeseung shouted through the mic. 

School has just ended. Fortunately, you’ve passed the second semester with ease. Now, you’re anticipating the two month vacation before senior year arrives. Feeling a rush of excitement and nervousness because next year is going to be your last year in college.

But for now, you’re with the thousands of students, at Decelis University’s open field. It’s the annual year-end concert. A celebration for the success of the end of an academic year. Decelis typically invite bands and singers to perform — of course, Arcanum was part of the line-up. 

You screamed along Karina and Yunah as Jay opened the performance with a one-minute guitar solo, shouting “Are you ready to rock!?” causing everyone to scream louder. You could only fawn over the boy who’s rocking the stage while your boyfriend ran around the stage, dancing freestyle along the beat. 

You watched as Heeseung returned to the center, placing the mic on the stand before he started singing It’s not living (If it’s not with you) by The 1975. His voice filled the whole place as cheers became loud the moment he sang the first line. 

“That’s my boyfriend!” you shouted, making Yunah and Karina tackle you teasingly. 

“We get it! Gosh, you won this one, y/n,” Karina teased. 

“You managed to bag the most wanted guy in Decelis, I think we need tips from you,” Yunah added. 

“I think you should stop playing with fire, and just tell him what you feel instead,” you replied to Yunah who only rolled her eyes. 

“I’ll just die instead,” she nonchalantly replied. Glancing back at the led screen wherein they’re showing Jungwon who’s too immersed with playing the drums. 

After the first song, Sunghoon immediately shifted the vibe by playing a soft intro of a familiar song. Heeseung smiles as he places his hand on the mic stand. 

“We’re going to change the vibe from here, any lovers around here?” and he boldly raised his hands, earning screams from the crowd. A few students raising their hands while single people are booing jokingly. 

The smile on Heeseung’s lips turned wider as he feels along with the song, “Feel like sun on my skin

So this is love, I know it is.”

You only stood there, watching as Heeseung continued singing. Even dancing along with it, pretending like the mic stand is his partner. Swinging it lightly as he turned his attention towards the crowd once again. A smirk on his lips as he winks flirtily. 

“Gosh, and he wonders why hundreds of girls are head over heels to him,” you stated. 

“And sadly, he’s not available anymore!” Karina shouted. “Seriously, we need a crowning moment for you.”

Your relationship with Heeseung wasn’t that officially launched. It’s not that you two decided to keep it secret, but you two don't see the need to officially launch it. Let people wonder. You two menacingly agreed. Only your close friends knew about you two being a couple. 

Of course, some small public displays of affection weren’t subtle like the way you two are now seated together in the classroom, or some people seeing Heeseung carrying your bag. — it’s safe to say that people are quick to conclude that you two have something going on. If it’s serious or not, that’s what they don’t know. 

“Thank you so much Decelis University for having us here. We are really happy to perform in front of you guys, your energy gives us energy, but sadly we only have one last song left,” Heeseung stated after finishing another song, earning a few “awww” and “noooo” from the crowd, even chanting for one more song. 

“For the last song, this one is our very first composed song. We dedicated our time in composing and writing the lyrics, and this is the first time we will be performing it. So hopefully, you guys will love it.” Heeseung explained, his smile turning wide like he was proud to introduce the song.

“More like you wrote the lyrics,” Jay pointed out, which made the crowd scream. “The things love do, am I right?” and that made the crowd scream louder. 

Heeseung only laughs, he didn’t even try to ignore it at all. “Are you ready for a serenade, Decelis?”

For a moment, there was silence. Shortly, a few strums from Heeseung’s guitar escape as he softly hums to the mic. His eyes closed like he’s feeling along with the song. 

He started the verse with a soft tone. Dearly like he’s dedicating the song to someone. You’re not slow to pick up the lyrics of the song. It meant something and that’s when you can feel your heart start beating fast. You only stood there, frozen as you watched your boyfriend sing in front of a thousands of crowd. 

“I want you to know, I love you the most, I'll always be there right by your side,” Heeseung sings, opening his eyes and even though you’re far from the stage, and even if you’re just watching him from the screen, he smiles widely like he’s staring at you. 

“'Cause baby, you're always in my mind, just give me your forever.” You can feel your heart tugging. It swells with joy as you watch your boyfriend sing his love for you in front of a crowd. His heavenly voice swooning every student, especially you. He continued singing, mesmerizing the crowd with how he sang it — like he’s swearing his vows for you. 

“Just give me your forever.” he sang one last time before taking a bow. 

Cheers started to become louder. Continuous screams from the student as they started chanting Arcanum’s name. Heeseung could only smile as he gestured to his friends to take the center for a short photo time and final goodbye. 

It didn’t sinked into you that Arcanum just finished their set. It was until Karina and Yunah pulled you to go towards the department building that serves as a backstage area because you promised Heeseung that you’ll be meeting them afterwards. 

You found them in one of the classrooms, laughing as they stuffed themselves with snacks prepared by the university. As soon as Heeseung sees you, his smile widens as he walks towards you before pulling you to a hug, even carrying you and twirling you like you two are the only people in the room.

“Okay that’s enough, give respect to single people here!” Jay shouted but his words slipped out of your ears when Heeseung pulled you for a kiss, soft and eager, earning mixed reactions from the people inside. 

“I can’t believe I’ll be seeing this for the rest of my life,” Jungwon cringed. 

“You’ll live,” Yunah taunted, sticking her tongue out to the drummer who only rolled his eyes. 

“The song —” you breathe the moment you two broke the kiss, “you wrote the lyrics?”

“You like it?” Heeseung asked, thumb grazing your cheeks.

“I love it! It’s beautiful,” you smiled. 

“It’s for you.” 

That’s when you took a step back, eyes wide but filled with happiness as you could only smile wider, squishing your boyfriend’s soft cheeks which is a form of endearment for you. 

“I can’t believe you.” you giggled.

“Did you even hear what Jay said?” Heeseung mumbled, grabbing your cheeks the same way, before planting a kiss on your lips one more time. 

“Of course,” you grinned. “Just want to hear it from you.”

“Stop that you guys! Or we’ll have to report you for pda!” Karina shouted, along with the others throwing tissues and some light stuff which you two avoided — even Jungwon didn’t hesitate to throw his drumsticks at the two of you. 

But the two of you only laughed at their antics. Heeseung gives you a sweet kiss on your temples, as he puts his arms around your shoulders, holding you dearly.

And as you glance at him, you could only rest your head on his shoulder, fiddling with his hands resting on your shoulder — a way for you to feel that Heeseung is yours, at arms length on your reach. 

[skyguytoast]

ALMOST HERS, ENTIRELY YOURS: AOTC!ANAKIN X PADMÉ'S YOUNGER SISTER!READER

CHAPTER ONE NEXT

SYNOPSIS: Anakin Skywalker has loved Padmé Amidala since he was ten years old — a crush that grew into something deeper over time. But everything shifts when he meets you, her younger sister.

WARNINGS: None yet. Anidala also here, don't if need a warning for them ;)

WORDS: 3.3k

A/N: hii, babes! sooo this little ideia I had while I was listening to “How Bad Do You Want It” by Lady Gaga. hope you enjoy! comments, reblogs & chaos always welcome — and requests are open as always! dividers by @/enchanthings

'𝑪𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒓𝒂𝒔𝒉, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒖𝒔𝒉 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝑰'𝒍𝒍 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒘𝒆𝒂𝒌 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒎𝒚 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆, '𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒆'𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝑰'𝒎 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒊𝒔𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒊𝒏 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆

With attempts on Senator Amidala’s life becoming alarmingly routine, the Jedi Council had ruled that she remain under Jedi protection, not just for her safety, but to ensure the Separatists couldn’t silence her before she brought her motion before the Senate. Padmé Amidala was well-known across the galaxy for her unwavering principles. A fierce advocate for diplomacy, her voice carried weight and those who feared it knew it could shift the tides of war.

The growing tension with the Separatists had stirred chaos on Coruscant. It wouldn’t be long before that chaos would ripple outward, spreading like wildfire across the galaxy. Any hope for truce by democratic means was dwindling, but if there was one voice still strong enough to challenge the storm, it was hers.

Anakin Skywalker could hardly contain the anticipation of seeing her again.

His feelings for the senator hadn’t faded over the years. If anything, time apart had only made them sharper, more vivid, more impossible to ignore. From the moment he first saw her, he believed she was an angel, and nothing he’d learned about her since had proven him wrong. Whether it was in the holonews, Temple rumors, or stories exchanged in quiet corridors, Padmé Amidala’s compassion and courage only made her seem more unreal. More unreachable.

She wasn’t like the others. Not like the hollow politicians he’d overheard growing up. Padmé cared. She saw the galaxy not in star systems and senate seats, but in people, in those who suffered, those forgotten beneath the shining towers of Coruscant’s upper levels. She fought to pull justice upward from the shadows, to remind the Republic of its duty. And that, Anakin thought, made her the only kind of leader worth following.

“I’m sure Senator Amidala hasn’t forgotten about you,” Obi-Wan’s voice cut through the whirl of thoughts in his padawan’s head, calm and amused.

Anakin blinked, heat rushing to his face. He turned away from the elevator’s glass wall, willing the blush not to show. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Master,” he muttered, voice stiff and unconvincing.

Obi-Wan only shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching in a knowing smile. He didn’t need the Force to sense how Anakin practically came undone the second the elevator doors slid open. And there she was.

Senator Amidala stood before them, her presence as composed and radiant as ever. She smiled politely as her eyes landed on Obi-Wan.

“Master Kenobi,” she greeted warmly.

But then her gaze fell on Anakin. And it lingered.

Just long enough for his breath to catch and his pulse to roar in his ears.

“Ani,” she said softly, her eyes warming. “How you’ve grown…”

Anakin scratched the back of his neck, cheeks burning. “You haven’t changed at all,” he blurted, then stumbled on his words. “I mean—you’ve just gotten… prettier.”

Smooth, he thought, cursing himself silently.

But Padmé only smiled, gracious and unbothered by his awkwardness, and motioned for them to sit in the sunken living room of her Coruscant apartment. Captain Typho, the ever-watchful head of Naboo’s royal security, stood nearby with his arms crossed, his lone eye scanning the room with practiced precision. It was clear he was already running through contingency plans, ready to bend reality if that’s what it took to protect the senator.

The conversation was brief, or at least, it felt that way to Anakin. If he was honest, he barely registered the words being exchanged. His mind was far too busy spinning up fantasies where he and Senator Amidala were alone together, in a field of wildflowers, on Naboo, on Coruscant, anywhere she would allow him to exist in her orbit.

By the time it was over, he was already standing beside Obi-Wan, halfway into the elevator, still chasing the imaginary sound of her laugh in his head, when his master reminded him of the arrangement: He would be the one escorting Padmé back to Naboo, where she’d spend time with her family while the Separatist crisis was being contained.

And just like that, they were off, the two of them, together. Anakin felt like he was walking on air, grateful beyond measure that the Force had aligned to give him this opportunity. He could barely keep still. To have an excuse to be near her, speak to her, breathe the same air, it was more than he could bear. It was a dream, one he hoped wouldn’t end.

They traveled on a freighter, blending in with the other passengers, keeping a low profile to avoid tipping off anyone who might want to harm her. Even then, in worn robes and modest surroundings, she shone like starlight. The journey was a whirlwind of feelings. Every time she looked at him, spoke to him, asked him something, anything, his heart felt like it might burst from his chest.

Padmé asked him about his life. About his Jedi training. About the man he was becoming.

And gathering a courage he didn’t fully possess, Anakin answered, painting vivid pictures of daring missions and wild adventures. He spoke of triumphs, of narrow escapes, of battles fought alongside Obi-Wan. Of course, with Obi-Wan not there, Anakin took a little liberty with the storytelling. Maybe just slightly exaggerated his own role. Maybe omitted the times things hadn’t gone quite to plan.

But in her eyes, he wanted to be impressive. He wanted to be more than the boy she used to know. He wanted to be the man she could one day love.

When they landed on Naboo, a welcoming party from the Queen’s court was already waiting by the dock. Anakin stepped out first, helping Padmé into the little lake skiff. Her delicate hand lingered against his palm, warm and featherlight, and even after she’d taken her seat to speak with one of the guards, he couldn’t help but glance down at his hand, tracing the ghost of her touch with his thumb and smiling to himself like a fool.

Barely ten minutes later, the boat glided across the still water and docked along the curved wooden pier that wrapped around the Amidala family’s lake house. The soft creak of wood under his boots echoed as Anakin stepped off, stretching out his hand to help the senator once again. But before he could savor the feel of her fingers in his, Padmé was already swept into her parents’ arms, their reunion saturated with long-held emotion and relief.

“Sis!”

An unfamiliar voice called from the doorway of the house, light, melodic, and filled with giddy affection. Anakin’s gaze snapped up, instinctively alert, his stance shifting until he saw you.

Your smile was pure sunlight as you darted forward, lifting your long silk skirt to hurry toward your sister, arms already reaching out for a hug. But as Anakin had instinctively anticipated, your steps faltered, your foot catching on one of the many airy layers of your gown. You teetered forward, wide-eyed, arms flailing. You were a second from tumbling off the dock and into the water.

Until he caught you.

One strong arm wrapped around your back, the other gripping your forearm just before you went under. Your breath hitched, your chest pressed to his, your heart pounding as the world slowed for a moment too long.

You looked up, startled and slightly breathless, straight into the bluest eyes you'd ever seen. The kind of blue that made you forget what you were about to say.

“Oh,” you murmured, blinking. “Wait—are you that little boy Padmé said she met on Tatooine?”

Anakin blinked, like your words had snapped him out of a trance. He carefully set you back on your feet, stepping away as soon as he was sure you were steady.

“I’m a Jedi,” he said quickly, too quickly. “Anakin Skywalker.”

There was a quiet defiance in the way he said it, like he needed to cast off whatever image you’d just conjured. Not a boy from a desert planet. Not a slave. But a warrior. A protector. A Jedi.

Your smile only grew, excitement flaring in your expression. “I’ve never met a Jedi before,” you said, eyes bright with curiosity. “You can, like... move stuff with your mind? Or even better — do you actually carry one of those glowing laser swords?”

“Lightsaber,” Anakin corrected gently, but his lips tugged into a smile, soft and a little cocky, like he couldn’t quite help it. You made him feel seen. Not as a mission or an obligation. But as something... more.

He straightened slightly, his tone slipping into something halfway between duty and pride. “A Jedi’s lightsaber is his life. We’re taught to protect it, to never lose it.”

You leaned in a little closer, not missing the flicker of pride in his voice. “Can I see it?” you asked, like you were asking to see a hidden treasure. “Please? Just for a second?”

There was a sparkle in your eyes, like this was all a grand adventure. You weren't impressed by titles or legacy. You were just curious, joyful, and so effortlessly magnetic it almost made his chest ache.

Anakin hesitated, a quiet grin blooming at the edge of his lips. He knew he shouldn’t. But he also knew he wanted to.

And Force help him — he wanted to impress you.

“Y/N, Padawan Skywalker didn’t come here to play,” Padmé said gently, her tone laced with older-sister patience as she gave you a pointed look.

You pouted but obeyed, not without rolling your eyes like a bratty teenager who'd been caught mid-fun. Anakin noticed, catching the shift in your expression just as you stuck your tongue out at him. He blinked in surprise, clearly unsure whether he should be amused or annoyed. You, of course, took that as a win.

You and Padmé couldn’t have been more different.

Where she was graceful, composed, and precise, a woman who wielded diplomacy the way some wielded weapons, you were all impulse, confidence, and fire. Padmé had always been the one to weigh every word, to calculate every step. You, on the other hand, didn’t stop until you got what you wanted, no matter how messy the path there was. If she was the cool voice of reason, you were the one kicking down the door.

You both carried the same iron courage, the same unwavering hope in people, but yours showed up in sharper, more unpredictable ways. Maybe it was the age gap. Maybe it was her responsibilities as a senator. Or maybe it was simply the weight of her legacy, the fact that you’d spent your life under the shadow of the galaxy’s role model, and your only choice was to walk a different path entirely.

Anakin’s official duty was to protect Padmé, shadow her, guard her, ensure no further attempts on her life succeeded. But the reality was far more boring than it sounded. She spent long hours behind closed doors in tense meetings, writing briefs, and trading coded messages with other senators. And because he wasn’t allowed in the room when classified matters were discussed, he spent much of his time pacing the hallways like a restless hound.

Which meant you quickly became his favorite distraction.

You’d appear with a mischievous smile and a bounce in your step, tossing him a piece of fruit or a cupcake as you passed by, laughing when he fumbled the catch. Other times, you’d simply sit beside him, chattering about anything and everything, sometimes just to make him laugh. It became a rhythm, a quiet, unspoken habit. He found himself waiting for the sound of your footsteps. For that light in your eyes.

Once and only once he let you hold his lightsaber.

He’d meant it as a small gesture, maybe even a show of trust. A way to impress you. But within moments, you’d accidentally activated it, and before either of you could react, you’d sliced your mother’s antique vase clean in two.

You both stared at the destruction in stunned silence, the hum of the blade still vibrating in the air. Then you looked at him, wide-eyed but shameless.

“Oops.”

Anakin groaned, hand over his face. “I’m never hearing the end of this.”

You just grinned, handing the weapon back carefully like it was no big deal. “Relax, Skywalker. I’ll blame it on the wind.”

And in that moment, he knew exactly what kind of trouble you were, and that he liked it far more than he should.

On one of his nightly rounds, Anakin noticed a window left ajar, the curtains swaying lazily in the cool night breeze. He moved toward it cautiously, one hand already brushing the hilt of his lightsaber, prepared for danger, for disruption.

What he found instead was you.

You were perched in the open window, dressed in black pants and a jacket that blended into the night, your silhouette cut from the same cloth as the stars. Your legs dangled freely, swaying just over the edge, as if you were moments away from slipping into the moonlit air and vanishing.

His heart skipped, not from fear, but from the jolt of seeing you there, wild and untamed.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice low and sharp, his brow furrowed as his hand closed firmly around your arm. The contact was meant to stop you, but his fingers lingered.

You rolled your eyes dramatically. “You don’t know how to have fun, do you, Anakin?” you teased, your smile pulling at the corner of your mouth, sly and impossible to ignore. “I suppose fun isn’t in the Jedi vocabulary.”

He didn’t answer. His jaw was set, his fingers tightening slightly on your arm.

“Y/N, go back to your room,” he said, trying to summon that disciplined tone Obi-Wan always used. “You’re going to get yourself hurt.”

“Then come with me,” you murmured, tilting your head. “Protect me, Jedi.”

There was something in your voice, a melody laced with danger, invitation, and the kind of rebellion Anakin recognized too well in himself. You weren’t just tempting him to leave his post, you were tempting him to abandon the safety of his walls. To choose want over duty.

He glanced at the hallway behind him, at the door to Padmé’s quarters, the room he was assigned to guard. That was where he should be. The Jedi Code echoed in the back of his mind like a warning bell. But the fire in your eyes drowned it out.

“Come on, Anakin,” you whispered, fingers sliding down his wrist and lacing with his. “Almost all of Naboo’s guard is stationed here. No one’s going to get past them tonight.”

His resolve crumbled the moment you pulled him closer.

“Fine,” he said, quiet and breathless.

You grinned, not a sweet smile, but something electric. And without another word, you leapt out of the window, tugging him with you. Anakin barely had time to react before he landed behind you on the back of a speeder bike, the one you have parked discreetly at the edge of the estate.

Your hands took the controls. The engine purred to life, and then you were flying, your hair whipping back into his face, your body warm and solid against his. He wrapped his arms around your waist, to keep balance, he told himself. But he didn’t let go.

You flew like you lived, fast, chaotic, alive. The speeder dove and climbed with reckless abandon, your laughter carried on the wind. More than once, he swore you were about to hit a tree, only for you to swerve with perfect, impossible timing.

The world blurred around you, stars above, lake below and still, all Anakin could think of was the warmth of your body beneath his hands, the rush of danger and desire tangling in his chest. You weren’t just a thrill. You were a spark. A question he’d never dared ask, what would it feel like to be free?

The lake shimmered below as you leaned them toward the water, close enough for him to dip his hand into the cool surface. His fingers broke through the glass-like stillness, trailing through glowing fish that darted away in flashes of silver and blue.

For once, there were no rules. No titles. No expectations. He isn't the choosen one. He was just Anakin.

Just you and him, flying too fast through the night, hearts pounding, hands tangled, somewhere between duty and something far more dangerous.

You smiled softly, glancing over your shoulder at him. That carefree grin on his face suited him, bright, unburdened, almost boyish. Anakin was too young to carry the weight of a galaxy on his shoulders. He shouldn’t have had to bear so much so soon. Tonight, you just wanted to give him something simple, a night with no duties, no burdens, no destiny waiting to devour him.

A moment of distraction, a curve too fast and you nearly clipped a tree. Anakin acted on instinct, grabbing the steering handles and forcing the speeder into a sharp turn. The vehicle skidded, tore through a field of wildflowers, and finally came to a halt in a shower of petals and torn grass. The two of you tumbled off the bench, landing in the tangled bloom of crushed blossoms and laughter.

You braced for a lecture. You’d nearly killed them both. He had every right to scold you, but instead, he laughed.

Anakin tipped his head back and let go, laughing so hard he clutched his stomach, his whole body shaking with it. And that was it, you cracked too, letting the tension dissolve into giggles and gasps for breath, tears of joy slipping down your cheeks as you collapsed into the flowers beside him.

“Thank you,” Anakin murmured when the laughter faded into silence. His palm found your back, warm and grounding as he pulled you closer. Your head came to rest on his chest, rising and falling with each quiet breath. “I needed that.”

You smiled softly, tracing the seams of his Jedi uniform with idle fingers. “A near-death experience?”

He chuckled. “Yeah… that too.”

His eyes drifted up to the sky endless and star-drenched. So different from Tatooine. On Naboo, the air wasn’t thick with fear or survival. Here, everything felt softer. Lighter. Free.

“I think,” he said slowly, “I needed to be happy… without feeling guilty about it.”

You looked up at him, gaze gentle, then reached for his hand. Your fingers found his and squeezed, grounding him again.

“Good,” you whispered, a grin tugging at your lips. “cause I don’t plan on letting you go until we’ve squeezed every bit of fun Naboo has to offer.”

“Oh?” he teased, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers grazing your skin just long enough to make your breath catch. The moonlight painted your features like something from a dream, soft, glowing, unreal. “And I don’t get a choice?”

You shook your head, playful but sincere. “You always have a choice, Anakin. You just have to remember that it’s yours to make.”

Your eyes turned skyward again, catching the shimmer of a shooting star as it cut through the dark. “Quick, quick, make a wish.”

He watched you close your eyes, the smallest smile curving your lips as you whispered your hope to the stars. You were radiant like this, not just beautiful, but whole, alive in a way that seemed untouched by everything that weighed on him.

He closed his eyes too.

He didn’t believe in those myths, in childish stories. But if a wish could keep you close, if it could carve out more nights like this, where he wasn’t a Jedi, or a soldier, or a ticking time bomb, then he would wish harder than he ever had.

Because this? This soft happiness? He hadn’t known how badly he needed it. And now that he had… he wasn’t sure he could live without it.

You reminded him that he had choices. That he was still human, still his own. That maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to walk the path that others carved for him.

He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. But under that star-filled sky, your hand still wrapped in his, he decided he was ready to find out.

TAGLIST: @ihearthayden @anakinstwinklebunny @sometimescharlolette @awhhayden @dessxoxsworld @speaknow-sw @freudsweetlamb @devilslittlehelper

[multific]

A Love Written in the Stars

Jacaerys Velaryon x Reader

Soulmate!AU

Summary: From birth, a name has been etched onto your skin.

The name has been there since birth.

Dark against your skin, letters looping elegantly across the curve of your wrist. 

You had traced them with your fingers as a child, whispering the name over and over again, wondering who it belonged to.

Jacaerys Velaryon.

A prince. A dragonrider. Heir to the Iron Throne.

Never in your wildest dreams had you believed your soulmate would be someone like him.

It had always been a whisper of fate in the back of your mind, something distant and unreachable. You had long since accepted that you would never be important enough to stand beside a man like him. 

And yet, when your family was summoned to Dragonstone, when you stood before him for the first time, your heart nearly stopped.

Because Jacaerys Velaryon was looking at you like he already knew.

His gaze had lingered before he greeted you with practiced politeness. You bowed, keeping your hands carefully hidden, forcing yourself to breathe through the overwhelming weight of realization.

It wasn’t possible.

It couldn’t be.

And so, you decided right then and there, he could never know.

Fate might have chosen him for you, but Jacaerys Velaryon was a prince. His life was not his own. His duty was to his family, to the realm. And you? You were no one.

So you hid your mark.

Every day.

Every moment.

Long sleeves, gloves when necessary, and you careful positioned your arms when in his presence. You made sure that not even the smallest part of the inked name could be seen.

And Jacaerys, ever the gentleman, never once questioned it.

But there was something in his eyes, almost as if he knew.

It wasn’t until weeks later, when a storm raged outside Dragonstone’s walls, that everything cracked.

You had been caught in the downpour, the skies splitting open as you ran toward the castle, drenched to the bone. The halls were quiet, candlelight flickering against the stone walls as you hurried toward your chambers until you turned a corner and crashed straight into him.

"Oh-!"

Strong hands caught you before you could stumble back, warm despite the chill of the storm outside. You blinked up, breath catching as you met his eyes.

Jacaerys Velaryon.

His dark curls were damp from the rain, his brow furrowed in concern, his grip firm yet gentle as he steadied you.

"You should not be out in this storm," he murmured, voice softer than you had ever heard it.

"I was just-" You tried to pull away, but his hands lingered.

And then his eyes dropped to your wrist.

Your bare wrist.

The rain had soaked through your sleeves, dragging them down just enough for your secret to be exposed. For the first time, Jacaerys saw the name inked into your skin.

His name.

Silence stretched between you, thick and heavy. His grip on you tightened, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths.

"Why have you been hiding this from me?"

Your heart shattered at the hurt in his voice.

"Jace, I-" You hesitated. "You are a prince. You are meant for so much more than me."

Pain flickered across his face. Then, something darker.

"Is that what you truly believe?" he asked, voice quiet. "That you are not worthy of me?"

Tears burned in your eyes. 

Yes. That was exactly what you believed.

But then, Jacaerys did something you never expected.

Slowly, he reached up and unfastened the cuff of his tunic, rolling his sleeve back until the inside of his forearm was exposed.

And there, carved into his skin, was your name.

Your breath caught.

"I have known my whole life," he whispered, tilting his head, watching you. "And I have waited for you just as long."

Your hands shook. He had known. All this time. 

And yet, he had never pushed, never confronted you, never demanded an answer.

"Why did you not tell me?" you whispered.

A soft, breathless laugh escaped him, as if he could hardly believe the question. As if the answer should have been obvious.

"Because I wanted you to choose me."

You shattered.

Because you had chosen him. From the moment you saw his name on your wrist, you had chosen him.

And so, without another thought, you moved forward your hands gripping at his tunic, pulling him down as his lips met yours in a kiss that stole the air from your lungs.

Jacaerys responded instantly, arms wrapping around you, holding you close as if he never wanted to let go. His lips were warm, soft yet powerful, as if he had been waiting forever to taste you.

And perhaps he had.

Perhaps fate had written this story long before either of you was born.

When you finally pulled away, your forehead rested against his, both of you breathing heavily, smiling.

"No more hiding," he murmured, brushing his thumb over the mark on your wrist. "You are mine, and I am yours. Always."

And with his arms around you, his lips against your skin, you knew he was right.

You were meant to be his as much as he was meant to be yours.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[riddlesrizzler]

Charlotte's Web

summary: You have been my friend, replied Charlotte. That in itself is a tremendous thing. characters: mattheo riddle. shy! ravenclaw! reader. mentions of slytherin boys. warnings: mentions of a previous hookup word count: 2.8k

Mattheo Riddle was not a reader.

At least, not until you.

Now, he found himself lingering in the library far more than he ever had before-haunting its aisles like a restless ghost, drawn again and again to the one place he used to avoid. He wasn’t sure when the shift had happened. It had started with The Great Gatsby, sure. But somewhere between flipping its final page and catching your startled smile in the courtyard, something else had taken root.

A curiosity. A pull. A want.

And then came the question-the one he hadn’t even meant to ask until it was already tumbling from his lips.

“What else should I read?”

You had blinked at him, wide-eyed, as though he’d asked you to recite ancient runes backward in Latin. For a second, he thought you might just bolt again.

“You… want a recommendation?” you said slowly, like you weren’t entirely convinced you’d heard him right.

Mattheo smirked, amused by your hesitation. “Yeah. Or do you just hoard all the good books for yourself?”

Your frown was faint, more confusion than offense, but you narrowed your eyes like you were trying to figure out if he was serious. And then, without a word, you turned, pulled a book from the stack beside you, and shoved it into his hands.

To Kill a Mockingbird.

He blinked at the cover, lips twitching. “Are you serious?”

You didn’t flinch. You just shrugged, your voice calm, almost daring. “You liked Gatsby. I think you’ll like this.”

And with that, you walked away-leaving him standing there in the middle of the library, staring down at a Muggle book about morality, racism, and childhood.

He almost laughed.

But then… he read it.

—

Three days later, he dropped the book onto the table in front of you with a solid thunk, startling you mid-sentence of your book. A triumphant gleam danced in his eyes as he slid into the seat across from you.

“Atticus Finch is a legend,” he declared, like it was the most obvious truth in the world.

Your head lifted slowly, brows raised. “You finished it?”

Mattheo shrugged, playing it cool. “Didn’t have much else to do.”

A lie, of course. He had essays to write, spells to practice, Slytherin meetings to attend. But none of them held his attention the way those pages had.

The way you did.

You eyed him carefully, like you were still trying to decide if he was being serious. Then your gaze dipped to the book and back up again. “And?”

He grinned. “Scout’s hilarious. But that town? Merlin. I wanted to hex every adult in it.”

That made you laugh-soft and surprised, like it had slipped out before you could stop it. You tilted your head, that familiar spark lighting behind your eyes. “Oh, really? And why is that?”

He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “Because they were all so deep in their own delusions, they couldn’t see what was right in front of them. Acting like justice was some unreachable dream instead of just… doing the right thing.”

You gave a slow, thoughtful nod, your smile fading into something more sincere. “That’s the point, Mattheo.”

He lifted a brow. “That people are blind idiots?”

You grinned. “Exactly.”

And for a moment-just a moment-there was a stillness between you. Not the awkward kind, but something warmer. Something unspoken. It hung in the air like the scent of old pages and ink, delicate and full of possibility.

He watched you, really watched you, and realized something else entirely.

When you weren’t shrinking from his gaze, when you weren’t buried behind the fortress of your books and quiet deflections-you were brilliant. Witty. Sharp in the way a blade is sharp when you least expect it. Your observations were quick, your insights subtle. You laughed at things no one else noticed.

And Mattheo… he wanted to know what else made you laugh.

—

So, the next day, he found you again.

And the day after that.

And the day after that.

Each time, he returned a book. Each time, he asked for another. At first, you’d looked at him like he was playing some elaborate joke. But the more he showed up-sometimes with dog-eared pages and underlined quotes—the more your suspicion began to soften.

You started recommending books with less hesitation.

You started talking more.

Not just about the stories, but about everything-your thoughts, your frustrations, the things that made you ache and dream and wonder. And when you laughed, really laughed, it cracked something open inside him he didn’t even know was locked.

You were a storm disguised as silence.

And Mattheo-who never used to care for pages or plotlines or protagonists-found himself craving your words like spells. Like oxygen.

He wasn’t reading to impress you anymore.

He was reading because through those stories, he was finally getting to know you.

And he liked what he found.

-

Mattheo had claimed he had never been inside a Ravenclaw dorm before.

But in fact, he had only ever stepped into the tower once-during a hazy, alcohol-fueled night that had ended with him sneaking up the spiral staircase for a quick hookup with someone from a previous party. He’d barely remembered the details of that night, only that the dorm had smelled like freshly brewed tea and ink, and that the dim glow of candles flickered against the towering shelves filled with what seemed like endless books. It had all felt so… soft, so detached from the sharpness and precision of his own house.

But now, as he stepped over the threshold into your dorm, it was different. This time, there was no rushing, no need to keep his guard up. This time, it was just him and you. And as his eyes adjusted to the soft lighting and the comforting scent of parchment and ink, he realized it was exactly how he should have imagined it.

Books. Everywhere.

They were stacked in every corner, lining the walls in neat rows of shelves that reached up toward the vaulted ceiling. Some books were pristine, their covers unmarred by time, while others were worn, the edges of the pages dog-eared and the spines cracked from being read over and over again. You had even left a few books open, as if you were reading multiple at once-a habit Mattheo instantly recognized as uniquely you. He smirked at the sight. Of course you were.

His gaze followed you as you flitted about, completely at ease in your space. It was clear you had found your sanctuary here, among the pages of all these stories, in a place where the rest of the world seemed to fade away.

You turned to him, your eyes shining with excitement, and gestured toward the shelves. “Alright, now you get to see all of them.”

Before he could say anything, you were already moving, pulling a book from its place with the ease of someone who knew exactly where everything belonged. You flipped through the pages, your fingers tracing the edges with such a quiet reverence that Mattheo found himself watching you more intently than the books you were pulling from the shelves.

“This one,” you said, holding up a novel with a deep blue cover. “I read it when I was eleven, and it made me want to read everything.”

He chuckled softly, a teasing glint in his eye. "Let me guess-you read it in one night, didn’t you?"

You shot him a look, but there was no annoyance in it. “Of course I did.”

He laughed, and his chest tightened at the sight of you smiling at the small, shared moment. There was something so undeniably you about it-the way you gave yourself completely to your passions, the way you lit up when you talked about what you loved.

Without missing a beat, you reached for another book, your fingers grazing its spine with a tenderness that made Mattheo’s heart beat just a little faster. “This one,” you said, your voice softer now, “I found in a second-hand shop in Diagon Alley. It had someone else’s notes in the margins, and it made me feel like I was having a conversation with a stranger.”

The way you said it-like the book had touched something deep inside you-left him quiet, his eyes lingering on your face as you drifted from shelf to shelf, pulling out one novel after another and sharing the stories behind each. He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t even move much, letting the sound of your voice fill the space between them, the low murmur of your words wrapping around him like a warm blanket.

This was you, he thought, watching you in your element. Not the girl who ran away every time he tried to talk to her, but the one who was open, honest, and alive with something far more vibrant than he’d ever given you credit for. And just like that, he realized something-he wasn’t just fascinated by you anymore. He was in awe of you.

You finished a story about a book he hadn’t even heard of, and Mattheo found himself standing there, completely still, caught in the quiet magic of the moment.

He wanted to kiss you. Wanted to pull you close and feel the warmth of your smile pressed against his lips.

But instead, he cleared his throat, forcing himself to focus on the present. “Alright,” he said, the smirk returning to his lips, but it was softer now. “What’s the favorite?”

You hesitated for half a second before walking toward a shelf higher up. With a smooth, practiced motion, you slid a well-loved copy of Pride and Prejudice from its place, holding it in front of you like a treasure. The spine was creased, the cover faded in places, and there was a distinct line of wear along the corners.

Mattheo arched a brow, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “Really?”

You glared at him, but there was affection in it. “It’s perfect,” you said, hugging the book to your chest like a secret you couldn’t wait to share. “It’s about wit and misunderstandings and expectations-and realizing you were completely wrong about someone.”

His smirk softened, the playful teasing giving way to something more thoughtful. “Huh. Never would’ve guessed.”

He made a mental note right then and there-he’d be reading that next.

But before he could say anything more, you were already pulling another book off the shelf. You handed it to him with an almost secretive smile.

“This one’s for you,” you said, her voice gentle but firm.

Mattheo glanced down at the cover, raising an eyebrow at the title. Charlotte’s Web. His frown deepened. “This looks like a children’s book.”

You simply smiled, a knowing look in your eyes. “Just read it.”

Something in the way you said it made Mattheo pause. There was no humor, no teasing in your voice. You genuinely believed he needed to read it-and suddenly, he found himself wanting to, for reasons he couldn’t quite explain.

So, without a word, he tucked the book under his arm.

And in that moment, he knew something was changing between them. This wasn’t just about impressing you anymore, or about reading books to bridge the gap between who he was and who you were. No, now he wanted to know what made you tick. What made you laugh, what made you think, what made you open up the way you had in this room full of stories.

And that, he realized, was far more important than any book could ever be.

-

Usually, Mattheo Riddle did not read books for fun.

He rarely read anything that wasn’t strictly necessary. He skimmed his required textbooks with barely any interest, memorizing just enough to scrape through his exams. Books were a means to an end-nothing more. They weren’t a part of his world, not in the way they were a part of yours. They didn’t offer him any kind of escape, or warmth, or comfort. That was, until you came along. Until you gave him a glimpse into your world and, without realizing it, let him in.

Now, as he sat in the Slytherin common room, Charlotte’s Web rested in his lap, its pages fragile beneath his fingers. The warm, flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows across the words, giving the book an almost magical glow. He had every intention of reading it in peace, the silence of the room settling around him like a soft blanket.

He was determined to get through a few chapters before bed-just enough so he could return it to you tomorrow and maybe-just maybe-casually bring it up in conversation. Not that he wanted an excuse to talk to you. That would be absurd.

But before he could get lost in the pages, the familiar voices of Theo and Enzo broke the stillness.

“You’re actually doing it,” Theo said, his voice dripping with mock disbelief as he dropped into the armchair across from Mattheo. His arms were crossed, an amused smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re reading a children’s book.”

Enzo, sprawling lazily beside him, chuckled lowly. “No, no, he’s reading a children’s book for a girl.”

Mattheo groaned, sinking deeper into the couch as if trying to escape the inevitable teasing. “Would you two shut up?”

Theo snorted, clearly enjoying himself. “Come on, mate. This is you we’re talking about. Mattheo Riddle. The same guy who doesn’t even bring a quill to class, and now you’re voluntarily reading?” His voice was incredulous, as if the idea was utterly preposterous.

“It’s not voluntary,” Mattheo muttered, flipping to the next page with more force than necessary. His fingers were too tense, the paper creasing under his touch. “It’s just a book.”

Enzo raised an eyebrow, nudging Theo with a knowing grin. “Sure it is. We all know it’s love.”

Mattheo couldn’t help the scowl that twisted across his face as he grabbed a pillow from the couch and hurled it toward them. Enzo dodged it easily, his laughter ringing through the room.

“I’m not in love,” Mattheo muttered, though the words felt hollow even as they left his mouth. He couldn’t shake the heat rising to his face.

Theo smirked, unfazed. “Sure, you’re not. And I’m the bloody Minister of Magic.”

Mattheo ignored them, letting their laughter drift into the background as he focused on the book in his lap. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t read before, of course-he just never wanted to. But reading this book, now, with the dim light flickering against the pages, it felt… different. Like something more was at stake than simply turning pages.

As he tried to sink back into the narrative, a small detail caught his eye. It wasn’t the words on the page that made him pause-it was the ink that marked them. A section of text had been lightly highlighted, the ink barely visible against the thin, yellowed paper. And then, in the margins, were two simple words in your neat, slanted handwriting:

For Mattheo.

His heart stuttered in his chest, a sudden tightness gripping his throat. His fingers, almost by instinct, tightened around the book, pulling it closer to his face. Slowly, carefully, he reread the passage you had marked:

“Why did you do all this for me?” he asked. “I don’t deserve it. I’ve never done anything for you.”

"You have been my friend," replied Charlotte. "That in itself is a tremendous thing.”

The words felt heavier than they should have, resonating in a way Mattheo didn’t entirely understand. His stomach flipped, unease and something else-something warm-stirring within him.

You had left this for him.

You had thought of him, enough to mark this passage for him, to make sure he saw it.

And suddenly, it hit him with the force of a bludger: You weren’t scared of him anymore.

You weren’t running anymore. You weren’t turning away when he got too close. Somewhere between library conversations and book recommendations, somewhere in the quiet moments they had shared, you had let him in.

And Merlin help him, he had no idea what to do with that.

He read the passage again. And again. His thumb gently brushed the ink on the page as if he could somehow make sense of it, of you.

Theo and Enzo were still laughing, still throwing jabs at him, but Mattheo wasn’t listening anymore. Their voices faded into a dull hum, the only sound in the room now the steady rhythm of his own heartbeat. His thoughts were consumed with the weight of the words in front of him, the careful precision of your handwriting, the feeling that was slowly unfolding in his chest like something too beautiful, too delicate to touch.

He closed the book, the weight of it in his hands suddenly heavy with meaning. He brushed his thumb over the ink once more, feeling the curve of your letters under his skin.

For the first time in his life, Mattheo Riddle wanted to be someone worthy of the way you saw him.

And as he sat there, heart pounding, the room spinning just slightly around him, he realized something else:

Maybe, just maybe, he already was.

[idkwhylou]

𝐈. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬

Summary : Torn from your coastal homeland to seal an imperial alliance, in a wedding crafted for power, not love, you vow to fulfill your duty and perhaps find something more. But on your wedding night, you discover a colder truth: Marcus’s body is yours, but his heart is somewhere else. Still, you are determined to prove your worth, to decode his silence, and to uncover the man behind the armor.

Marcus Acacius x f!reader

Warnings : arranged marriage, mentions of politics, smut, cold behavior, age gap ? (not really mentioned or important), infidelity (towards reader), secret relationship, no y/n

Words : 5,8K

A/N : alright first part of the request ! Thanks again @negrita2345 for your excellent idea, hope you'll like it. Kind of anxious bcs I hope it’s good, I mean in the way you imagined it. Anyway if you have a better title, I'll take it lol. Anyway not much of angst but we need to start slow and setting the context

masterlist | next chapter

⋆.⋆༺𖤓༻⋆.⋆

The olive groves whispered like priests in prayers, swaying beneath the salt-heavy breeze that rose from the sea. From your terrace, the horizon gleamed, a stretch of molten silver where sky met water, endless and unreachable. White sails drifted across it like wandering souls: merchants, imperial messengers, galleys bearing soldiers with polished helmets and unseen orders. 

But today, the wind carried no peace. It was too quiet. Something had shifted, you could feel it long before anyone spoke it aloud. 

The household moved with unnatural quiet, servants murmured behind closed doors and hurried theirs steps as though silence might shield them from whatever was coming. Your father had not touched his breakfast. And you mother—your serene and inscrutable mother—sat rigid at the head of the table, her fingers endlessly smoothing the same fold in her silk robe, over and over, as of the repetition might erase the tremble in her hands. 

When a servant found you in the gardens and bowed deeply, announcing with careful reverence that your presence was requested in the atrium, your feet already knew where to carry you. The click of your sandals echoed off sun-warmed stone as you passed under the colonnade. It smelled faintly of crushed herbs and old parchment, your father’s scent, the scent of duty and legacy. 

Then you saw them, your father stood as though carved from granite: arms behind his back, posture impeccable, chin lifted with imperial resolve. His face was unreadable, but not empty, no. There was something behind his eyes, calculation, or maybe regret. Your mother was seated beside him, her back stiff but her gaze soft, resting not on you, but the floor. 

Two imperial envoys flanked the far pillars. Strangers in gleaming bronze, with helms tucked beneath their arms and scroll slung at their side. Their armor shone like mirrors, catching shards of sunlight that danced across the walls. One of the scrolls had a seal on, a red wax pressed with the mark of an eagle glinted like fresh blood. 

Your heart stuttered once in your chest. Not fear, not quite. Just the cold certainty that your life was about to be unmade. You stepped forward, voice calm and practiced. The same voice you would use at your father’s side while translating foreign decrees and entertaining Roman governors at the harvest feasts. 

“You summoned me, Father ?”

He did not look at you right away, instead, he dismissed the nearby servants with a flick of his fingers. Only when the last one bowed out the room, did he extend one hand toward the envoy. The scroll was handed over in a heavy silence, consuming a part of your soul.

You watched the wax break under your father’s thumb, a clean sound, like a lock opening. He read aloud, his voice loud and clear, “By order of the Roman Emperor, and with the blessing of the Senate, a marriage is hereby decreed…” He continued, but the words grew distant. Your ears filled with the sound of your own blood. 

A marriage ? 

You felt the floor tilt slightly under your feet, your stomach tightening as though braced for an all and your head spinning. Your breath snagged in your chest as you looked around for something—your mother’s eyes, the sea, anything steady—but the stone walls began to feel too close.

Still, you did not speak. You took a breath, deep like diving into cold water, and moved to your mother’s side. Her hand reached instinctively for yours, but you remained still. 

Your father’s voice dropped in tone, “You have been chosen.”

You had always known this day would eventually come. But you never imagined it would happen like this…. Not so early.

Your knees bent beneath you, and you let yourself fall beside your mother. You looked straight ahead, heart beating heavily, like a drum echoing down a long and empty corridor. You let the silence stretch until you had the strength to speak.

“To whom ?” you dared to ask because not asking would have felt like a surrender. 

Your father eyes finally met yours, “General Marcus Acacius,” he read, “a man held in highest favor by the Emperor himself.”

Each word struck with brutal precision. Marcus Acacius. A name carved into the bones of the Empire. You had heard it before, whispered with reverence by soldiers passing through your father’s court. Stories of battlefield valor, of loyalty, of a man more iron than flesh. You had never seen his face, but now his name felt heavier than gold. 

Your throat tightened. Rome. You were being sent to Rome. Your lips parted, but no sound emerged. You pressed them together again, holding in the cry that threatened to escape, just a crack in something old and unspoken. 

Your mother stood then, as if stirred by some silent storm. “Aretas,” she said, her voice urgent. “The General-”

“-is a man of honor”, your father interrupted sharply, giving her a warning look. “And this is not a request.”

“Aretas,” your mother hissed, stepping toward him, voice sharp with fear and something dangerously close to rage “You would send your own daughter like a sacrifice ? Offering her like some- some tribute to the Gods of war ?!” 

Your father turned his head slowly, his jaw clenched tight. “Mind your words.”

“She is too young !” your mother snapped, the tremble in her voice now pushed aside by fury. “She still walks barefoot in the garden. Still sleeps with the shutters open to hear the sea. You promised she would have a say, that there would be time-”

“-I promised,” your father cut in, louder now, “that she would be protected. That she would have a future.”

“She is not livestock to be bargained for land and influence !”

“She is the daughter of this house !” Aretas barked, the echo of his voice crashing against the walls, as one of the envoys shifted uncomfortably, “She bears my name and my blood. And that blood will mean something in Rome. Do you think I have not considered what this will cost her ?” he turned away as if the sight of you was too much. “what it will cost me ?!”

Your mother pressed her fingers to her temple, massaging them as she tries to steady herself. Then she looked at him again, her voice aching. “She was meant to be more than this…” she whispered as a cried escape her throat, “meant to choose who she loved.”

“She was born into a world where we do not get to choose,” your father replied calmer now, but his voice sounded like a man bearing the weight of a boulder no one else could see. “Not you. Not I. And not her.”

Your mother’s voice cracked, “You would give her to a man she has never met.”

“I would give her to a man who commands the loyalty of Rome. A man the Emperor trusts himself.” He glanced at you finally, “A man who will keep her alive and safe.”

“And what of her heart ?! What of her joy ?”

“Mother-” you tried to calm her down.

Your father looked away. “She will learn without it.”

She turned back to you and grasped your hand tightly, and this time, you let her. Her fingers trembled. “You do not have to accept this,” she whispered. “You are not a piece on the board.”

But you were. You had always been. And you knew it.

You rose slowly, gently letting go of her hand, and walked to the terrace again. The sea stretched before you, wide and glittering and full of vanished sails, the scent of salt stung your nose. A warm wind lifted the hem of your gown. You remembered running through those olive trees, chasing shadows between the rows. You remembered laughing, barefoot and free, before anyone asked anything of you.

You closed your eyes and then you nodded. “I will go,” you simply said.

Your mother gasped loudly, like something inside her had crumpled. She turned away, pressing her fingers to her lips.

You stood still, facing the horizon. “I will do my duty,” you whispered.

That was the beginning. The moment the Empire reached across the water and placed its claim upon your life.

⋆.⋆༺𖤓༻⋆.⋆

The marriage was held beneath a sky as blue as tempered steel, Rome’s finest stage set for politics disguised as ceremony. Marble gods stared down from their pedestals, unmoved by the day’s union. Senators stood in rings of gold-threaded togas, murmuring among themselves like old crows. Red petals were scattered over the flagstones, crushed underfoot like drops of blood. Every detail had been carved and calculated with purpose. 

Not for love, but for the Empire.

The Forum itself had been cleared, roped off by imperial guard. Lictors lined the periphery, their fasces polished, gleaming in the sun. A choir of flutes and lyres played from the steps of the temple, slow and solemn, not joyful but dignified, like the funeral of your freedom.

And yet, when you looked down the aisle, past the priests and the marble gods, you saw only him. He stood like he had been carved into place by fate, a figure of stoic poise and discipline. He wore the ceremonial breastplate of a General; gold and leather laced over his chest like armor made for myth. A dark crimson cloak draped over one shoulder, clasped with the mark of the Emperor’s seal.

He was taller than you had imagined, broader too. There was a steadiness to him that unnerved you. Not exactly stillness but what seems to be contained power. His face was carved from shadow and sunlight, jaw squared, and eyes the cold color of rain-smoothed stone. A thin scar curved along the left side of his jaw, not disfiguring, but sharp, like a signature. And those eyes, when they finally found yours, held no flicker of joy, no welcome. They were grounded, unreadable—everything but empty.

You had expected indifference, arrogance, perhaps. But what you found was something far more dangerous. Intrigue. He inclined his head in a silent greeting, a soldier’s nod; respectful and impossibly formal. Not a smile, not a spark. But not disdain either. Your breath caught when he looked at you, like a man preparing for a siege. And yet, something in you shifted. Not in fear, not even in disappointment, maybe… fascination ?

Your gown swept the marble behind you; white silk, embroidered with silver and copper threads in the style of your homeland, a small rebellion your mother had insisted on preserving. The veil shimmered behind you like mist, long and soft. At your side, your father walked stiffly, his expressions carved into diplomacy. He held your arm like he held his blade, firmly, not quite gently. Then, he had to leave you, let go of your arm and give you to the stranger you were about to marry. The man that would now take care of you.

The altar was lined with fresh-cut laurel and pomegranate. The priest chanted the sacred rites. Your name, and his, spoken aloud and you did not even know the sound of his voice. Yet, your fingers touched when the rings were passed, and that single brush of skin sent a whisper of something electric up your spine. 

His palm was cold. Yours trembled once. He did not look at you, not directly. But you saw his jaw tighten, like he had felt it too, and did not know what to do with all that knowledge. You wondered, absurdly, if he was nervous. The rings were slipped on, and the oaths exchanged, a scribe to the side of the altar wrote everything down on a parchment. 

And then, it was done. The General slowly bowed his head to you, like a man offering deference. As if you were a queen or at least something close enough to one. You barely breathed and then, without ceremony he stepped closer and pressed a kiss to the corner of your lips. It was not a kiss of a lover, nor even a husband. It was warm, brief, controlled, a brush of lips against your mouth—soft as breath and gone before your body could register it fully. It felt more like a vow than anything spoken aloud, enough to give the impression of a real kiss to anyone in the room. A promise, you told yourself, or at least, the possibility of one.

When he pulled back, his face remained unreadable, but his eyes lingered just a second longer than necessary. Your pulse caught and something in your chest uncoiled, just slightly.

He offered you his arm and you took it, not because you had to, but because in that moment you wanted to. The applause rose behind you, Rome roaring her approval. The marriage had ended not in intimacy but in spectacle. Trumpets blared, laurel wreaths were raised, a sea of dignitaries, senators, Generals and foreign envoys surged toward the newlyweds like waves crashing. Rome really knew how to honor herself with grandeur. 

You followed the General—now your husband—through the ceremony’s afterbirth, your arm still looped lightly around his. His pace faltered, but he did not speak, not a word since the vow. He only nodded to those who saluted him, eyes scanning the crowd like a commander in unfamiliar terrain; polite, present but unreachable. 

He escorted you up the steps of the banquet hall, a domed, opulent chamber overflowing with gold-threaded cushions and garlands of flame-colored flowers. Long tables were set with silver bowls of figs and honey-glazed. Musicians played a slow, elegant melody that failed to cover the growing thrum of conversation and political hunger. You were sat beside him on the raised dais. He poured your wine without being asked, a gesture so rehearsed it barely felt real. 

“Is everything alright ?” he asked at last. His voice was low and measured, like someone asking after a guest, not their wife.

You looked at him, studying the face everyone in Rome revered; hard lines, eyes like winter stone, no warmth and no cruelty. He had done nothing wrong, but he also had done nothing at all. 

“I am fine.”

He gave you a short nod, then returned to scanning the room. You sat in silence for another few minutes, listening to the rustle of silk, the laughter of people who knew how to perform joy. Rome was a chorus of masks, and you had not yet found your own. Suddenly you could not breathe under the weight of it all, the crowd, the wine, the stifling future curling around your throat like incense. 

“I need a moment.” You murmured.

The General turned slightly, “Do you want me to come with you ?”

You hesitated when you thought you saw a hint of concern in his eyes, until you realized it was more impatience. As if he was waiting for you to leave in a hurry and that you will not ask him to follow you. His question, actually, was not a question, just an illusion of goodwill. “No. I will manage alone.”

You slipped away down one of the side corridors, grateful no one stopped you. The quiet found you quickly, pressed between the walls and the cool hush of shadow. You exhaled as your footsteps slowed. And then, you saw her. She stood beside a bronze basin, one hand lightly skimming the water’s surface, she had the posture of someone who belonged to every palace she ever entered. The low torchlight painted her in gold and shadow. The gown she wore was violet—not just beautiful, but deliberate. Imperial.

You had never seen her face before, even not during the ceremony, or at least you thought so. There were so many people today, that, you had not even been able to talk to your own mother since the ring around your finger sealed your future. The woman was older than you and impossibly poised, the kind of woman whose presence made others instinctively stand straighter. A circlet of hammered gold rested in her hair. 

“Oh,” she said, her lips curling into the beginnings of a smile, a kind expression on her face as she turned to see you. “You needed a moment too ?”

You paused, just outside the doorway, unsure if you were intruding. “Yes,” you said. “The hall is... a storm.”

She gave a quiet laugh. “That is a generous word for it.”

Her voice was soft but assured—a voice trained in courtrooms, or perhaps something even older. She stepped slightly away from the basin and folded her hands loosely before her. “I watched you, during the ceremony,” she continued gently. “You carried yourself well. I remember my own wedding…my knees would not stop shaking.” She adds with a chuckle. There was no bitterness in her tone. Only memory.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice more honest than you had expected. “I had no training in how to marry a stranger.”

She tilted her head. “No one has. Not really.”

There was a quiet, companionable moment. And in it, something settled. Her gaze on you, curious, thoughtful, without a hint of superiority. Just as you began to ask something—anything, out of instinct more than strategy—footsteps clicked at the far end of the corridor. A servant appeared in a rush, breath shallow, eyes darting between you both.

“Domina—” the girl began, before catching herself. “Mar— the banquet awaits your return.”

You turned your head, but not before seeing her expression falter, just for a flicker. Not shame, just the lightning-fast reflex of someone used to secrecy. 

Her smile then returned effortlessly. “Of course,” she said, with a nod. “Thank you.”

The servant bowed and backed away quickly. The still unknown woman looked at you again, her voice calm. “It is never truly your night, is it ? Not in Rome. Every moment belongs to someone else.”

You did not know what to say. Her eyes searched yours, not intrusively, but with a strange gentleness. “I hope,” she said softly, “that he will be kind to you.”

And then she turned, leaving you in silence, the scent of myrrh and rose trailing after her like a veil. You stood alone for a long minute, your breath lodged somewhere between your ribs. 

⋆.⋆༺𖤓༻⋆.⋆

The villa was quiet now, the revelers long since departed. Torchlight flickered along the walls of your new chambers. Servants had come and gone, laying out fruit, wine, flowers. Silk robed folded neatly, oils on the table and perfumed water in basins in which you had bathed and dried your hair with trembling fingers.

The door closed behind him without a sound. You had been sitting by the window—watching the night spill over the city like ink. The moon hung heavy and indifferent as its rays reflected off your skin, a strange shade of blue—the silk robe clinging to your skin still damp from the bath, the scent of rose oil ghosting over your collarbones. You did not look up at first, you had imagined this moment so many ways that the real thing felt too fragile to meet head-on.

But when you turned, you saw him.

He stood there in the glow of the fire, freshly changed into a dark linen tunic. His formal armor was gone, replaced by something quieter, more intimate, though the presence he carried made the room feel no less like a battlefield. He was… handsome, yes—striking, even. The sculpted kind of man you only ever saw carved into stone. His brows furrowed as if in thought, or perhaps weariness, and his eyes watched you like a soldier scanning a map before a march. 

Still, you could not help the way your heart stuttered when he finally stepped closer. “My lord,” you said, quieter than you meant to.

At that, he tilted his head slightly. A single dark brow lifted, not unkindly, more like curiosity. “You may call me Marcus,” he said, his voice low and even. “We are husband and wife now. No need for titles in private.”

There was a careful courtesy in the way he said it. Not warm. Not cold. Like a gate held half open, daring you to enter but offering no welcome.

You nodded once, unsure it that was kindness or obligation. “Marcus,” you repeated, tasting the name. 

He crossed the room with military precision as you rose to your feet slowly, smoothing the folds of your robe with shaking hands. And for a long moment, silence stretched between you like a blade unsheathed but not yet used. He wasted no time in catching your eye and slipped into the sheets of the—your sharing bed.

“You are not what I expected,” you murmured before you could stop yourself, moving unconsciously in his direction.

That made him pause. “No ?”

You shook your head. “You are… quieter.”

A breath of something like amusement crossed his face, not quite a smile, but the ghost of it. “Most Generals are quieter after the wedding than before it,” he said dryly.

That startled a soft laugh from you; small, nervous. He turned his face then, as if your reaction had caught him off guard. He looked at the wall, then the floor, anywhere but at you.

You studied him.

There was something about the way he carried himself. The way his fingers flexed once at his sides and then stilled again, that felt like he could control fire. And it drew you. Even now, even as you knew this was not a love story, maybe not yet, or maybe never—but you were drawn to him.

After this evening at his side, you had expected nothing from a man like him. Still, as you sat across from him at the imperial banquet—smiling politely, answering questions from governors and senators who barely remembered your name—you could not help glancing at him in those small, unguarded moments. 

Marcus Acacius was every inch the legend you had heard of: carved from silence, shaped by discipline. His posture never faltered, even when seated, and his replies were devoid of warmth. But what struck you most was the restraint in his gaze, like there was something caged behind those irises. And yet, when his eyes landed on you, even briefly, something changed. 

A flicker, gone before it could fully become a thought. A hesitation, as if there was a war behind those eyes that had nothing to do with you. You did not flatter yourself into thinking he was pleased by the match. No one truly was. This was not a marriage woven of love or even desire. It was strategy, diplomacy, obedience. A bargain between Empires, in which you were the treaty dressed in white. 

But you were determined to be more than that. You had promised yourself—there, on the terrace of your homeland, when the sails of your old life disappeared behind you—that you would not enter this marriage meekly. You would do your duty, yes. But more than that: you would try to love. You would give this cold stone the warmth of yours hands, even if it never warmed in return. 

He had barely spoken to you since the ceremony. A bow. A glance. He had offered his arm but not his voice. You watched him, not as an infatuated girl—you were not that foolish—but as a woman determined to understand the man she had been given to. 

There was something in him, you were sure of it. A kind of tension, as if every movement was measured to avoid some fault. And it made you wonder what lay buried under all that discipline ? Even the greatest Generals were made of flesh, even marble could cracked under pressure. 

You wanted—needed—to know who he was when the armor came off. And tonight, in the hush that followed the ceremony… you would begin to try.

“I will not force you,” he said suddenly, voice tight. “If you would prefer to wait, I-”

“I do not want to wait,” you said, before you could give yourself time to retreat. “This is our wedding night. I would rather… not be alone.”

He looked at you then. “Very well,” he said simply.

You sat on the edge of the bed, near his feet, leaving just enough space between you to preserve modesty, and just enough closeness to feel the tension like a thread drawn taut between your bodies. The room was dim, lit only by candles flickering near the carved columns. Somewhere beyond the walls, musicians still played for the last drunk guests, but their music had thinned, like it was too hesitating.

For a moment he grimaces, a faint tightening around his eyes, as if settling into something that did not quite fit. You turned your face fully toward him now, unsure whether to speak, unsure whether silence would offend or comfort. When he adjusted his posture and leaned back a little, his gaze slid toward you again, and then, down. 

Your robe clung faintly to your skin in places that left much to the imagination, thin and delicate, the firelight made suggestions of the shape beneath it. You had not meant it to be seductive, but you had not stopped it either. His eyes lingered, no longer guarded. After all he was a General, not a monk. 

A muscle in his jaw tightened, his hand curled, crumpling the sheet at his side. You bit your lower lip, almost without realizing it, heart thudding. You had imagined wanting from him, but it was just a thought. Maybe something you could use to reach him. 

Just for a breath, he looked at you not as duty, but as a woman. 

And something flickered across is expression, as if torn between distance and desire—no, worse; as if he had fought the feeling and already lost.

You took a breath that trembled in your chest and let the courage carry you forward. Slowly—almost reverently—you crawled across the sheets, each movement delicate. The soft rustle of fabric beneath your knees was the only sound as you were now on all fours, looking at him directly in the eye. You kept your hungry eyes fixed on him, searching his face for any kind of reaction. He was statuesque in the low light, his expression unreadable once again, though his body seemed to betray him as you could feel his already hard cock beneath the sheets, which made you smirk.

A flush of warmth spread through your chest as you did not know how to begin. You straddled him gently, your thighs sliding over his, your breath hitching as your bodies aligned. His eyes flickered open, and for a moment, just a moment, there was something there—not desire, not affection, but… permission. And, you could work with that.

You stood over him with your arms embedded in the mattress, you leaned down and placed a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth—a quiet echo of the one he had given you at the altar, but his lips did not move, they did not even flinched. 

Undeterred, you continued. A kiss on his cheek, then another along the edge of his jaw, yet another just below his ear, a trail down the column of his throat. You felt him shift beneath you, a ripple of muscle and restraint. A sound escaped him, almost a sigh, but muted. His hands came hesitantly to your hips, trying to push you away carefully. But, you rocked your hips once, lightly—testing, and his grip tightened—more by instinct, like a simple reflex but—pressed your body a little closer to his. 

You smiled faintly and rose, looking only at him with a burning desire, slowly peeling back the sheet between you. His eyes snapped open with surprise, maybe a quiet resistance ? His hands slid over your thighs and he closed once again his eyes, taking a deep breath. You did not pause anyway. Your hands moved with a confidence you did not quite feel, lifting the hem of your robe and slipping it over your head. Revealing your warm and naked body to him, as the air kissed your bare nipples. You saw his gaze moving over you, and for a breathless heartbeat, you felt seen. 

But then, suddenly, it was gone. His eyes drifted to the side, unfocused and his jaw clenched. You tried not to falter. 

He leaned back against the headboard as you settled atop him again, you took advantage of this moment to lift yourself gently and removed the covers that had separated your bodies until then. He looked at you with intrigue, certainly not expecting such gesture and ardor from you. Then, lifting the edge of his tunic to free him, you licked your lips impatiently. His cock was rock hard—thick and ready—but he barely reacted to your touch. No smirk, no words, no heat in his eyes. 

Still, you guided his fat cock to your entrance, offering a last glance—a silent plea to meet you there, even if it is just for a moment. You sank down, gasping at the stretch, your body trembling as he filled you completely. Slowly you took him inch by inch, your breath breaking into gasps as your body stretched to accommodate him. Just too much at once, a new world splitting open inside you and your moan broke the silence like a confession.

He grunted softly beneath you, but you moved anyway, riding slowly. As he spread your walls, you let out a loud moan, scrunching up your face from the slight pain. Your hands braced on his broad shoulders and your breath mingled with the scent of his skin. You bit your lip, letting soft sounds escape, trying to give yourself fully. He was so deep inside you, you could feel his cock in your stomach, and the sensation was just delicious, you could not stop yourself anymore.

He let out a few careless whimpers, as your hands found support on his broad shoulders, allowing you to keep your balance and find a rhythm that suited your desires. You bit your lower lip and moaned once more, his hands shyly roaming your body as you surrendered yourself completely to him, leaving no room for hesitation. Suddenly he frowned and sighed through his nostrils, then look at you—properly—just once, a long and unreadable gaze. 

Your hands clenched at his shoulders, as he made no move to guide you through it. So you set another rhythm, slower—rolling your hips to feel every inch of him inside you. Your hands found his chest to steady yourself, and your thighs trembled with the effort. His hands left your body and found the sheets beside him. You let go and tried to make him want you again, but it was as if he had barricaded himself in, letting you use his body as you pleased. You leaned in, trying to draw him back, but he moved his head slightly, preventing you from kissing him or even making contact with his skin.

The warmth between your legs grew and you began to ride him with growing confidence, chasing something unspoken between you. You tried to catch his eyes, but he was not looking at you anymore. His head tilted back; eyes closed, lips parted slightly in some imagined reverie. Your fingers traced along his collarbone, but he did not stir. It was as if he was unable to face the sight of your body on his. 

Still straddling him, your movements reduced to a fragile rhythm. Not for pleasure anymore, but for your dignity. To convince yourself there was still something happening between your bodies. But he was limp beneath your touch, his body remains inside yours, but something in him was… gone. You looked down at him, pleading, and saw the furrow between his brows, the ways his lips seemed to mouth something you could not decipher. 

You slow to a stop and stay still atop him, your breathing uneven and shallow from the thrum of something colder uncoiling inside you. The rise and fall of his chest beneath you were distant, absent. His hands no longer held you, his eyes had closed again, retreating into some private place far from where your skin met his. 

And then, the question tumbled from your lips before you could bury it. “Am I…” you paused, voice tight, “not doing it right ?”

The words hung in the air between you like a mist that refused to lift. He opened his eyes and looked directly at you. Not at your body, your mouth or your hands, even less the place where you were joined. But at your eyes, like a man stepping into a memory he had not meant to find. 

There was no irritation in his expression, no hunger. Just softness, and what seems like pity. And that, somehow, was worse. His voice was almost careful when he responded, “No. You are alright.”

But he did not say what it was. Your fingers, unsure, rested on his chest where his heartbeat barely stirred beneath your palm. You leaned forward slightly, a whisper of movement, your voice fragile now. “I can try something else, if you want.” A thread of hope knotted tight in your chest. “If you tell me what pleases you, I-I can try…”

For a moment, silence. Then a quiet breath and a small shake of his head. “I am just tired,” he murmured. “That is all.”

Just tired. 

That simple. 

That final. 

You stayed there, frozen in that moment, as if stillness might hold something together—whatever this was supposed to be. But the thread between you had already slackened. A tender, desperate intimacy folded into something formal. As though your body had become just another offering to be endured. 

He shifted, gently—not urgently—adjusting the blanket, reaching for the edge of the sheet. You took the silent cue, sliding off him with grace you barely possessed in that moment, pulling the cover over yourself in one practiced motion. You turned away so he would not see your face, because you were not sure what expression you wore.

Marcus settled back into the mattress with the weary composure of a soldier finished with duty. His arm fell across his chest and his eyes shut again, for good this time. You lay beside him a long while, watching the gold-leafed ceiling flicker with candlelight. Somewhere beyond the walls, music still played. 

You slipped from the bed, eventually, quiet as the dying flame of the candle next to you, and walked barefoot to the far end of the room. You wrapped yourself in the nearest robe, not for modesty, but for armor. You settled back into bed beside him, leaving as much distance as possible before closing your eyes. And just as you felt yourself drift off into a deep sleep, a solitary tear escaped your eye.

⋆.⋆༺𖤓༻⋆.⋆

masterlist | next chapter

[moonstruck-muses]

TASTE OF HEAVEN | nsfw

SUMMARY: You're head over heels for your boyfriend, if only you could realize the truth he's been hiding from you about his true nature. (Minimal plot)

Pairing: vampire!jake x afab reader

minors dni!

notes: this is, without a doubt, the most self indulgent thing I've ever written. I also can't remember if/when the last time I wrote something so explicit was. You can thank Josie (@pprodsuga) for that.

word count: 6.1k

content descriptions under cut

would love a reblog and comment <3

content warnings: fingering, oral sex (receiving), descriptions of blood, hypnotism/minor gaslighting, unprotected sex/creampie

<3 <3 <3 <3

He sits by the window, still in his suit from earlier. One long leg is crossed over the other as he swirls a dark liquid around in a whisky glass. He’s pensive, and the moonlight and city lights streaming in from the floor to ceiling panes cuts across him like he’s in a photographer’s studio, waiting to be captured in time. He’s distant from everyone and everything, lost in another planet. But every time you see him, you swear he was taken out of a painting, his beauty breathtaking. It’s a mesmerizing spell you can never quite seem to break.

Every time you’re alone with Jake, you feel like you’re dancing around something untouchable. It’s just hard to pinpoint what exactly. After all, for all intents and purposes Jake’s the perfect boyfriend. He always listens to you intently, cocking his head to one side with a grin. He’ll wrap you in his arms and won’t let you go the whole night while you sleep, and sometimes when you’ve been texting him all day complaining about work, you come home to a delivery order from your favorite restaurant at your door. But sometimes, it feels like he’s unreachable. His gaze will wander off, or he’ll look like there’s something weighing on him—deep and pressing. But you’ll ask about it and he’ll perk up, waving it off as just being tired. Just like now. 

You hadn’t even realized you were just standing there staring, but Jake Sim’s preternaturally keen senses already pick you up at the edge of the room. He looks away from the cityscape, and immediately, his gaze softens when he catches a glimpse of you. You decided to surprise him earlier, when you couldn’t resist the soft pink lace and silk of the slip you saw at the store. Your cheeks go pink when you see the way his gaze practically devours you, as he so lovingly takes in every curve and detail of your body. 

“Is it too much?” You ask shyly.

“Too much?” He responds a little breathlessly. “Baby, no, it’s perfect. You’re perfect.” He sets down his glass as  you pad over to him. He pulls you onto his lap, nuzzling your neck. You smile, relaxing into the familiar warmth of his embrace. 

“What were you thinking about?” You ask playfully, gently placing your arms over his shoulders. His signature mischievous smirk spreads across his face and he squeezes your sides. 

“You, of course. I’m always thinking about you.” He responds in between soft kisses at your neck, and although you’re not quite sure if that’s the truth, tonight, you’ll take the affection. You gently cup his cheeks and lift his head so your eyes meet. You think you might drown in the chocolate pool of his gaze. A smile has replaced the the distant look from his earlier state, like the sun pouring light out after a heavy rain, the sight of you enrapturing him. It’s your favorite part of him, the pure warmth that always seems to radiate from him and all the love he has to give.

“Isn’t that so sweet,” you purr, and you slip a hand down the front of his chest, and start to twirl his tie around your hand, before pulling it taut and leaning into to press your lips to his. Jake groans, low and hungry as you slip your tongue into his mouth, and he grips you tight against him, kissing you hard enough that you forget what oxygen feels like. When you finally break apart, you’re both a little breathless, lips wet from each other. You can already feel the wetness pooling at your core, and you’re still clinging to Jake’s tie like it’s your lifeline. 

“I think you’re made of sugar, spice, and everything nice,” You tease in a low voice, before pressing a kiss to his nose. 

“Y/N” he whispers. The desire dripping from his voice, like a wine glass overfilled, threatens to undo you then and there. Before you can speak, Jake stands, still carrying you in his arms and you let out a small “Oh!” Of surprise. He looks down at you with a grin. He’s always enjoyed catching you off guard, and you’ve seen the way he lights up at everyone of your smallest joys. It makes you tumble off the cliff a little more every time you see him, and you’ve realized at this point, you’re so deep in the haze of love, you don’t think you could ever come out of it. 

He sets you down on his bed, the soft cotton of the sheets enveloping you, and you reach for him again by the tie, pulling him down, hungry for his kisses. He cups the back of your head to steady himself, smiling into the kiss before he pulls back. “You seem to be so fascinated by this, I’ll give it to you.” And in one graceful motion, he’s tying your hands above your head to the headboard with the tie, and you’re pretty sure there’s already a stain  underneath you just from that. He throws off his blaze and undoes his shirt, button by button, and you gaze over him hungrily, obsessively. You remember the first time you slept together, and how gentle he was as he took his time learning your body.  Now he knows the tricks, he knows what makes you tick, and he’ll take his sweet time, no matter how torturous it is to you. 

You groan when you see his bare torso and he licks his lips. 

“How and why are you so perfect?” You whine, ready to skip the foreplay and get straight to the point. 

“Now you know how I feel princess, when I look at you.” And he climbs on top of you, one hand grabbing your wrists, and the other slipping underneath your nightgown, gripping the skin of your waist as he goes in for a kiss. Your knees come up and you grip his sides, and you can feel his smile even though the kiss. He drags his lips down your jawline to your neck, and he sucks and nips at the soft skin, causing you to gasp from the sensation. 

“Hold still for me, okay?” 

“Okay,” you squeak out, holding your breath in anticipation. Your train of thought abruptly breaks off as searing pain tears its way through your neck. You can’t help the scream that rips its way out of you, and Jake’s hands tighten around your wrist in comfort. Moments later the hot pain ripples off into sweet ecstasy, his venom flooding through your veins, leaving you dazed and on cloud nine. He finally pulls himself off your neck, and with your hazy eyes you see his satisfied grin as his fangs flash, covered in blood. 

Your head spins in confusion as you try to piece together what's happening, but primal desire wars itself against the fear trying to clock itself in your head. Jake just smiles down at you, raking his gaze over your body, drunk on the first taste of his indiscretion. 

“You’re so fucking sweet, it’s taking everything in me not to drain you.” He gives you another gentle kiss, and every time the heat of his touch dances across your skin, you see stars behind your eyes. His fingers press into your soaked panties, eliciting a loud moan from you as he rubs the thin fabric, friction rubbing against your most sensitive spots. The blood loss and the venom from his fangs make everything feel loose, like a dream that will shatter with one tap of the glass. Jake loves seeing you this disarmed, knowing how easily you catch him off guard on the daily. It was a dance he’d done with you so many times before—even if you didn’t know it. He could always pick you up at the corners of his periphery, trying to analyze him, break him down, see past the curtain when you thought he wasn’t paying attention, but he always was. He could just never let you in. Truth be told, he had been wanting to come clean about his secret for a while, he just didn’t know how to approach it. He had wondered if you would be scared, if you would leave and call him a liar. Earlier he had been building up the courage to stick to his guns, that this time, he’d let you stay with the truth in the morning light. In this moment, though, he wanted to keep you by his side forever. 

He sits back on his thighs and gently removes the soaked fabric of your panties. His fingers easily slip across your soaked folds, your arousal already trickling down your thighs. He leans down to give you a quick kiss, clearly already pleased with himself. He catches your whine in his mouth, the heat and tightness in your stomach and between your legs rising. He gently soothes you with two of his fingers pumping in and out of your cunt, the sound of the wet squelches filling the room as you’re practically spilling over with arousal, so wet your entire pussy is absolutely slicked in it.

“It’s too much, it’s too much!” You whimper, feeling dangerous close to tipping over the ledge.

“It’s okay pretty girl, you’re doing so good for me. Just let yourself feel good.” He works his fingers harder and faster, pressing into the sweet spot deep within you as he hovers over you. You start to shake, labored pants escaping you, and it only urges him along faster as he rubs your clit with his thumb. You feel the heat rise between your legs, the tightness in your stomach hitting a breaking point in its tension. Your hands yank against the hold of the tie and you cry out “J-Jayeun!” as you cum all over his hand, eyes rolling back as adrenaline rushes through your body. 

Jake can’t help the breathy, flustered, laugh that escapes his mouth as you use his other name, and he keeps rubbing even as you cum, making your hips buck as the pleasure rises, the first tide of it dragging you under.

“That’s right, ride it out my love, ride it out baby girl,” he coos at you, until you’ve collapsed down into the sheets. He pulls his hands away finally and then sucks on his fingers, lapping up every last drop of you, mixing your cum and blood in his mouth, making more of a mess of himself.

“Shit. Every part of you is just a delicacy,” he whispers as he goes in again at your neck. Just one taste isn’t enough for him, he wants all of you—every last drop, every last vein. He wants to taste you from your neck down to your thighs, to rip through muscle and bone, and if he could consume your soul, he’d be hungry for it too. 

You’re already wiped from the first orgasm, that when his fangs sink into the bruised flesh of your neck, it takes a moment to register the pain. You cry out again, and he holds you tight to his body, even as your hands flex and writhe trying to get free. But again, the familiar heat of the venom easing its way into pleasure starts to override you, and you lose your struggle. Jake sinks his fangs in a bit deeper, and you feel him breathing heavily against you. His erection presses against you, digging into you through the fabric of his slacks. You let out a soft pained moan and he quickly rips himself off. 

“Shit, I’m sorry, you’re just— oh shit.” He presses a gentle kiss to the wound, where blood trickles down the side of your neck. “Are you okay, Y/N?” He asks frantically. Your eyes flutter and you look at him through your droopy lids. 

“Mmhm…want more..want you,” you mumble. He stare at you a bit bewildered, before breaking off into a relieved laugh. “You want more?” 

You nod, each movement making you dizzy. “I want you,” you say again. 

“Me?” He pretends to be shocked, but he’s already undoing his pants. His boxers are already stained with his precum and he wastes no time in getting them off his body, discarding them to some corner of the room, before leaning down over you and peppering your face with kisses. 

“I promise, I’ll take such good care of you,” he whispers into your ear before nipping at the lobe.

His mind flashes back to when you two had first met. It had been through a mutual friend, and at first he had been uncertain. Of course loneliness had pervaded every corner of his existence, the kind of partnership he sought was just a phantom of a memory. He had always blurred the lines of love and desire, lust and romance. It always ended catastrophically-pitchfork and curses and stakes, and his own broken heart to mend over and over again. Jake knew that getting his hopes up like that would just end in crushed desires, fantasies desecrated to ash. And then you came along. You with your perfect hair, and your perfect smile, and your perfect laugh. You would make a witty comment, the kind of snark that cuts through stone, followed with a blush and a shy smile because you always worried you took it too far when you blurted out something before you could reel it in. You, who despite your tough girl act, was the softest soul he had met, always making room in her heart for another person in need of a friend. You who took his own battered heart into her hands, and grew a home with him. You with never evening passion and life. You, who, when he asked about your past loves, had said you didn’t know if you had ever felt true love before. And you, who when he had asked what you wanted in a relationship, gave him a wry smile and a kiss before whispering into his ear “Obsession.” And so obsession he had given you, obsession that had fostered itself as a spark in him and blossomed into a raging fire that consumed him day and night. Obsession that he had planted in you with every kiss and every bite.

Jake leans up and slowly, luxuriating the taste, he sings his fangs into your wrist. You buck underneath him and he squeezes his legs against you, his veiny cock pressing hard against your abdomen, leaking precum all over your bare skin. He drops down and presses a kiss to your forehead, your nose, and a soft one to your lips, your chin, and the center of your throat, before he drags his tongue down the base of your throat. He keeps going, across your chest, and circles your nipples, nipping and sucking at them until they’re peaked and you think you’ll orgasm right there. But each wave of pleasure is cut through with the searing fire as he sinks his fangs into the side side of each breast. He goes lower, placing his hands under your lower back as he grips you tight and slides his lips down your stomach, and down to the wet and heated mess between your legs. His tongue slides just past where you want relief the most, and it stops at the most sensitive part of your thigh, exactly where it meets your hip. He presses soft kisses to your skin, his strong hands coming down to keep your legs spread as he so sweetly licks the left one, priming it before he bites at it. You wail out his name, and the sounds of agony only make him harder. He does the same to your right leg, holding the other leg tightly so you don’t try to shut them. He doesn’t stop until the intoxicating scent of your blood, rust to you, and like golden nectar to him, has engulfed him entirely. The dark red streams of it run freely from every one of the punctures down your body, like you’re a sacrificial lamb left at his altar. Jake looks up at you and a primal growl escapes him. He can’t help but be turned on by the way you shake and tremble, arousal, pain, fear, desperation all mingling in a sweet scent that makes him want to lose control. Your blood pumps strong and hard through his veins, he’s drank enough of it that it’s more human blood than he’s had all year. His humanity starts to crumble to the predator that lies in slumber deep within him. He needs you, to own you, to make sure you are his, and the only thought in your brain, the only words on your tongue, morning, noon, and night are Jake Sim. 

Tears stream down your face, and in comfort, he kisses your clit, licking and sucking your core, while his hands gently massage your breasts pausing as he roughly pinches and grabs at your nipples. You moan and throw your head back, body aching for Jake to be on every single cell of your skin. His tongue slips inside you, sliding around the warm walls of your center, and your legs lock around his head, the frame of the bed creaking as you pull at your bonds. Jake takes his time, even though he wants to see the instant gratification of you orgasming now. Every sound from you is music, and every drop of your arousal hitting his tongue as he moves his mouth around your slit nearly spurs him into a frenzy. His fingers start to work slow, sadistic circles at your clit while he snakes his tongue in around your slit. Jake lets out a feral groan as he works his way through you and is met with you grinding his hips against his lips and tongue, trying to get him deeper in you. He can’t stop, wanting all of you and as you lean into him it makes him want to go insane. Jake’s hands snake under your thighs, forcing you open wider as he laps at you harder, angling his head so his tongue can hit the golden spot deep within you.  You jerk under his touch, unable to reach for him as your wrists are still firmly tied about you. He’s so fucking hard he can’t take it. He ruts into the bed, desperate for pleasure, but trying to hold out for you as long as he can. He wants to feel your pussy closing down around his cock, tight and warm. He wants to pound into you so hard you can’t make any noise except those desperate little mewls completely submitted to him.He’s been too greedy tonight and already taken more than his fair share of your blood, but he wants to draw this out of you for as long as possible, to coax out orgasm after orgasm, until you’re nothing but a fucked out, droopy mess. 

“F-Fuck, Jake, please, please, please, please,” you blubber out. You can practically feel the blood pounding through every single one of your veins as you fuck yourself harder against him. 

He pulls back, licking his lips, eyes gleaming. 

“Please what?” He hums knowing how close he is to breaking you and relishing it. He’s dreamt about this moment for so long. About what it would feel like to let go of all faculties and ravish you like the monster he is. 

“Please I want you to fuck me,” you gasp out, trying to suck in air as the dizzying rush of his tongue subsides. You’re drunk on the way he feels against every part of you, and every second he isn’t on you or in you is agony—even though every second he is makes you feel like you’re going to explode. 

“Say my name,” Jake says roughy, going back for a stream of light and soft kisses at your inner thigh that nearly makes your eyes roll back into your head. You try to compose yourself enough to speak, but the words keep dying on your tongue. 

“Say my name and I’ll fuck you,” he teases gently pressing his lips to each of the bite wounds on your thigh. 

“J…Jake please! Jake please I’ll do anything,” you scream. He presses one last rough, messy kiss to your slit, smiling through it with satisfaction as he laps up as much of you as he can.

“Good girl,” he croons before pulling up and pressing a kiss to your lips. He takes his cock in his hand and positions it, although he’s already soaked with precum, he rubs it along your center before sliding in. 

“Shit!” He groans, at the same time as you let out a breathy “Fuck!” His arms come down on either side of your head, as he gasps pathetically. You’re so warm for him, you fit so perfectly around his cock, he could stay like this forever. The rush of it all goes to his head and Jake almost loses it then and there. He starts to move back and forth, gently at first, giving you a moment to adjust, but you start roll your hips against his and the friction makes him let out a guttural sound. 

“You’re desperate aren’t you?” Jake rasps into your ear, burying his face in neck for a few moments, before he needs to pull back. He can't have this over yet. On the way back, he ghosts his lips down your collarbone and chest, before closing his lips on one of your already erect nipples and sucking on it, taking a moment to lap up some of the remaining blood from his previous bite. He sits back up, watching you squirm with the tease, and lifts a leg of yours over his shoulder, and then slides  one of the pillows under your lower back. Jake starts to move faster, harder, deeper. You can feel him bottoming you out, and you swear you’ve never felt this full in your life as your body gets pushed down into the soft comfort of the pillow. He looks down at you, and presses a hand to your stomach, grinning to himself where he can see the bulge of his cock thrusting into you. He speeds up again, entranced by how fully he’s overtaken you.

“Fuck you’re taking this so well, princess” he pants, and you can only manage erratic huffs and whines beneath him, feeling him pressing up and into your center. Every time he rams into you, you feel it in every cell of your body, rattling your brain in your skull, every muscle and bone and sinew practically pulling itself apart. It’s overstimulating, it’s overpowering, and it’s glorious. Jake takes your other leg and puts it over his other shoulder as well, holding your legs in place with a gentle hand around your shins,  and the sound you make as the new angle hits the perfect spot is practically animalistic. A sly smirk splits itself across’s Jakes face as he looks down you, huffing as he doesn’t stop rolling his hips. 

“Oh there it is, isn’t it?” He teases before lowers one of his hands and starting to rub circles on your clit without breaking his pace. 

“It— mmm, fu—ahh!” You try to piece something together, but your eyes have already started to glaze over as you get cock drunk on the sensation. Jake throughs his head back and lets out an airy laugh. He loves nothing more than the sight of your pleasure, and getting you off is a drug to him. 

“D’ya think you can cum? Come on baby girl,” He urges, almost pleading. “Cum for me,” his voice sounds so distant yet like it’s right up beside you at the same time. The second orgasm is slower and deeper, being pulled out of you like a thread unspooling. You feel it in your head first, before it flutters down through you stomach, and you arch your back, mouth open in an “o”, and for a moment you lose all sense of time. As the stars rearranged themselves in your eyes and you felt the euphoric unravel of the knot inside you, you wonder how many times you could relive the first sin, if it meant staying in this heaven forever. Jake’s eyes nearly roll back into his head as he feels you clenching and shuddering around his cock combined with the prettiest face he could ever dream of you making. He throws a hand forward against the headboard to steady himself, breathing heavily as you come down from your high.

“Fuck, Y/N. You don’t eve know what you’re doing to me right now.” He whispers hoarsely, and you’re too fucked out to even process what’s happening, only knowing that your body aches for him, for him to stay near you, on you, in you.

He reaches up and easily undoes your binds, You gasp, too weak to move as your arms collapse beside you, the silk tie fluttering to the side, but you don’t have a moment of reprieve as he flips you over and begins to ruthlessly pound into you from behind. He has an arm wrapped around your front, holding your bloodied neck against his forearm, while the other steadies itself against your lower back. You let out an incoherent cry as you feel the full force of his length deep inside you. Your hands grip the silk of the sheets hard enough that your knuckles are white, and your vision starts to twin and blur at each impact. 

“Jake…Jake…Jake!” You cry out, your body starting to crumple beneath him.  The sound of wet skin slapping into each other fills the room. Jake watches with a hunger as his dick slides in you, savoring every time he sees his length pull out and slam right back into your sopping cunt. It’s so pink and puffy,  just begging to take more and more of him. He moves his arm from your throat, and wraps your silky hair around his fingers, pulling your head back as he tangles his knuckles in your strands. You arch back, looking up at the ceiling, as your body is shoved forward with every single pound of his hips. You can feel him start to get close, that hum of tightening muscles and carnal desires reaching its peak until there is no you and him, just pleasure intertwining you both. 

“Flip—me over—baby,” you manage in between his cock ramming into you. “I wanna look at you when you—“ You don’t get to finish the sentence, as he wastes no time in fulfilling your ask. He’d do anything you say, it didn’t matter how you asked. He pulls out just long enough to flip you over, and that brief moment of separation is agony, right before he inserts himself back in. You reach up, and lace your hands through his hair, pulling him down into a messy kiss, catching each other whimpers and moans in your mouth. You move your body with his, bringing your legs up to lock them around his legs, and you squeeze your knees around his sides. He whimpers, brain short-circuiting as he feels you force yourself even tighter down around him, your cunt practically squeezing around his cock,  not a single inch of your skin not pressed together. It’s the final nudge he needs to let himself go. 

“Oh fuck Y/N, Oh fuck baby, I’m gonna—“ He break off in a shudder, as he finally lets himself have his release. His hands come crashing down on either side of your face as he falls down on you, pressing his face into your chest, as his body shakes and twitches, cum spilling out of your hole as he fills you up. You hold him tight, nails digging into his bag, as you feel inside you the way his body practically vibrates with it. This was the sermon and the worship, and you think that you could love this god of a man forever.

Jake stays there for a minute or two, letting the sound of your rapid heartbeat calm his heavy breathing down. 

“Mmm, fuck,” he whispers. “I’ve made an absolute mess of you. I’m so sorry, I was too rough, wasn’t I? “S’okay,” you mumble back, your words starting to slur together as the exertion of the night is settling into your bones. 

“Let me clean you up,” he says softly, and pulls out. He gently sweeps your hair from your eyes and presses a kiss to your forehead. The high of it all has started to wear down leaving nothing but a buzz in the back of his head. When Jake looks at you, part of him still yearns for more, but he knows it’s the blood talking. 

“Don’t go,” you whisper, still in that post coital haze. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Jake reassures as you presses a soft kiss to your lips, and though he knows he’s comforting you in the moment, he’s making a promise to himself. “I’ll be right back okay? Don’t fall asleep.” Jake quietly pads off to the bathroom, where he starts to run the water in the tub until it’s warm enough. He comes back, and scoops you up in his arms. You cling to his neck, resting your head against his chest, until he gently lowers you into tub. The warm soapy water feels heavenly against your aching muscles and bloodied skin, and you let the water soothe your tired body. Jake kneels down next to you, and he takes a wash cloth, gently wiping off the blood from your bruised skin. He looks up at you through his thick lashes, lips pursed together as examine you for any sign of anger or a deeper sign of hurt. 

“You’re lying to me,” You mumble as you slowly come back to yourself. Jakes blood runs cold, as he realizes the ruse is falling through. He swallows, hard. This was the truth he had been promising for weeks—no months now, that he would confess to you. Would you say it? Those damning words? And harder still, would he own up to their truth? 

“Lying?” He asks softly. 

“I don’t feel right, Jake” you whisper, looking up at the lights in the bathroom, focusing on them to keep yourself present.  His stomach sinks. His venom is slowly wearing off at this point, and he knows if he tells you the truth now, you’d remember it in the morning. 

“I was too rough with you, I’m sorry,” he says in a tight voice, the emotions all bubbling up.  

“No that’s not what I meant,” you say slowly. The truth is right there, dancing at the tip of your tongue, you just need to find the right way to piece the puzzle together. 

“No I…I know,” Jake says haltingly. He avoids your gaze, knowing if he meets you eye to eye he won’t be able to swallow the truth. “It’s not what you think though, I just…I can’t lose you, okay Y/N? I don’t think I can do this without you.”  You tilt your head, your stomach starting to knot itself together.

“I won’t be going anywhere,” you gently try to reassure him. “But I just…that didn’t seem like…you.” 

Jake sighs and closing his eyes, setting the washcloth down as he grips the edge of the tub har enough that his knuckles go white. 

“You don’t know that,” he says hoarsely. He’s supposed to be a shell of a human, a monster masquerading as some sentient being, but this love has unravelled him, and without you holding the threads of himself together, he doesn’t know if he can pull himself tight again.  He’s never felt so human as when he’s with you, and after centuries, he forgot the way that love had always consumed him, the way that he sometimes didn’t know how to hold space for himself because he had always filled himself up with love for everyone else. 

“This isn’t the conversation to have right now, but I promise I won’t let anything ever happen to you,” Jake says softly, unable to form the words he needs to say in the moment. He feels your hand sliding under his chin, tipping his head up so he’s forced to look at you. There’s a look he doesn’t recognize in your eyes, one that makes him feel like a stake is being driven through his heart. 

“Jake, baby,” You say your voice cracking. “I can’t keep playing this game with you. Please. I want the truth, so I can work around it with you.” 

Jake closes his eyes, pulling his head away.  It’s hurt in your eyes. It’s hurt and longing and love. The look of somebody who’s asking you to keep them with you, of somebody who realizes that the person they love and trust most in the world doesn’t feel the same for you. He thinks that if he could cry right now he would. What has he done? He’s beyond teetering at the ledge, he’s dived head first off this cliff, and he’s scrambling for a foothold right now. 

“Okay,” Jake promises. “I’ll tell you everything in the morning. I swear it Y/N. Just…give me tonight, yeah? It’s a lot.” You sigh, lowering your head, and the droning in your head starts to overpower the semblance of focus you had pulled together right now. 

“Fine.” You agree, but the anxiety of whatever waters you had waded into had started to rise. Jake finishes washing you up in silence, gently massaging your shoulders and arms, and when he’s done he drains the tub and wraps you up in a clean towel. He disappears for a moment and comes back with clean pajamas, helping you shimmy into them before picking you back up here and gently laying you back down on the bed, wrapping the blanket around you.  He goes around to the other side of the bed and settles himself in, drawing you close to this chest, and setting his chin on your head as he wraps his arms around you, anchoring himself to you. 

“We aren’t done here,” You say with a tired glance up at him. “I won’t let you forget this,” you say trying to muster the most stubborn tone you can. 

“Tomorrow,” he promises with a soft kiss to your forehead. “Just sleep for now.” 

And you’re not sure if you can believe him, or if his words are coated in sugar white lies, but you’re too exhausted to argue, so you let yourself be carried under his warm touch to the comforting folds of sleep. Jake looked down at you, already snoring softly curled up in his arms against his chest. He forced his heart to beat every time you were together like this, forced himself to maintain the illusion that he was alive just like you, no matter how much it exhausted him. You looked so angelic  even if you looked so frail after the night. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, breathing in your familiar scent. He had memorized every line on your face, every place where the corners of your mouth wrinkled when you smiled, and the way your nose scrunched when you laugh. He memorized the map of your veins, the path of your freckles, the secrets you whispered in his ear at night and blurted out in the car, every single way you’ve ever given yourself to him. And he hates himself for not being able to give all of himself to you.  He couldn’t bear to lose this. Not again. So Jake leaned down and whispered in your ear,

“I’m so sorry my love.” 

And bit you ever so gently at your neck. Your squirm in your sleep, but it lasts for a moment as you go still in his arms, the wound closing as he ran his tongue over it. 

“Forget the truth of tonight,” He whispers into your ear, a command spoken somewhere from deeper within him, a darker more ancient place. Immediately, the knot between your brows smooths out, your lips curling up in a peaceful smile as the magic takes hold. 

Tomorrow, Jake promises himself as he rubs a hand over his face. Tomorrow, I’ll tell her the truth. And thus the dance begins again. For tomorrow, and tomorrow’s tomorrow, and the tomorrow after that, as many eternities as he could have.