#yeah the experience is frustration and suffering

[onepiece-writting-forest]

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 6 - ʟᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ʟᴏᴏꜱᴇ

Summary: After you forgot your keys at home and had no where to stay, Law casually offers his apartment for the night without any second intentions. Though the heat from the make out session still lingered in the air.

a.n.: n.sfw, have fun <3

tags: Law x Reader, Modern AU, protected sex (yea we being responsible here), aftercare a la Law >>[ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ɪɴᴅᴇx]<<

As Law stood next to you outside, waiting for the cab, you quickly checked your bag again. Wallet? Check. Phone? Check. Keys? Keys?

Wait…

You rummaged through your bag a second time, feeling a familiar knot of panic tightening in your chest. Law had his phone to his ear, glancing at you curiously as you tore through your belongings for what felt like the tenth time.

“The cab will be here in a few,” he said casually, slipping his phone back into his pocket, to which you simply replied with a distracted “Mhm”.

He watched you, mildly amused as you turned your bag inside out.

You cursed under your breath, running a hand through your hair in frustration. “Shit…” The realization hit you: you hadn’t brought your keys. You couldn’t even remember picking them up before you left. They were probably still at home.

“Forgot something?” Law asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah… I left my keys at home. I have a spare at a friend’s place, but it’s kinda late to call her…” You trailed off, glancing at your phone. 3 a.m. No way she’d pick up at this hour. You didn’t want to bother her either.

Panic spread through you. What were you going to do? Crash on the street? Maybe sleep at the uni library, was it even open at this time?

Meanwhile, Law remained calm as ever, weighing his options. Or the only option he could come up with.

“You can crash at mine,” he offered with a shrug, like it was no big deal. He genuinely didn’t seem to care. Sure, you’d made out in a bathroom not too long ago, but that was just part of the night. This felt like a simple, polite offer—nothing more.

“Really? You sure?” you asked, needing some sort of reassurance that it actually was okay.

He nodded, facing you with his usual unreadable expression. “Yeah."

You hesitated for a second. This was technically your first "date"—if you could even call it that. Was sleeping over at his place really a good idea? Then again, what choice did you have?

Swallowing your nerves, you agreed.

The cab ride was quick, and when you reached Law’s shared apartment, he paid the driver before leading you inside. As soon as you stepped in, Law tossed his keys on a small table, hung up his jacket, and kicked off his shoes in a routine manner, clearly relieved to be home. The party had been fun, but you could tell he was ready to crash.

“You want some water?” he asked, noticing you glancing around. His place was surprisingly tidy for three guys sharing it. Cozy, even.

“Yeah, thanks.” You took the glass from him and sipped as he gave you a quick tour of the apartment. It was brief—he pointed out the essentials, like the bathroom and which rooms to avoid (his flatmates’ rooms), before leading you to his own.

You hesitated at the doorway, feeling a sudden wave of awkwardness. His room felt personal, more intimate than the rest of the apartment. Stepping into his private space like this felt strange, but you couldn’t resist glancing around.

“You can take the bed. I’ll sleep on the couch,” Law said, already rummaging through his closet for a spare pillow and blanket.

Your eyes widened. “No, no! I’ll take the couch. You should sleep in your own bed. Please.”

“Not happening.” Law didn’t even glance at you as he tucked the spare pillow under his arm. The couch was a nightmare—he knew that all too well from experience. It was a one-way ticket to back pain, and he’d much rather deal with that himself than let you suffer through it.

“But I—" you started to argue, but he cut you off with an annoyed click of his tongue.

“Y/N. My home, my rules.”

There was a beat of silence before you offered, “We could… share the bed?”

Law stopped mid-motion and turned to you, a little surprised. He studied your face, trying to gauge if you meant something more by the suggestion. But your expression was innocent, it was just a simple compromise.

“You sure?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

“Y-Yeah, if you don’t mind?” you replied, shyly rubbing the back of your neck.

“It’s my bed. Why would I mind?” Law shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal, though you both knew the situation wasn’t that simple. Just hours ago, the two of you had been tangled up in each other in the bathroom of some basement party. The tension was still there, lingering.

But Law, as usual, played it cool. He acted as if sharing the bed with someone he’d very clearly wanted to hook up with earlier was just another part of the night. Nothing to read into.

"Alright, then," Law said, tossing the blanket back in the closet. "You need something to sleep in?"

You blinked, a little surprised by how casually he accepted your offer to share the bed and immediately asked if you needed clothes. It shouldn’t have caught you off guard—it was a normal, thoughtful gesture. But considering they were his clothes, something about the offer made your heart skip. Maybe your standards with men had been so low that this level of decency surprised you. It made sense though, right? Your clothes reeked of the party, and he was just being practical.

Trying not to overthink it, you nodded. "Yeah, that’d be great."

Law handed you a simple T-shirt and a pair of comfy shorts. In the bathroom, you changed and washed your face, noticing how oversized everything was on you. The shirt hung down almost to your knees, and the shorts were so loose you had to cinch them tight at the waist. You’d almost forgotten how much taller Law was compared to you.

When you stepped back into his room, Law had changed too—nothing flashy, just grey sweatpants and a sleeveless white top. But somehow, seeing him like that made your heart race. You’d never noticed how much muscle he had beneath those baggy hoodies he always wore. His arms were defined, and tattoos traced up his chest, reaching his collarbone.

Oh, fuck. He’s even hotter.

Law, sitting on the edge of the bed, glanced over his shoulder as you walked in. His eyes unconsciously trailed over you, taking in the sight of you wearing his clothes. Even though they hung loose and hid your figure, something about the way you looked in them stirred something inside him. He swallowed hard, suddenly wide awake. You looked... better than you did in your own outfit.

For a second, neither of you said anything, the room charged with unspoken tension.

Law cleared his throat, subtly pulling the sheet back as an unspoken suggestion to get into bed. You shut the door behind you and flicked off the light. The sudden darkness made your pulse quicken, as if switching off the light heightened everything—the silence, the intimacy, the fact that you were about to share a bed with him.

You crawled under the covers carefully, your heart pounding in your chest.

“If you need anything, just wake me up,” Law’s voice came out softer now that the room was dark, his tone lower and more intimate. You gave him a quiet hum in response, turning your back to him as he mirrored the action, settling on his side of the bed.

You tried to focus on sleeping—closing your eyes, steadying your breathing—but his scent surrounded you. It clung to the pillow, the sheets, even the oversized shirt you wore. It was impossible to ignore, distracting in a way that left you wide awake. The exhaustion that had weighed on you moments ago was gone, replaced by the fluttering in your chest that wouldn’t let up.

Time blurred, and after what felt like hours but could have been minutes, you shifted slightly, trying not to disturb him. You turned carefully onto your other side, stealing a glance at him, unsure if he had fallen asleep yet.

Suddenly, Law shifted and turned over, facing you with tired, half-lidded eyes. For a second, you froze, wondering if you’d accidentally woken him up.

“Can’t sleep?” he murmured, his voice low and rough, laced with exhaustion.

You pulled the blanket closer to your face, feeling a bit shy under his gaze, and shook your head slowly. There was a pause as Law studied you, his expression soft but unreadable in the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the window. His messy hair fell across his forehead, and despite his tiredness, there was something comforting in the way he looked at you.

You exchanged a quiet glance, the tension between you thickening, unmistakable. It was like a flashback to the bathroom, the same charged energy, heavy and electric. You pulled your legs closer to your body, biting your lip, and that small movement didn’t go unnoticed. Law’s eyes flicked to your mouth, and he visibly swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.

He hadn’t intended to… well, pick up where the two of you had been interrupted at the party. But as the seconds ticked by, and the heat in his body rose, he couldn’t ignore it. He wanted you, more than he liked to admit. The brief taste he’d gotten earlier had only fueled his desire, leaving him craving more.

And now, with you so close, curled up beside him in his bed, it was driving him insane.

When you shifted slightly, inching closer, the last of his restraint crumbled.

Ah, fuck it.

Before you could react, his lips were on yours, soft and insistent. The kiss was slow, deliberate, each movement calculated to make your pulse race. Your hands instinctively went to his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his shirt as you leaned into the kiss. Law's tongue was quick at tracing the seam of your lips, seeking entrance, and you parted them willingly, letting him explore.

His hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer until you were practically pressed against him. The sudden closeness and tension from the night made Laws blood rush south. The sensation of his hard cock pressing against your belly made you moan against his lips, your body responding to his without hesitation and inching closer. Law groaned, deepening the kiss while his tongue tangled with yours in a dance that left you breathless.

Desire pooled low in your body, growing stronger with every passing second. You needed more, craved the feel of his skin against yours. Finally you were alone, without anyone to disturb you.

Breaking the kiss, you looked into his eyes, searching for permission to go further. Law's pupils were dilated, his breaths coming fast and shallow. He wanted this just as much as you did.

You swung a leg around and straddled him, slowly circling your hips causing sinful friction between you. You wanted to feel more, more of his hard dick against your clothed core. The heat was unmistakable, a sizzling current that sparked with every movement. His hands immediately came up to rest on your hips, firm and possessive, guiding you with a subtle yet undeniable authority. You could tell he liked to be the one in control, even if you were on top.

His hands started to wander up your sides, tracing the curve of your waist before cupping your breasts through the thin fabric of your shirt. You gasped at the sensation, leaning forward to press yourself closer to him impatiently.

"Take off your shirt," he commands, his voice allowing no argument. You complied eagerly, pulling the fabric over your head and tossing it aside, along with your bra. Law's gaze raked over you, scorching hot, before he leaned in to capture one of your nipples between his teeth. He really wasn't here to play games.

The sharp pinch of his teeth followed by the gentle tug of his lips sent a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. You moaned without any shame, arching your back to encourage more. His hand cupped your other breast, thumb flicking across the hardened peak as he continued to tease the first with his mouth, knowingly pushing your buttons.

"Law," you pant, "please..."

He pulled back, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. Oh, he liked how you already begged for him. "Please what?" he asks, a unmistakable teasing grin in his voice.

You bit your lip, feeling suddenly shy. "Please…fuck me."

His expression darkened once you spoke your words, desire pooling in his eyes. How could he say no to such a sweet plead.

He slid his hands down to your short, pulling at the waistband and helping you get out of them quickly, obviously getting impatient. You lifted your hips to help him, and within moments, your pants and underwear were thrown to the floor.

Law pushed you off his hips gently to remove the last bits of clothes on him. You were about to straddle him again, yet paused. He seemed to be reminded of something too.

“You on the pill?” He asked while his breath was going quick, to which you shook your head. Law simply nodded and leaned to the bedside table to search for the familiar packaging.

As Law was getting out a condom, you couldn’t help but pepper his neck with kisses. One of your hand wandering down to his core, gently wrapping your fingers around his hardened cock and pumping it up and down.

Law let out a hiss suddenly, looking at what you were doing. Fuck if you kept going like that, he wouldn’t last long.

He quickly ripped the plastic open with is teeth, and gently pushed you down with one hand. Obediently you let yourself fall into the mattress and spread your legs for him. While Law was putting on the rubber, he watched you with greedy eyes, eating up every piece of you.

“God, you’re going to be the death of me…” He mumbled under his breath and grabbed your legs, pulling you closer to him effortlessly. You could sense the tip of his cock against your entrance as he leaned down.

The feeling of him filling you up painfully slow was overwhelming, a perfect fit that sent waves of ecstasy crashing through your body. You let out a moan, your nails digging into his shoulders as you adjusted to the sensation. Law couldn’t control his own voice and let out a satisfied groan as he pushed deeper, letting you get used to his size. He moved slow at first, observing your blushed face to check if you were okay. However, you being soaking wet made it easier for him, and the way you arched your back and moved closer let him know that you were fully into it.

His fingers tightened around your thighs, pulling you even closer as he maintained that agonizingly slow pace. The sensation of his cock stretching you open was both painful and deliciously overwhelming. You could feel every inch of him, every ridge, as he filled you up.

"Fuck," you moaned desperately, your voice barely a whisper as your nails dug deeper into his shoulders. "Law, please..."

He paused and backed off, the tip of his cock just inside you, teasing you with the promise of more. His eyes locked onto yours, dark and hungry, reading your desperation. "Beg for it," he whispered, his voice low and commanding.

You swallowed hard, your breath coming in short, shallow bursts. "Please," you repeated, "I need... I need you deeper."

A smirk played at the corners of his lips, but it quickly vanished as he began to push further inside you. The stretch felt so good that you moaned out his name loudly. Your hips bucked instinctively, trying to take more of him, but he held you firmly in place, controlling the tempo.

"That's it," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. "Take it all..."

With each slow thrust, he sank deeper, until he was fully seated inside you. The feeling of being so completely filled sent waves of ecstasy through your body. You let out a ragged moan, your head falling back against the mattress as you surrendered to the sensations.

Law's hands moved from your thighs to your hips, gripping you tightly as he began to move. The pace was getting quicker, his hips rolling against yours. He watched your face intently, gauging your reactions.

"You like that?" he asked, his voice dripping with sinful satisfaction.

"Yes," you breathed, your voice trembling with need. "God, yes."

He picked up the pace further, his hips moved against yours in a steady rhythm. Each thrust brought him deeper, hitting spots inside you that made your toes curl and your vision blur with pleasure.

"God, you feel so good…” he groaned, his voice raw with emotion.

Law couldn’t hold himself back any longer, and began to thrust into you ruthlessly, making you body bounce along his own rhythm. The sight beneath him was sinful, and he didn’t know where to look first. Your pretty face twisting in pleasure, your tits bouncing up and down or your pussy where his cock disappeared inside you.

A mixture of grunts and moans started to leave his throat now, Law starting to chase his own orgasm which was painfully close. He wanted you to reach your high together with him, making his thumb circle around your clit. He knew exactly where he had to put the pressure on, causing you to moan out his name multiple times in a row, while your thighs started shivering. Your surrounding were blurred, the only thing you could focus on was him filling you up over and over with a rough pace.

The sound of skin clapping, bed creaking mixed with both of your sinful voices filled the room. Law couldn’t care less if anyone heard you, you felt too good around his cock to worry about that. He gave you all of his attention, dipping down and burying his teeth into the soft flesh of your neck. The added sensation threw you off completely, and you didn’t even notice how fast your high was coming.

“L-Law, I’m…I’m close! Please don’t stop!” You gripped a handful of his hair and threw your head back, locking him tight against your body with your legs.

You let out a strangled cry, your body shuddering with the force of your orgasm. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you, leaving you breathless and weak. Law continued to move inside you, riding out your climax with relentless intensity. He wanted to make sure you felt every second of it.

He was close, so close, and he wasn't going to last much longer.

"Law," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "Come on... I want to feel you come."

It gave him the last push. He let out a throaty moan, his control slipping as he slammed into you one last time, burying himself deep inside you. He filled up the condom with his hot cum as he came undone above you. Law stayed still for a moment, letting the intensity of his orgasm wash over him before slowly withdrawing from your body.

As he pulled out, you felt a strange mix of emptiness and fulfillment. The bed felt colder without him inside you, but the memory of what just happened lingered like a warm glow in your chest. Law collapsed beside you, his chest heaving as he caught his breath.

The room became quiet suddenly, only your mixed heavy breathing filling up the silence. Both of you laid next to each other, covered in sweat, looking at the ceiling.

Law got a bit uncomfortable with the condom still attached and reached down to carefully remove it, tying it off before tossing it into a bin. Slowly, almost cautiously, he leaned over you.

His hand hesitated on your cheek, his fingers lingering on the sticky strands of hair he just brushed away. His touch was gentle, almost respectful, a stark contrast to the primal intensity that had driven you both to the brink moments ago. “You okay?” he asked, in a voice so soft it barely broke the silence.

You nodded, your smile tired but genuine. “Yea…hah…give me a moment.”

He chuckled softly, a sound that vibrated through his chest and into yours. He pulled back, letting you rest as you requested, before he finally sat up. You watched him from beneath half-lidded eyes. He reached for his clothes, the movement casual and unhurried.

Your gaze followed him as he got dressed, his silhouette sharp against the dim room. When he slipped on his sweatpants, the fabric hanging loose on his hips in a way that made your heart skip a beat. He placed your spare clothes next to you, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment before he turned and left the room without a word.

The door clicked softly behind him, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the sticky residue between your legs. You started to shift, trying to find a comfortable position, but the sensation was too distracting. You sighed, your hand slipping between your thighs, feeling the dampness there. You really didn’t want to get dressed like this.

Just as you were about to sit up and make a move, the door creaked open again. Law stepped in, carrying a warm, damp towel and a glass of water. He tossed the towel towards you and set the glass on the nightstand, his actions smooth and practiced.

“If you want to shower, go ahead,” he said casually, sitting next to you on the edge of the bed. His voice was calm, a balm to the lingering tension in the air.

You shook your head, giving him a small smile. “Will do that at home, thanks though.”

At home.

Right, you were going to leave in a few hours, Law almost forgot. It was probably past 4 a.m. now.  

Law nodded in silence. You took the towel, its warmth comforting as you began to clean yourself up. The moisture from the towel slid over your skin, erasing the remains of your heated encounter. As you worked, you felt the tension in your body begin to disappear, replaced by a dull ache that reminded you of the intensity of what had just happened.

Once you were done, you pulled on your clothes, the familiar fabric a welcome change from the sticky discomfort. Law watched you, his expression unreadable, but there was an underlying warmth in his gaze that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Feel better?” he asked, his tone still casual, but there was an softness to it.

You nodded and crawled back to bed.  “Yeah, much better. Thanks.”

Without another word, you nestled back under the blanket, feeling the weight of the night settle over you. Law followed close behind, his presence a quiet comfort. After everything that had happened, you hesitated, unsure of how to position yourself now. The earlier intensity still lingered, making the space between you feel charged with unspoken thoughts. But Law didn’t seem fazed. He simply looked at you, his expression softening, and opened his arms just a fraction—an unspoken invitation.

It wasn’t that he was insensitive. In fact, he knew the importance of aftercare, regardless of who you were. Though, if he was being honest with himself, maybe it mattered more because it was you.

With most others, it was easy for him to turn over and drift off to sleep without a second thought. But something felt different now. He didn’t give off that cold, detached air that might have made you feel discarded. Instead, there was a quiet warmth in his actions, as if he genuinely wanted to care for you, even after everything was over. The moment you’d shared felt significant, and though he rarely allowed himself to admit such things, he enjoyed being around you. More than he would ever say out loud. The fatigue from the night, the weight of it all, left him too tired to overthink or resist his own feelings.

You hesitated only a moment before slowly moving closer, finding your place beside him. His arms wrapped around you instinctively, and as your head rested on his chest, you could hear the steady, calming rhythm of his heartbeat. The sound soothed you. Wrapped in his warmth, the earlier uncertainty faded, replaced by a feeling of safety. It was comfortable—unexpectedly so. Soon, the exhaustion from the night overtook you both. The world around you softened, and together, you drifted into sleep, bodies tangled, hearts quiet.

tag list: @mars-mizuko , @tadomikiku, @hopelesslover06 (Comment to be added 🖤)

[xpiester333x]

I started playing Breath of the Wild.

I'm... uhhhh... not impressed so far?

I mean graphically I've seen indie games that do a much better job in a similar style.

It's so big and that's neat but it's also about 89% directionless.

I've been retold the same story by about 4 different NPCs now. None of them added anything to it, just repeated the same thing.

And this is unrelated to the game but my god the Switch controller is going to drive me batshit insane. Tap the joystick and Link runs 2.3 miles, hurtling himself off a cliff. Tap the joystick and jump and Link will jump straight into the air and then belly flop into an abyss. Joycons are so flimsy, I have the drift, and I'm unwilling to buy a pro controller because why would I spend $80 on a controller for a system I rarely use.

Partly on the controller/system and partly on the game but I feel more frustrated than happy about playing this game. I'm still really early in (maybe like 4-5 hours of playtime?) so there's still a chance I'll pull a 180 about the game and come to really love it but atm... nah.

[binders-and-beanies]

Going off my rant from earlier I think part of the difference between me n other people regarding being busy is that when the average person says “I have so much to do” they may indeed have a fuckton to do but they simply Don’t do it. Whereas with me I don’t get a Chance to do everything bc the list grows faster than I can do everything + my time is constantly occupied by things beyond my control. And people say they relate to that but then when they have enough time to do something they don’t and I’m like god if I had half the time yall spend doing nothing I would be unstoppable

[shotmrmiller]

Big man, Big mouth

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!reader (because demeaning girl usage) WC: 4.9k it's just gross smut and simon gets kinda mean sometimes nothing crazy :) ty to the brain to my pinky @xoxunhinged and precious beta @waves-against-a-cliff catching my errs

The smile you’d had on your face all morning is subsequently wiped once you’re told that you won’t, in fact, be spearheading a team meeting with air conditioning and a cup full of your favorite medium roast, but instead, you’re being sent somewhere where practical experience trumps theoretical, textbook knowledge. And alone, at that.

Guess your travel mug is about to make its big debut.

The construction site is alive with purpose— the buzzing of drills, raucous banter, and the low hum of music from a stereo. You run a hand down the back of your skirt that is more tourniquet than office attire you were forced into wearing, regretting not drawing the line at the heels pinching your toes. "Professional setting, professional appearance," your boss had said. Nothing here demands you to stand in ironed clothes with dust settling on your eyelashes and the taste of grit on your tongue.

You feel out of place, a white-collar worker surrounded by hard hats and steel-toe boots. Perhaps taking this job for a promotion was hasty on your part. But it’s too late now and the sun above you is wilting the starched collar of your blouse.

Best get this over and done with. (The bottle of barefoot wine at home will be your reward for your suffering.)

Walking to the home still in a semi-skeletal phase had been a bit uncomfortable, anxiety gnawing at your nerves and the polished shoes at the skin of your heel. But what made your shoulders tense and spine stiffen was the crew. You'd expected disgruntled workers, sure. A bit of grumbling here and there. No one likes to have someone with more authority and less experience trample all over your work, telling you what's what.

Not them eyeing you like you're a fish in a shark tank. A little minnow pulled out of her natural habitat and into the mix with dominant predators. The paper on your clipboard crinkles audibly as one of them— the leader, you gather— stops you before you can get any closer than he feels necessary. He plods over, hard hat tucked into his arm, wiping his sweaty brow with his sunbaked forearm, a few wood curls nestled into his beard.

"Ya lost?" he grunts.

There's a guy with a comb for hair and limpid blue eyes staring right at you from the back as he leans on a half-built wall with a smarmy grin on his thin lips.

"No! No, I, um—" you stammer, "I'm here as a temporary replacement for, um—"

He cuts you off with a dismissive wave, fingers thick as steel beams. "Right. Yeah, yeah." Bloody rude. "The inspector." His head tilts and spits on the cement, eyes giving you a once over, lingering on the bare skin of your calves. "John," he says then jerks his head behind him, to the shady inside of the home. "Let's get ya out this sun 'fore you melt like sugar on the driveway."

You keep your lips pressed in a line, swallowing down the retort sitting on your tongue with a hint of frustration, and follow him on swift feet. It is unforgivingly hot and at least there's a roof overhead. Most of the walls were still just wooden beams, the foundation concrete covered in dust. Rough-bristle brooms lean in corners, the stereo now sitting silently in the center of what’s to be the living room next to a man with a massive frame and a sweat-soaked wifebeater who didn't bother turning around as you made a beeline for the only fan feebly cutting through the muggy heat inside.

John from behind you grabs your attention. "So? What's the issue this time? We jus' had tha' muppet pass through a week ago." You turn around, the breeze now somewhat cooling the back of your neck.

"Just need to personally check what's left—" you clear your throat, giving the clipboard a waggle, "on this. Nothing too grand." The blonde one with shorn hair hasn't looked up once from the blue cooler between his legs.

John scratches his head. "Right." There's a drag of heavy boots behind you. "Temporary, eh?" His eyes are like cerulean rivets, pinning you in place.

Gruff Scottish cuts in, tone dripping with amusement. "Will ye look a' tha'," he mutters, accent thick and deliberate, "bosses up top sent a bonnie wee lass to keep an eye on things. Make sure ye pay good attention, aye?" The brute comes to stand in front of you, flexing one arm, bicep like a knotted tree trunk. "Would hate ye missin' the show."

Show ‘em your teeth, little fish. That promotion is already in your hands, don't let it slip through your fingers.

"Listen, you—" you snap back, cheeks burning hot but then his eyebrows raise to his hairline, the corner of his lip curling in challenge.

"It's Soap, hen."

“...Right.”

What the hell kind of name is Soap?

A third voice— crisp English just like John's— cuts through the air from the second floor. "Wipe the slobber off ya chin 'nd leave 'er alone, Soap! You still hav'ta sweep up 'ere!" A man with bronze skin and a cap adorned with the Union Jack in the center pokes his head out from over the wooden railing. His smile looks stiff.

"Miss." His eyes flash to Soap. "Move it. You can get your cock—" wow, mouth like a sailor, that one, "wet while on company's time." His gaze falls on you for a moment longer before disappearing back into the upper level.

Soap grumbles what sounds like a "fuckin' 'ell Kyle" but heads for the stairs anyway, steps creaking under his weight. "Ah'll be 'round if ye need me," he says with a wink.

Unlikely.

John absently shakes his head and turns to the grizzled, mountain of a man still hunched over that cursed cooler of his. "Simon." He suddenly moves then, rising smoothly to his feet for someone his size. He's a wall of muscle, a very clear force of nature, and he's now staring at your—

your shoes?

"Alrigh'," he gruffly says, "We'll get outta your way. The faster you can look for, whatever it is you're lookin' for, the faster you can get out o' my beard." He places his hard hat back on and gives Simon a nod. "To work, break time's over."

Simon walks past you without so much as a glance, his thick arm brushing roughly against your shoulder with enough strength to make you take a step back but then he speaks. "Don't trip on nothin', girl. I'd hate f'r our pretty mascot t'get injured on the," he emphasizes the last word, tone heavy with mockery, "job."

Your tongue is pressed firmly behind your clenched teeth as you straighten your skirt. Get this shit over with.

--

Their attitudes toward you had left some to be desired, but they had done their job seamlessly. Not a crack in place nor a bolt out of it meaning that ticking off the rest of the boxes on your clipboard had been a cinch, making the promotion even easier. By the time you were ready to go home— the thought of leaving behind the tangy scent of sweat and iron adding a pep to your painful step— the sun had already dipped, casting long shadows over the construction site.

Until John's unwelcome chivalrous gesture: sending one of his to accompany you to your car. "t's late out," he says, leaving no room for lip. Fine, whatever. The faster you get out of here the better. Saliva pools in your mouth at the thought of having a chilled glass of wine with chinese takeout for dinner.

Except the one waiting for you in the garage with a lit smoke between his chapped lips is Simon. He flicks it to the ground, smothering out the embers with the heel of his boot. "Move. Ain't got all day."

The last strand of your patience snaps and your mouth twists into a snarl. "Then leave off! I don't need a fucking chaperone. Believe it or not, I do know how to look both ways before crossing the street."

You'd only taken three irate, swift-footed steps away from him, clipboard trembling in your grip when the back of your shoe dug into raw skin; a sharp, sudden agony flaring out in a hot, thick wave and you stumble. The world spins for a second, colors blurring together until—

The relief is immediate. The hot needles on your raw nerves dulled down to a throb, vision blurring from the brief bite of intense pain. You breathe in a deep lungful of air, tasting salt and sawdust while you flex your feet, hissing when the blistered skin stretches. At least the damage to your toes is minimal.

But not to your pride. Tripping over your own feet, because the driveway while unfinished is still flat, now means you're being hauled over his shoulder, which is broad enough to be surprisingly comfortable, in the opposite direction of where your car is with your heels in hand. The fabric of his tank feels stiff under your sweaty palms.

"Is this kind of behavior normal for you? Or am I just lucky?" your voice is tinged with a mix of irritation and embarrassment. His arm tightens uncomfortably around the back of your bare thighs even though the office skirt you managed to squeeze into is knee-length.

"Only when I spot clumsy-footed birds like you. Can't 'ave ya splat on the concrete like a crime scene outline." A slow creeping flame spreads from your neck to the apple of your cheeks when you notice the guys staring at you from a window upstairs, Soap giving you a toothy smile. Even Kyle seems amused. Mortifying. Someone strike you down now. Actually, no. Then who'd feed your cat once you’re gone?

"'nd John would chew me out f'r lettin' ya break these," his long fingers circle your ankle, "in 'alf." You try to muster a response, but the words sit behind your teeth, your chagrin having tangled your tongue into knots.

Then he stops and the creaking of hinges reaches your ears. "Wait." Your eyes land on a black cargo bed, caked with dried mud. "Are you just going to sit me in your car?" He sets you down in the back seat anyway, tossing your shoes inside.

"Truck. I can drop ya on the patch of grass if ya like." Simon leaves you there, going to the driver's side rummaging through the middle compartment. His work truck is exactly what you'd expect from a man like him. The seats are covered in a thin layer of dust, you imagine he gives no one a ride, a well-worn visibility vest strewn about, an extra pair of work boots stained with splatters of white paint—the size difference of your shoes compared to his has you swallowing a lump the size of your fist down.

Simon pulls out a mid-sized red box and places it on the floor mat then props your leg up on his. His grip is firm but gentle as he inspects your open wounds and then sucks on his teeth. "A bit stupid, wearin' ankle breakers when out on a job." He prods around the inflamed skin, the pain making you tense.

"Don't worry about me and mi—" you hiss when he digs his thumb into the arch of your foot, "mine. Maybe I wanted to look nice." Fuck those shoes.

"'m sure ya did, though the skirt's all ya need." The warmth of his breath spreads through your toes and up your calf, raising gooseflesh.

You can't hold back a snort. "And now you're going to tell me that you prefer women in skirts and dresses?"

Simon switches legs, careful to not aggravate the blisters further. "I prefer my women with no clothes. But both of those make it f'r easier access. Like yours. Can see your knickers from 'ere." That has your heart skipping a beat, eyes widening with disbelief. Instinctively, you sit upright, back straightening with a pop.

"They're red."

You chuff out a breath. He's lying. You'd put on the only available pair you had at the time since you'd forgotten to dry your laundry the night prior. A simple, cotton grey. "You—! Fucking hell, I almost kicked you in the teeth." Simon's looking at you now, eyes dark and intense.

"Wouldn't be the first time someone's tried," he says with a smirk, voice low. "White, then."

The first aid kit still lies on the floor mat. "Stop talking." Simon ignores you, instead grabbing your other leg and pulling you closer toward the edge of the seat. Toward him.

"Green," he rumbles, his hands cupping the bottom of your feet, thumb and pointer coming to gently tug on your toes before moving his way up. You feel like a young, dewy-eyed farm girl having her first tumble in the hay and he's only now stroking the protruding bone of your ankle. The motion is slow, deliberate, a tender caress that sends a shiver up your spine. Has it truly been that long since you've had your body shape imprinted into the mattress?

"How about," you swallow thickly, "you patch me up proper and I'll be on my way?" If anyone else had heard, they'd say you're trying to convince yourself that being here isn't what you really want. But the little garble in your voice gives you away.

Simon hums, a sound that vibrates in your chest, sinks into the marrow of your bones. "Little bird wants t’go home 'nd 'ave only a throw 'nd a cat t'warm 'er bed?" You feel a different kind of ache this time, pulsing sharp and deep in your core. "Eh? Y'wanna curl up on the couch with one o’ those sex books while playin’ with your pretty cunt?" 

The idea of having to use the blue bullet sitting inside the nightstand drawer sounds unappealing. And it’s probably out of battery too. Damn. 

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip and shake your head. He doesn’t accept that as your answer.

"Wha's tha'? You will speak when spoken to, pet. Do you," he emphasizes the last word as he begins to open your legs by the knees, "wanna go home with an empty pussy or let me fill it 'til you're leaking cum out ya ears?"

Can't say no to him serenading you like that. You clench around nothing, hesitance crumbling like sand. "B-but what about your job? Aren't you still working?"

Simon grabs you then, dinner plate-sized hands wrapping around the softer part of your waist. "'M on a break. I'd say I deserve it after all my 'ard work." He lifts you effortlessly, the hem of your skirt rolling as you widen your legs further.

He rolls his hips once, feeling the bulge in his jeans brush against your sex, feather-light, and you bite on the thickest part of your tongue to keep from moaning like a cat in heat. "And what about us being in the open?" you ask though the question is redundant. Besides the crew's work vehicles, there's not another car in sight. If anyone else had been working nearby, they've long since left.

He seems to share your sentiment. "If tha's all? 'm tryin' t'see if I got it righ'."

No, that'll just about do it. "Okay. Alright." God knows you need this. Even if it comes from a stranger you'll probably never see again. Simon doesn't wait any longer, pushing up the rest of your skirt to pool above your thighs.

He hisses long and low through his teeth. "Tight little thing, innit?" Yeah, well. You were going to tell him that while putting on your skirt that morning had been an absolute nightmare, it wasn't that small on you until the tips of his fingers glided along your clothed slit. Oh. He's not talking about that.

"I guess grey's my new favorite colour. Especially this—" he thumbs the darkened wet spot on the fabric, "shade." When he adds more pressure, you can't help but let a gasp out as you buck your hips in want of more. "Easy. 'aven't even started with you." Simon opens the front of your blouse with a single hand, coming undone easily. He goes for the clip of your bra that's serendipitously placed on the front.

"Gotta let the girls breathe," he says. Whatever his reasoning doesn't matter because all there is, is relief. No more underwire digging into your skin, no more suffocating restraint. You only wore the blasted thing because all of your sports bras would've been visible through the blouse.

Simon rolls a hardened bud with one hand while unbuttoning the front of his jeans with the other. "Eatin' this," he gives the mound of your pussy a mean tap, "gonna 'ave t'wait. I'll get ya off though, don't worry tha' little head o' yours."

You wonder if he says that to everybody he fucks in the back of his truck. "What? Why?"

His length sits hot and heavy over your cunt. And it's big enough to kill. Death by cock. That'll be on your epitaph. "'m a big geezer," he mutters, fingers toying with the side of your panties, "lyin' down so you can sit your cunt on my face isn't gonna work righ' now."

Definitely says that to everybody. "Doesn't matter. I'll take care o'ya 'nother way." Simon pulls the dampened gusset to the side and lowers his head to— "Pretty like I thought it was." A fat glob of spit lands on the puffy lips of your pussy and he smears it around with his cock, tip sliding right along your clit. He uses his thumb to press himself down harder, more friction, more sensation, each slow roll of his hips pricking neglected nerves awake, alive, and it feels good. Surprisingly good.

The way the scar on his lip whitens as he bites it tells you it's just as good for him too. "Thought about it much, did you?" He goes lower this time, ruddy tip catching on your entrance momentarily before returning up.

"Since you walked inside a place you 'ave no business bein' in. Birds like you shouldn't be minglin' in the trenches with us grunts." The tips of your ears are hot as he stares down at you. "Should be sittin' nice 'nd pretty in a cubicle with air conditionin' 'nd an oversized mug o' watered-down coffee."

Simon cups the swell of your arse, canting your hips to glide himself better. Every bump and ridge on the underside of his cock is rubbing slowly on you and the thought of licking a slick stripe on the vein only tightens the white-hot coil below your navel.

"Or better yet, sittin' at home doin' wha'ever else while waitin' f'r a man like me to come back from work with a ribeye 'nd redskin potatoes in the oven." He lets your panties fall back into place; the sodden front almost transparent as he rubs against your swollen clit at the same time. God, he's fucking. your. panties! And you're bloody letting him.

What a way to break this year-long dry spell.

He bends your legs so that your feet are now being held flat on the thick of his chest with his hands as he picks up the pace. The suspension springs on the truck begin to groan. "I like mine medium rare."

Your back's come off the seat, spine bowed. You're close, so fucking close, you've got slick coating the inside of your thighs, dripping down to your arse, probably staining his polyester material underneath. This is torture and your pussy feels tender, raw, yet he's barely touching the focal point of your desire. If he doesn't make you come in the next minute, you're breaking that thick neck of his.

It's like he read your mind because he uses his cock to tap on your clit firmly, hard enough to hear a wet thwack and he does it once, thrice and—

And then your body gives, an intense climax that steals the breath in your very lungs, has you your blunt nails biting into the muscle of his forearms, his groan drowned out by the shrill ringing in your ears. Your face feels hot, probably is hot to the touch and there's a sting on the middle of your bottom lip and can taste iron on your tongue. Even the tips of your fingers tingle.

Through your half-lidded gaze, you see Simon holding onto the top of the truck while his breath comes in ragged gasps. Did he come? You curiously touch the expanse of your stomach. Not sticky.

"No. I didn't come. You," he takes in a deep, steadying breath then reaches to squeeze the sides of your face, cheeks plumping under the pressure. "You almost 'ad me, though. I don't remember the last time I 'ad to think tha' 'ard of London t'not finish. But I'm not done with you."

Simon hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your panties and takes them off with urgency only to stuff them in his back pocket. "Better with no clothes on, remember." You can feel his twitching cock leak onto your heated skin.

"If ya need, use this." A black bundle of fabric lands on your chest, what is— It's a mask? If he means to hide your identity from his coworkers, you're not sure this skull mask is going to work. He drags you to him roughly until your arse is hanging off the seat. And then there's a hot, dull pressure pushing against your entrance that's followed by a searing sting, and it, it's so much, it's too m-

"Tight fucking-, Ya need t-, fuck, to relax," he grunts, fingers dimpling your thighs. Simon's thrusts are jerky, short, as he wrenches your walls apart. Even with your creamy cum and his spit it's still a struggle. "'Alf way there," and a rattled breath escapes you. You're being split right down the middle and there's still some left?

For the next few moments only your squeaks and mewls can be heard as he makes room for him, your hand flat on his lower stomach— feeling the coarse, thick patch of hair on it— as if you're trying to keep him away, out, something but then he snarls and snaps his hips. You've heard of a ring of fire some women experience at some point in their life and you think this is yours. The thin skin of your entrance burns, most likely stretched to its limit, like a rubber band about to snap.

"Easy," he drawls out, "The worst's over. Took me like you're made f'r me. G'mme ya 'and." He takes your clammy hand and has you touch where the two of you meet. His eyes are glued to your fingers that are split into a v, pads feeling your cunt soaked in viscous slick.

The groan he lets out at the sight makes the world around you spin. "Stay jus' like tha'." Sure, not like you’ve got anywhere to go. Not with his hands tight around you like metal cuffs. Simon holds nothing back, not even in the very first minute. Doesn't warm you up to it, don't let you try to get used to him turning you inside out. His thrusts are long, firm, hungry— bottoming out every single time until he sits snugly at the plug of your womb. Grinds up when he meets resistance, eyeing your features in case there's discomfort.

The only ache you've got is the one he's fucking into you. (And you also might be partly lying on his tape measurer.)

But then he hitches your legs up, hands around the back of your thighs as they're pushed toward your chest and that pulls a whine out of you that you're sure John and the crew heard. "There she is, bird's got a healthy set o' lungs on 'er." He keeps the same, unforgiving angle and doubles down, using the bulk of his weight to pin you in place, forced to do nothing but take and take and take.

Until Simon's strikes the side of your arse with an open palm. "D'ya hear 'em?" Wha? What? Hear who?

And then you hear it. Him. The handsome one with the hat from upstairs. "Ghost?" he sounds right across the street and Simon hasn't stopped rocking the truck as he fucks you right through it. "Wha's tha' Kyle?" His voice is steady even though there are beads of sweat rolling down the side of his temple.

"I said good job on all your 'ard work 'nd we'll see ya tomorrow. You 'ave a good night too, Miss." There's a crude whistle followed by a pained grunt and a quick mumbled apology. Maybe if you don't respond they'll just get in their car and go home.

But then John calls out to you too.

"Simon must’ve missed you, sweetheart. “Wow. He barks out a laugh. " 'ave yourself a good night, Miss.” Then, sternly says, “Tomorrow at 6, Simon.”

Simon, though, has no intention of letting you take the easy way out. He smacks your arse again, right in the same— already tender— spot from just moments before. "Answer 'em, pet. Or 'ave I fucked all the manners outta ya?" He accentuates the last three words with thrusts so sharp that if he hadn't been holding you in place, you would've been sent sprawling back.

Whatever words you're supposed to say are snagged in your throat like hooks, only whimpers and high-pitched gasps falling past your trembling lips. He drags his thumb over your bottom one, the calloused pad of it tough. "Go on. Be good 'nd tell 'em to 'ave a good night too. And no names. Only one comin’ outta you should be mine."

When you open your mouth, he weaves a hand down to your clit, jerking it in fast little circles that have you forgetting where you even are. "Mf- g-good," he gives you just a second of respite to spit on it. "Good night-," his fingers are almost torture, and god, you're going to come in front of all of them. You warble out the words hastily, feeling your impending orgasm come at you with the speed of a freight train.

"Tha's a good bird, singin' when I tell ya to." There's no stopping this, not with all of his focus on the little bundle of nerves and every drag of his cock making your spine arch as if he were winding it. "Squeeze my cock, tha's it."

Your legs shake violently, toes curled, and you can feel a cramp begin in your calf but none of it matters, not when you're seeing bright lights behind your scrunched eyelids, not when you feel fingers in your mouth to stifle the scream that's viciously wrenched from your throat nor when Simon growls out a "Fuckin' 'ell."

"I told ya, if ya needed somethin' t'bite on, use tha'," he jerks his head toward the mask that's tight in your fist. Your soul is still floating adrift in the wind and he's already trying to make conversation. And he did not say to bite on it.

"I'm not puttin' this unwashed thing in my mouth." You languidly watch him inspect his hand, looking at the deep purple teeth imprints on his fingers. Whoops.

"But you'll 'ave me after sweatin' under the bloody sun for 'ours." His hand slides behind your nape, lifting your head a bit as he lowers his chest to meet your sweat-slick one. Your hands come to claw at the shifting muscles of his back when he begins anew, this time his pace is relentless, sharp, predatory. He's a shark that has scented blood and is now on the hunt.

The prickling bristles of his facial hair scratch against your temple. "This," the hand around your neck tightens, your rapid pulse now roaring in your ears, "is the best pussy I've ever had." His thrusts are jarring, make your teeth clack together hard enough to hurt, and after a dozen of them, he comes with a cruel bite to the junction of your shoulder, snarl animalistic.

Hopefully, the guys drove off a while ago otherwise you're re-dressing and driving home with that mask Simon tossed your way.

Your blouse is unfortunately beyond saving. Your skirt isn’t faring any better if that massive tear in the front has anything to say about it and your shoulder will require at least half a bottle of concealer plus a couple of bandaids, which the first aid kit is completely empty of. Not even the first aid guide is inside. 

You sluggishly begin to button up one of Simon's spare flannel shirts when he asks you if you're hungry.

"No." Not really. Hard to feel much when most of your nerves from the ribs down are shot.

"Get in the front, I'd like t'eat my dinner soon." He's staring right at the apex of your legs, your cunt still throbbing from the abuse."'m 'ungry." There’s no tow car sign on the street, actually, there’s not even a simple stop sign here. 

It better not get towed. You’re not paying a dime if it does.

(Are your feet still hurting or can he fuck those too? No? Next time, then.)

[iconchae]

SAY YES, yjw | 18+

PAIRING: bf ! yang jungwon × gf ! female reader. . . GENRE: angst, smut, slight fluff (?). . . SYNOPSIS: jungwon would never fully understand the depth of your pain or the weight of your struggles, but he can’t stand seeing you suffer alone. desperate to be close to you, he crosses all boundaries, his comforting words quickly turn into passionate actions as the two of you learn ‘things’ together and experience them. . . WARNING(S): kisses, nsfw, contains cuss words, mdni, smut, angst, too much plot lol, blowjob, handjob, pussy eating, cum eating, protected sex, inexperienced, mentions of abuse, shower sex, unprotected sex, slapping, mentions of suicide, lmk if I missed anything. . . WORD COUNT: 12k+

rina’s note: i wanted to make this a long fic so here I am, I hope i didn't bore y’all out by going into the depths of it all. I kind of changed the main plot so it is more of a ‘trying sex for the first time’ typa thing. there's too much plot, skip if you want straight up smut— ig so

Jungwon’s heart pounded in his chest as he stared at you, standing dangerously close to the edge of the cliff, the wind whipping your hair wildly around your face. His voice trembled as he called out, his throat dry with fear. "Are you crazy?" His eyes were wide, filled with both disbelief and panic as you stood on the precipice, one step away from a deadly drop.

You didn’t turn to look at him, your gaze fixed on the vast, open sky in front of you. The horizon blurred into a dull mix of oranges and reds, a sunset that should’ve been beautiful, but for you, was nothing more than a backdrop to your despair. “Yeah, say whatever you want. I’ll be gone soon,” you replied quietly, your voice hollow, void of any emotion.

Jungwon’s body tensed as you lifted your foot, hovering over the edge, contemplating the final step that would send you plummeting into the abyss. His heart raced even faster, his pulse pounding in his ears. "Come back here!" he yelled, panic lacing his words, but his plea went unheard as you teetered closer to the edge, ready to give up on everything. Time seemed to slow as he watched your figure leaning into the nothingness, and in that split second, his body moved on instinct.

He surged forward, grabbing your arm with a desperate force and yanking you back against him just as your toes grazed the empty air. The impact of your body colliding with his chest knocked the breath out of both of you, and you were pressed firmly against him, his arms wrapping around your waist in a fierce grip.

"Fucking stupid!" he shouted, his voice breaking as his breath came in ragged gasps. You could feel his chest heaving against your back, his grip on you so tight it was almost painful, but you didn’t struggle. Instead, you stood frozen in his arms, reality finally sinking in—what you had almost done, what he had just saved you from.

He pulled you further away from the cliff’s edge, his hands trembling slightly as he guided you back toward the safety of the school terrace. The sun had dipped lower, casting long shadows across the ground, but the warmth of the day still lingered in the air. It felt at odds with the cold, hollow feeling in your chest.

Once you were both far from the cliff’s edge, Jungwon spun you around to face him, his eyes searching yours, a mixture of anger, fear, and relief swirling in his dark gaze. "Why the hell did you even try to end your life?!" he demanded, his voice louder than usual, raw and broken.

You blinked, the weight of the moment crashing down on you like a wave. His question hung in the air, sharp and accusatory, and you realized just how close you had come to the edge—physically, mentally. A lump formed in your throat as you fumbled for words, guilt and shame suddenly overwhelming you. “But… everything is a mess…”

Jungwon’s expression softened for a fraction of a second before hardening again, his brows furrowed in frustration. “And you think a mess can’t be picked up and cleaned?” His words were harsh, almost biting, but there was something else underneath—a desperation to make you see reason, to pull you back from the darkness that had consumed you.

You gave a bitter laugh, shaking your head as your eyes dropped to the ground. "You’re saying it like it’s so simple. You’re saying it from a third-person point of view. You don’t know what it feels like. How could you possibly—"

"Just shut up." His voice cut through your words like a knife, his hands still gripping your arms, though his hold had loosened, his fingers less tense now. His lips were pressed into a thin line, and he looked like he was fighting back his own emotions, trying to stay strong for both of you.

The silence that followed was thick, the only sound being the faint rustling of leaves in the breeze. His jaw clenched as he stared at you, disbelief still etched into his features. How could his best friend—someone who had always seemed so strong, so put-together—be standing here, on the verge of throwing everything away? How could you even consider doing this?

You finally glanced up at him, your voice small. “You’re mad at me.”

"Damn right, I’m mad," Jungwon muttered, his fingers tightening just a little on your arms, but not enough to hurt. “I’m mad because you didn’t even talk to me. Because you tried to handle this on your own, and now—” He stopped, his throat constricting as his gaze softened. “I’m mad because I almost lost you."

Your breath hitched at the raw honesty in his words, and you suddenly felt a pang of regret. The depth of his feelings, the fear in his eyes—it hit you all at once. You had been selfish, you realized. Caught up in your own pain, you had forgotten that there were people who cared, people who would be devastated if you were gone.

“I’m sorry…” The words fell from your lips in a whisper, barely audible, but Jungwon heard them. He exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing just slightly, though his eyes never left yours.

“Just promise me you won’t do this again,” he said quietly, the desperation in his voice still lingering. His hand slid from your arm, his touch gentle now as if afraid you might break.

You nodded, the weight of everything still heavy on your chest. “I promise.”

For the first time since he pulled you back from the cliff, Jungwon’s lips curved into a small, relieved smile. “Good. Because I’m not letting you go that easily.”

But did that change anything? Not really. Even as your best friend, Jungwon, kept calling, you declined every single one of his attempts to reach out. His name would light up your phone screen, his calls persistent at first, but you couldn’t bring yourself to answer. The guilt gnawed at you, yet somehow, avoiding him felt easier than facing the weight of everything that had happened.

Days bled into weeks. You hadn’t seen or spoken to him since that day on the cliff. The school holidays provided a convenient escape, no awkward encounters in the hallways, no forced conversations during lunch. You didn’t have to see his concerned eyes or hear the questions you weren’t ready to answer.

But it also left you alone. And that isolation, once a refuge, slowly began to feel suffocating.

A sharp sting burned on your cheek, then another, each slap more painful than the last. You felt it deep in your bones—this was abuse. But how could you speak against your own father? The man who provided you a roof over your head, food to eat, clothes on your back. The man who was supposed to protect you but instead delivered blow after blow.

You lay curled up in your small room, the door locked behind you. The walls felt like they were closing in, suffocating you in this place that should’ve been a home but had turned into a prison. The muffled sounds of your mother’s cries filled the air from just outside your door, followed by the sickening thud of fists. You flinched, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself, as if it could block out the horrors on the other side of the door.

Then your phone buzzed, pulling you from the moment, an unknown number flashing across the screen. You hesitated but answered, desperate for a distraction, for anything to take you away from this nightmare, if only for a second.

“Don’t even think about declining this,” a familiar voice spoke through the line, low and firm. Jungwon.

Your breath hitched. How had he found out?

"Can I come over now?" His question was soft but edged with concern, and yet, your heart sank at the thought. You froze, your grip tightening around the phone as you glanced toward the door where the sounds of violence persisted. No, he couldn’t see this. You couldn’t let him witness the chaos behind these walls.

“No... I’m really fine, Jungwon.” The lie tasted bitter on your tongue.

There was silence on the other end, then a harsh sigh. “Stupid girl, I can hear you sobbing.”

His voice was gentle despite the harsh words, the contrast making your chest ache. The tears you had tried so hard to hold back fell freely now, soaking your pillow. You bit your lip, trying to muffle the sobs. The last thing you needed was for him to hear more of your weakness.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Just don’t bother me.”

And with that, you ended the call.

You buried your face deeper into the pillow, as if it could absorb the agony that threatened to spill over. You couldn’t drag him into this mess. Jungwon deserved better than the broken shards of your life. He didn’t need to see the shattered pieces of your family or the way you crumbled beneath the weight of it all. He couldn’t fix it. No one could.

Outside, the noise continued, your mother’s cries piercing through the air, but you pressed your hands over your ears, trying to block it out. You curled into yourself, wishing—praying—that somehow, you could disappear.

The days stretched into weeks, and soon enough, six months had passed. Six long months of silence, of unanswered calls and unread messages. You thought you could avoid the inevitable, thought you could lock yourself away from the world and from him. But luck has never been on your side.

It was just an ordinary evening. You were alone, waiting for a pizza delivery. The knock on the door came just as you expected, and without thinking, you rushed to answer, already imagining the cheesy comfort waiting inside the box.

"Pizza?" you murmured absentmindedly as you reached out, grabbing the box from the man standing there in a red cap. You didn’t even spare him a glance. After all, the bill had already been paid online. You were about to close the door when a foot wedged itself in, stopping it from shutting all the way.

Before you could even react, the man pushed the door open. Panic surged through your veins, your heartbeat quickening as you were about to scream—but then he ripped off the mask and cap.

“Jungwon?” His name left your lips in a confused whisper.

He stood in your apartment now, locking the door behind him, his face a mixture of frustration and exhaustion. “What the hell?” you muttered, still trying to make sense of what was happening.

“I should be the one saying that!” he snapped, his voice louder than you'd ever heard it. He took a step closer, and you instinctively backed away. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why did you block me? It’s been six fucking months!” His words echoed in the small space, anger laced with hurt.

You couldn’t meet his gaze. Guilt clawed at your insides as you stared at the floor, your voice small, barely audible. “I—”

“You what?” he interrupted, his voice softening only slightly. “You should’ve come to me instead of shutting me out. I care about you. Do you get that?” His words were raw, the emotion clear as he stepped forward, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest. His breath was warm against your neck as he buried his face in your shoulder, holding you like he was afraid you’d slip away again.

That’s when it happened—the sob. It came out of nowhere, and before you could stop it, tears were streaming down your cheeks, your body trembling in his arms.

Jungwon froze. He hadn’t meant to make you cry. “Wait, did I... did I yell too much?” His voice cracked slightly, unsure and a little panicked. But then, as he pulled away to look at you, his eyes caught something else—a dark bruise peeking out from under the sleeve of your shirt. His expression shifted, concern and anger mixing together.

“Was it... your dad?” he asked quietly, his eyes searching yours for an answer.

You couldn’t bring yourself to say the words, so you just nodded, tears still flowing as you pressed your face into his chest again, the sobs shaking your whole body. Jungwon stiffened, helpless in the face of your pain. It wasn’t the first time. He’d seen the marks before, felt the weight of your silence over the months.

He didn’t know what to do, not really. He wasn’t good at handling these things—feelings, emotions. So instead, he did what he always did when words failed him. He reached for the pizza box.

“Hey... let’s eat,” he mumbled, trying to sound lighthearted, though his voice was still thick with worry. “The pizza’s gonna get cold.”

You sniffled, wiping your eyes as you glanced at the box. He was right—who could say no to food, especially pizza? Jungwon sat you down on the couch, his hand resting gently on your shoulder as if afraid you might break. He wiped the last of your tears with the sleeve of his jacket, his touch careful, almost tender.

The box opened with a familiar squeak, and the smell of melted cheese and garlic filled the room, momentarily lifting the heavy atmosphere. He picked up a slice, the cheese stretching from the crust, and held it out to you.

“Come on,” he coaxed gently, holding the slice up to your lips. You hesitated, still sniffling, but eventually gave in, taking a small bite. He watched you closely, his eyes soft as he smiled, relieved when you didn’t pull away or retreat into your shell again.

You chewed quietly, the warmth of the pizza slowly easing the ache in your chest. Jungwon fed you another bite, then another, as if the simple act of sharing food could patch up the cracks in your world.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said suddenly, his voice steady but quiet. “Not until you stop shutting me out. You’re stuck with me.”

For the first time in months, a small, fragile smile tugged at the corners of your lips. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

As you wiped the tears from your cheeks and took another bite of the pizza, you finally worked up the courage to ask the question that had been nagging at you for months.

"Why do you care so much anyway?" Your voice was small, but it carried the weight of your confusion, your walls still up even though you sat here with him, sharing a meal like nothing had changed.

Jungwon didn’t hesitate. “Because I love you,” he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He didn’t make a big show of it—he just said it while stuffing his mouth with another bite of pizza, crumbs falling onto his lap, completely unaware of the storm brewing inside you.

You froze mid-bite. The pizza in your hand suddenly felt heavier, like it was too much to hold. Love. That word had always felt dangerous, especially coming from someone who mattered. Your heart raced, but instead of joy or excitement, a chill of fear ran down your spine. Your eyes darted toward the door. What if your parents came home? What if they saw you like this, with a boy, alone in your apartment?

“You should leave,” you blurted, the words stumbling out of your mouth.

Jungwon frowned, his brows knitting together. “Why?”

“Because my dad—” you started, but then remembered the one small mercy of the day. “He’ll be back later.”

“You said he’s gone for the day,” Jungwon reminded you, still chewing on a slice of pizza. “Don’t worry. I’ll leave before he comes.”

Relief washed over you momentarily, and the tension in your shoulders relaxed. He was right. You had a little more time. So the two of you continued to eat, now with a second pizza box sitting on the coffee table—the actual delivery guy had come not long after Jungwon’s dramatic entrance, dropping off a few dumplings along with your order.

The two of you ate in comfortable silence, the sound of chewing filling the room as you stuffed your faces, the dumplings soft and savory, the pizza cheesy and still warm.

But Jungwon, ever the one to ruin the quiet moments, spoke up again. His voice was softer this time, cautious, like he was stepping into dangerous territory. “Why have you been avoiding me, though?”

You looked at him, blinking in confusion as you wiped crumbs off your lips. “Avoiding what?”

“I love you,” he repeated, slower this time, letting the words hang in the air between you. “Say it back.”

Your heart clenched. He was waiting for an answer, but the lump in your throat made it impossible to speak. “I— I’m afraid.”

Jungwon’s face softened, his eyes searching yours for an explanation. “Afraid of what?”

You bit your lip, staring down at the half-eaten pizza in your hand. The words were hard to say, but you forced them out. “Afraid of loving someone. What if they—”

“You think I’ll turn out like your father?” he cut you off, his voice laced with disbelief and hurt.

You froze. The air between you shifted, growing heavier with each passing second. His eyes bore into you, the hurt clear in his expression. You wanted to deny it, to take back the unspoken accusation, but you couldn’t. Instead, you just sat there, silent, your guilt wrapping around you like a suffocating blanket.

“I—” you started, but the words died in your throat.

“So you do.” His voice was low, filled with disappointment. His shoulders slumped, and he looked away, hurt written all over his face. The boy who had burst into your home with so much fire and determination was now quiet, deflated.

“I’m sorry, Jungwon,” you whispered, the apology sounding hollow, even to you.

“It’s fine,” he muttered, but the way he said it told you it wasn’t fine at all. His tone was distant, half-hearted, as if the words barely mattered now. He picked up another slice of pizza, though the enthusiasm from earlier was gone. He chewed slowly, not really tasting it anymore, his eyes focused on the floor.

You sat there, the silence between you heavy and oppressive, both of you nibbling on your food but no longer enjoying it. The pizza that once tasted so good now felt like ash in your mouth, and the room, once filled with warmth and comfort, now felt cold.

Jungwon wiped his hands on a napkin, the sound of the crumpling paper breaking the silence. He sighed, leaning back against the couch, his head tilted toward the ceiling as if he was trying to gather his thoughts. You wanted to say something, to fix the mess you had made, but the words wouldn’t come. All you could do was sit there, your hands trembling slightly as you held the half-eaten slice, unsure of what to do next.

The tension hung in the air like a cloud, neither of you knowing how to break it. The food sat on the table, forgotten, as you both struggled with your own emotions, neither ready to face the truth that had been laid bare between you.

And yet, despite the silence, despite the hurt, he didn’t leave. Jungwon stayed. Even when you didn’t deserve it. Even when you thought you were unlovable. He stayed.

Jungwon lingered by the door, his hesitation palpable. The quiet of the room was heavy with the weight of unspoken words and lingering doubts. He had finally agreed to leave, his resolve hardening as he prepared to step out of the apartment. But his hand rested on the doorknob, his gaze fixed on you with a mixture of frustration and hope.

"You won’t block me again, right?" he asked, his voice strained, the edges of his words betraying his fear of being shut out once more.

You felt a lump in your throat, sadness gripping you tightly. "I will try," you muttered, the admission hanging heavily in the air between you. His disappointment was clear, a visible ache in his eyes as he took in your response.

Jungwon’s expression softened slightly, though his skepticism remained. "I understand," he said, but the words lacked conviction. He was still waiting for something more, something that would reassure him of your sincerity.

Before he could leave, you found yourself reaching out, clutching his hand in a desperate bid to keep him there. "Jungwon, I’m sorry. I don’t believe you to be the same as my dad," you said, your voice trembling with emotion.

His eyes met yours, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. "I understand," he repeated, but his tone was guarded, as if he was trying to protect himself from further hurt. Yet, when you continued, your voice softer but firm, his expression shifted.

"I love you too, Jungwon," you pleaded, the words escaping in a rush of vulnerability. The confession was not just an apology but a revelation, a desperate plea for him to stay.

He looked at you, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You’re saying it for the sake of it," he accused, his voice tinged with skepticism.

The accusation stung, and your eyes welled up with tears. You tried to bridge the gap between your heart and his with honesty. "I’m being honest," you insisted, your voice breaking. "I do love you, Jungwon." But even as you said it, you felt a pang of uncertainty, a hesitation that made you question whether your feelings were as genuine as you wanted them to be.

Jungwon's gaze was intense, his eyes searching yours for the truth. "Say it while looking into my eyes," he demanded, his hands gripping your shoulders firmly, yet gently. The door was still closed, the world outside forgotten in the face of this emotional confrontation.

You hesitated, the weight of his demand pressing down on you. But as you looked into his eyes, you saw the earnestness and care that had been so evident in him all along. The vulnerability you had felt in those long months of silence, the yearning to connect with him, surged to the surface.

“I love you,” you said, the words coming from a place deep within your heart. The confession was more than just an acknowledgment of your feelings; it was a declaration of the truth you had been avoiding. The pain of the past six months, the longing to speak to him, the realization that he had been the only one who truly cared—it all culminated in those three words.

Jungwon’s eyes softened as he took in your declaration. He let go of your shoulders, his expression a mix of relief and continued uncertainty. He stepped closer, his presence a comforting warmth against the cold weight of your fears.

"How could I not love you?" you whispered, the question more to yourself than to him, but it was clear. The truth of your feelings, once hidden and doubted, now stood revealed. You had missed him, craved his presence, and needed him more than you had ever admitted.

Jungwon pulled you into a gentle embrace, his arms enveloping you in a protective cocoon. The tears on your cheeks were wiped away by his thumb, his touch tender despite the earlier conflict. "We’ll figure this out," he murmured, his voice soothing as he held you close. "We’ll take it one step at a time."

The world outside felt distant, the only reality that mattered was the one in his arms, where the past six months of silence and fear began to unravel. The pizza boxes and dumplings lay forgotten on the table, their warmth a reminder of the connection you had almost lost but had now found again.

As you stood there, wrapped in his embrace, the emotional turmoil slowly settled into a fragile sense of hope. Jungwon's presence was a beacon of reassurance, a reminder that even in the darkest moments, love had the power to heal and bridge the gaps of misunderstanding.

As the months have passed, the initial awkwardness of your relationship has given way to a comfortable familiarity. You and your best friend-turned-lover have grown accustomed to each other's presence, often finding yourselves curled up on the couch together, lost in conversation or simply enjoying each other's company.

His voice is low and patient, guiding you through the motions as his hand covers yours. Your fingers tentatively wrap around his cock, mirroring his movements. You can feel his heartbeat pulsing against your palm, his warm breath against your neck as he leans down to kiss you softly. "Like that,"

His voice is a husky whisper against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. His hand tightens over yours, guiding it slower, then faster, creating a rhythm that hitches your breath. You can feel him hardening further against your touch, his hips bucking gently into your grip.

"Feel that?" he murmurs, his voice barely audible as he guides your hand up and down his length. "That's you touching me." His breath hitches when you wrap your other hand around to cup him, your fingers brushing against sensitive skin. "Just like that,"

"You're... you're so warm," you whisper, your voice hitching as your thumbs brush against the velvety tip. You look up at him, your eyes meeting his intense gaze. "And so big..." He groans, his hips jerking forward, his hands squeezing yours tighter around him.

"I-I want to touch you too," he stammers, his cheeks flushing a soft shade of red. His hands hesitate, hovering over your thighs before slowly inching upward, his touch light and uncertain. "Is this... is this okay?"

"Mhm..." you breathe out, your head lolling back against his shoulder as his tentative fingers trace the hem of your skirt. His touch is like a spark against your skin, making you acutely aware of every inch of your body. "You can... you can go under..."

His fingers tremble slightly as he lifts the hem of your skirt, his gaze fixated on the soft fabric of your panties. He looks up at you, seeking permission, his heart pounding in his chest. You nod, and he lets out a shaky breath before slowly sliding his hand underneath your underwear.

"Oh..." you gasp, your back arching into him as he finds your center. His touch is exploratory, his fingers tracing your folds as if committing every detail to memory. "You're... you're wet," he breathes out, his voice laced with wonder and a hint of nervousness.

As he explores you, his own breath hitches in rhythm with your touches. His hips jerk forward, pushing into your fist as your hands continue to stroke him. "You... you feel so good," he pants, his voice strained, his fingers mirroring your rhythm against your core. "Like..."

"...like silk," he whispers, his fingers gliding through your wetness as he discovers your sensitive spots. "So smooth and warm." He looks up at you, his eyes glassy with desire, his face flushed. "Can I... can I put my finger inside you?"

"Yes," you whisper, your voice trembling with anticipation. "Please..." You guide his finger to your entrance, holding his gaze as he pushes it inside you. He lets out a soft gasp, his finger sinking deeper into your heat as he starts to curl it. "Oh god..."

He curls his finger inside you, feeling the tight, untouched walls of your vagina hug his finger tightly. He looks at you in awe, his eyes wide with wonder as he realizes he's the first person to ever be inside you. "You're so... so tight," he whispers, his voice shaking.

"And you're... so big," you pant, your hands squeezing him tighter as he withdraws slightly, only to push back in deeper. "I've never... never felt this way..." Your words trail off into a moan as he finds that spot inside you that makes your insides clench.

His face contorts in concentration, his brows furrowing as he tries to hold back. "You... you're gripping me so tightly," he hisses, his voice barely a whisper. "If you keep that up, I'm... I'm gonna... "

"...I'm gonna cum," he chokes out, his finger moving frantically inside you as he fights against the urge. But it's no use, the sensation of your tight, virgin hole is too much for him to handle.

His movements become erratic, his finger pistonning in and out of you as his breath hitches against your neck. His hips thrust into your grasp, his hot seed pulsing onto your fingers as he moans softly, burying his face against your shoulder. "I'm so... so sorry..."

Tears well up in your eyes as a mix of overwhelming sensations flood through you. Your insides feel deliciously sore from his finger, your body tensing as a few tears slip down your cheeks. "Ow..." you whimper, your voice muffled against his shoulder.

He stiffens behind you, his body tensing as he realizes the reason behind your tears. His finger stills inside you, his body shuddering as he looks at the tears on your cheeks. "Oh god, I'm so sorry..." He gently withdraws from you, cradling you against his chest.

"Don't... don't leave..." you hiccup, turning in his arms to face him. He pulls you into his lap, his arms wrapping protectively around you as he nuzzles his face into your neck, leaving soft, apologetic kisses on your skin.

"I'm not going anywhere," he murmurs, his voice hoarse. "I'm so sorry if I hurt you. That wasn't supposed to happen. Not like that. Not our first time..." His voice trails off, his face flushing with embarrassment.

You sniffle, nuzzling against his chest as you wrap your arms around his neck. "It's okay... it's just... it's new. It's... intense," you explain softly, your voice steadying. "But... it's not your fault. We're learning together..."

He sighs in relief, hugging you tightly against him. "Right. Learning together," he repeats, his voice filled with gratitude. "And I promise, next time will be better. I'll be more careful, more gentle..." He trails off, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

The silence between you two was suffocating. After what had happened, you both found yourselves drifting, not in your feelings for each other but in the inability to navigate the awkwardness that came after. There was no guidebook for this—everyone talked about sex, whispered secrets and stories of excitement, but no one ever mentioned the part that followed. The silence. The shy avoidance. The lingering discomfort.

You avoided talking to Jungwon for days, each time you crossed paths, your eyes darting elsewhere, your heart thudding in your chest. It wasn’t because you didn’t care for him; it was because the weight of what had happened—the intimacy, the vulnerability—felt too heavy to put into words. You weren’t sure how to approach him, how to continue like everything was the same. And maybe it wasn’t the same. Something had changed between you two, but no one had taught you how to deal with that change.

Jungwon’s home had become your escape, a sanctuary from the chaos that awaited you back in your own. His parents had always welcomed you with open arms, offering warmth and safety in a way your own home never did. It was easier to stay at his place, easier to smile and laugh with his family, easier to forget the gnawing ache of shame and fear that clung to you whenever you returned to your father’s house.

But you couldn’t stay away forever.

When you did finally go home, it was always late, always when you were too tired to think about anything but sleep. You would slip quietly into your room, locking the door behind you, hoping that tonight would be one of the quieter nights. But then, the inevitable happened. The sound of something shattering echoed through the walls, sharp and jagged, followed by the familiar sound of your father’s raised voice—angry, slurred, chaotic. Your body tensed immediately, heart pounding in your chest as you squeezed your eyes shut, wishing for the noise to stop.

Another crash. The sound of something breaking against the wall, and you knew—another plate, another bottle, another item sacrificed to your father’s rage. You curled up on your bed, knees pulled to your chest as the noise continued. You had learned to brace yourself, to keep the panic at bay, but it never got easier.

And then, a sound from your window startled you out of your thoughts. A soft knock, hesitant but insistent. You turned, your breath catching as you saw Jungwon’s familiar face peering through the glass. His eyes were wide with concern, his breath fogging up the window as he knocked again, mouthing your name.

Without thinking, you rushed to open it, quietly unlatching the window and sliding it up just enough for him to slip through. “What are you doing here?” you whispered, your voice a mixture of surprise and panic as you helped him inside. His hands were cold, and his body brushed against yours as he climbed into the room.

Jungwon gave you a sheepish smile, his eyes flickering to the door where the sounds of your father’s outburst still echoed faintly. “I wanted to talk to you… we haven’t, you know, talked in a while. And then I heard your dad...”

His words trailed off, the concern in his eyes clear. You could feel the lump in your throat forming, a mixture of embarrassment and helplessness that made you want to shrink away. “I’m sorry you had to hear that,” you muttered, dropping your gaze to the floor. “I didn’t want you to—”

Before you could finish, Jungwon pulled you into his arms, wrapping you in a warm, comforting embrace. His chin rested on top of your head, his hands gently rubbing your back in a soothing motion. The tension in your body melted slightly as he held you, his presence grounding you, making the chaos outside feel a little less suffocating.

“Why were you avoiding me?” he whispered into your hair, his voice soft and full of concern. “Was it something I did? Was I too rough or...?”

You swallowed, your throat tight with the weight of your own feelings. You shook your head, not able to meet his eyes. “No, it wasn’t that,” you mumbled, your fingers nervously fiddling with the hem of your shirt. “It’s just... it was awkward, you know? After everything.”

Jungwon pulled back slightly, his eyes searching your face for answers, but there was no accusation there, only understanding. He sighed softly, running a hand through his hair. “It doesn’t have to be awkward,” he said gently, his hand moving to rest on your shoulder. “We can talk about it. We’re figuring this out together, right?”

His words were meant to comfort, but the reality of it all still felt heavy. The awkwardness of crossing that line of intimacy, the weight of your father’s violence lingering in the background—it all felt too much to bear. But as Jungwon sat down on the edge of your bed, his familiar presence a reminder of everything good, you knew that avoiding him wouldn’t solve anything. He was here, and he cared. Maybe that was enough for now.

He reached over and flicked the switch, plunging the room into darkness. The only sound was the muffled argument coming from downstairs, their parents' voices rising and falling in a heated debate. He moved to the curtains, pulling them closed to block out the faint moonlight peeking through the gaps.

The dim light cast long, dancing shadows on the walls as he turned back to face you. His hands trembled slightly as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small, crinkled square - a condom. He hesitated, his cheeks flushing red, before finally blurting out, "Can we...?"

"Can we...?" he repeated softly, his voice barely audible over the distant quarrel. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his eyes darting to meet yours then quickly flicking away, like a nervous bird. "Can we... have actual... you know...?"

Your heart pounded in your chest as you processed his words. Actual sex. With him. Here. Now. The thought sent a shiver down your spine, a mix of excitement and terror swirling in your stomach. You swallowed hard, trying to find your voice. "I... I don't know,"

He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, as if sharing a secret. "I can forget about it if you want. Pretend I never said anything." His hands fidgeted with the condom, crumpling the foil between his fingers. He was nervous too.

You reached out, your fingers brushing against his as you took the crumpled foil from him. His breath hitched at the contact, and he looked up at you with wide, hopeful eyes. You unfolded the condom, the quiet rustle of the package breaking the tense silence.

"No... I want this too," you admitted softly, your voice barely a whisper. You looked down, unable to meet his gaze, as you slowly began to unbutton your shirt. He watched, enraptured, his eyes following your fingers as they revealed more of your skin. "Really?"

You nodded, still focused on your task. You shrugged out of your shirt, letting it drop to the floor. As you began to get out of your shorts, he hesitantly reached out, his hands mirroring yours as he too started to undress.

Your hands froze mid-action, the unbuckled waistband of your jeans gaping open. The heated argument downstairs escalated, the sound of shattered glass punctuating your father's angry words. You bit your lip, uncertainty written all over your face. "What if... what if dad knows you're in?"

He paused, his own shirt halfway unbuttoned. His eyes flicked to the closed door, then back to you, concern etched on his face. He finished unbuttoning his shirt, the material rustling softly as he shrugged it off. "We'll be quiet," he promised, his voice low and steady.

He stepped closer, his bare chest inches from yours. The heat from his body radiated onto yours, his breath warm against your neck as he leaned in. "We can... take it slow," he murmured, his hands tentatively resting on your hips. "And if you want me to stop... just say it..."

You nodded, leaning back on the bed as he gently laid you down. The mattress dipped beneath his weight as he crawled onto the bed beside you. He propped himself up on one elbow, his other hand tracing patterns on your bare stomach, his touch feather-light. "We'll be quiet,"

He leaned down, his mouth finding your center through your shorts. He kissed and sucked through the fabric, his hands gently pushing your legs apart as he went down on you. The sound of his mouth on your pussy was muffled by the fabric, but the vibrations sent shivers through your body.

He looked up at you, his eyes locking with yours as he kissed through your shorts. "I've never... done this before," he admitted, his voice muffled. "But I want to make you feel good." You bit your lip, your heart racing as you were reminded that he was a virgin too.

"Show me what you like," he whispered, his hands gripping your thighs as he continued to kiss and suck through the fabric. You tentatively guided his head, showing him the pressure and rhythm that drove you wild. He followed your guidance eagerly, his own inexperience fueling his enthusiasm. "Like that?"

"Yes... just like that," you panted, your head falling back against the pillow. He doubled his efforts, his touch becoming more confident with each passing moment. The room filled with the sounds of your labored breaths and the soft, muffled noises of his mouth on you. "Please..."

His fingers deftly unbuttoned your shorts and slipped them down your legs, leaving you in just your soaked-through panties. He kissed the fabric, his warm breath sending shivers through your body. Then, with a gentle tug, he pulled your panties aside and buried his face between your folds.

His tongue was tentative at first, exploring your wet warmth with shy curiosity. It curled and licked, learning your folds, your ridges, your hole. You could feel his inexperience in every uncertain flick, but it only made the moment more precious. He was learning your body, mapping out your secrets with his tongue.

"Oh, God..." you whimpered, your fingers tangling in his hair as he found your most sensitive spot. He latched onto it, sucking gently as he swirled his tongue around it. Your legs trembled, your hips rising off the bed as you sought more of his mouth.

"Shh..." he hissed softly, lifting his head for a moment. His face was glistening, his chin shiny with your essence. "Your dad might hear..." He ducked his head back down, his hands gripping your hips to keep you from bucking too wildly.

He continued his ministrations, his tongue a blur as he ate at you like a starving man. Your quiet whimpers were muffled by his mouth, your legs shaking violently as the pressure built inside you. He didn't stop, didn't relent, even when you thought you couldn't take it anymore.

"I... I don't know if I can be quiet..." you panted, your voice barely audible. Your body tensed, your legs squeezing around his head as the first waves of release hit you. He looked up at you, his eyes wide and worried. "Try, okay? For me?"

"Okay... okay, I'll try..." you gasped, biting down hard on your fist to stifle your cries. His tongue slid inside you, pushing deep as the first wave crested. Your body clamped down on him, your insides pulsing around his intrusion.

He swallowed your sounds, his throat working as he fought to keep you quiet. Your pussy squeezed him tightly, rippling around his tongue as he lapped at your clit, trying to draw out your orgasm. Finally, you managed to choke back a cry, your hips jerking against his face as you came hard.

He lifted his head, his face a picture of smug satisfaction. His mouth and chin were shiny with your release, his hair disheveled from your desperate fingers. "Good job," he praised softly, kissing your inner thigh. He sat up, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

"Can I... can we try...?" he asked, his voice trailing off as he looked down at his hardened length. He was tentatively stroking himself, his hand moving up and down his length with uncertainty. You nodded, your eyes wide as you looked at his manhood for the first time.

He positioned himself between your thighs, his hands shaking as he guided himself to your entrance. He pressed the head against your hole, his face contorting with concentration. "This might... it might hurt a little," he warned, his voice barely a whisper.

"Condom!" you hissed, your eyes flying wide open. He let out a nervous laugh, "Yeah, condom..." He fumbled in his pocket, pulling out a crinkly square. He tore it open with shaking hands and rolled it onto himself with a grimace.

He lined himself up again, his breathing growing heavier. He leaned down to kiss you, his mouth covering yours as he slowly pushed forward. You felt a brief, sharp pain as he broke through, your nails digging into his back. He froze, his face buried in your neck. "You okay?"

"Y-yes... keep going..." you whimpered, your voice barely a whisper. He nodded, his brow furrowing with concentration as he slowly eased the rest of the way in. You could feel every inch of him, your body stretching to accommodate his thickness.

He pushed forward, and you felt the sudden, sharp pain as your hymen gave way. You let out a soft cry, biting down on his shoulder to muffle the sound. He froze, his body stiff as he realized what had happened. "Oh God, I'm sorry... I'm sorry..."

He held perfectly still, his heart pounding against your chest. After a moment, he carefully pulled back until just the head of his dick was inside you, then pushed back in gently. He repeated this process a few times, each push and pull sending small jolts of pain through your tender flesh.

You hissed softly through clenched teeth, your nails digging into his back as you tried to bear the discomfort. He kept his movements slow and gentle, his face contorted with effort as he tried to hold back. "You're so tight... it's so good..." he breathed, his voice hoarse with restraint.

After a few more slow thrusts, the pain began to ease, replaced by a strange, pleasurable pressure. You relaxed a little, your legs unwinding from around his waist. He took this as a sign to continue, his hips picking up a gentle rhythm as he slid in and out of your virgin hole.

He kissed you deeply, his tongue tangling with yours as his pace quickened. He was being as gentle as he could, but his body had a mind of its own. The sound of his flesh slapping against yours filled the room, mingling with your soft whimpers and his ragged breathing.

As he thrust into you, he felt a sudden wetness. He looked down between your bodies, his eyes widening as he saw the blood staining the condom. He let out a low groan, his hips stuttering as he realized that he was taking your virginity.

He leaned down to kiss you again, his mouth covering yours as he tried to distract you from the discomfort. He thrust deep, filling you completely as he groaned against your lips. He was trying so hard to be gentle, but your body was too much.

You bit your lip hard to muffle your cries, burying your face in his neck as he continued to move inside you. The headboard banged against the wall with each thrust, the sound echoing loudly through the house. You prayed that your dad's hearing aid was off, so he wouldn't hear.

Jungwon covered your mouth with his hand, muffling your noises as he increased his pace. He was so close, his body tensing with each snap of his hips. "I'm so sorry... I'm so close... I can't stop..." he panted, his eyes locked with yours.

You nodded, your eyes wide with trust. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as he continued to thrust into you. The pressure was building inside you too, a heat spreading through your belly as he hit a spot deep inside.

With a choked cry, Jungwon buried his face in your neck, his hips stuttering as he came inside you. The condom strained against his shaft, the blood from your virginity leaking out around it. He held you tightly, his breath ragged against your skin as he tried to calm his racing heart.

He slowly lifted his head, his eyes filled with concern. "Are you okay?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. You nodded weakly, your body languid from the intense experience. He carefully pulled out, making a face as he saw the blood-stained condom. "I'm so sorry..."

He quickly cleaned you up, his touch gentle as he wiped away the evidence of your lost innocence. He disposed of the condom in the trash, flushing bright red as he realized that he had just taken your virginity in your house. "We should be more careful next time..."

He helped you off the bed, wrapping his arms around your waist as you leaned against him for support. "Come on, let's clean up," he murmured, his voice soft with embarrassment. You nodded weakly, your legs still shaky as he led you to the bathroom. "You can barely walk..."

He turned on the shower, helping you step inside before joining you himself. The warm water felt soothing against your skin, but you couldn't shake off the lingering awkwardness. Jungwon stood behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he held you against his chest. "We're such idiots,"

"We are," you agreed softly, letting out a nervous laugh. He rested his chin on your shoulder, his hands roaming up to cup your breasts. Your head fell back against his shoulder, your eyes closed as you let out a soft moan. "Jungwon... we can't... not again..."

"Shh, just relax," he whispered, his fingers gently squeezing your nipples. The water continued to pour down, washing away the evidence of your lovemaking. Jungwon's other hand reached between your legs, his fingers gently rubbing your sensitive folds. "You're so sore..."

"Mmm... It's okay, we won't do it again... just let me take care of you," he murmured, his fingers gently cleaning you up. He turned off the shower and helped you out, wrapping you in a fluffy towel. He gently dried you off, his touch tender and caring.

Jungwon carried you out of the bathroom and back to the bed, carefully laying you down before climbing in beside you. He pulled the covers over both of you, cuddling you close and wrapping his arms around your waist. "Just rest for now," he whispered, his lips pressing gentle kisses to your forehead.

You nuzzled against his chest, feeling content and sleepy. But then reality hit you, and you tensed up. "Jungwon... what if my dad comes in?" you whispered, your voice barely audible. He stiffened, realizing the gravity of the situation.

"You're right... I should go," he murmured, reluctance clear in his voice. He carefully untangled himself from you and got out of bed, quickly dressing. You sat up, pulling the covers around you as you watched him. "I'll call you later, okay?"

You bit your lip, nodding. "Okay... be careful," you whispered. He crossed the room and pressed a quick kiss to your lips before heading to the window. "I'll climb out the window. I don't want your dad to see me leaving," he explained in a low voice.

He pushed the window open and climbed out, waving at you before dropping down onto the lawn below. You watched as he straightened up and jogged away, disappearing into the darkness. You closed the window and locked it before climbing back into bed, your mind racing with thoughts of what had just happened.

The busy street buzzed with life, but all Jungwon could think about was shaking Mira off. She clung to his arm persistently, her grip tightening as she tilted her head with a coy smile, her words dripping with desperation.

"Jungwon, c'mon," she whined, batting her lashes in a way that might have worked on someone else. "It's just one date."

His face remained impassive, brushing her off with a subtle tug of his arm. "Mira, I'm taken." His voice was calm but firm, the words carrying a weight of finality that he hoped she would understand.

Mira, however, wasn’t one to give up so easily. She edged closer, her voice dropping to a low whisper. "You said she's in Canada, she won’t know."

Before Jungwon could even reply, a familiar voice rang out, light and full of warmth.

"Wonnie!"

His heart leapt at the sound of your voice, and he turned just in time to see you rushing toward him. Before he could process anything else, you threw yourself into his arms, and he caught you instantly, pulling you close as if it had been mere hours since he last saw you, not years. He held you like he had been waiting for this exact moment all his life.

"You're back?" His voice cracked slightly, a mixture of disbelief and excitement bubbling to the surface. He squeezed you tighter, as if to confirm you were really there, in his arms, tangible and warm. "Why didn’t you tell me? I would've picked you up from the airport."

You clung to him, burying your face in his chest, inhaling the scent of him that you had missed more than you could admit during those long years apart. It had been almost three years since graduation, and four since the start of your relationship. Three excruciating years of video calls, texts, and waiting, all because your mother had finally divorced your father and moved to Canada, taking you with her. Jungwon had promised you he'd wait, and wait he did—patiently, devotedly, even though the distance often felt unbearable.

Tears began to spill uncontrollably down your cheeks, soaking into his shirt as you sobbed into his chest. The emotions were overwhelming, the relief of being back in his arms after so long mixing with the sadness of having missed him so much.

"Why are you crying?" Jungwon asked softly, his voice filled with concern. His hands moved up to cradle the back of your head gently as he rocked you back and forth, trying to soothe you. The steady rhythm of his movements grounded you, pulling you out of the swirl of emotions that threatened to drown you.

"I'm happy, so happy," you mumbled into his chest, your voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt. You took a shaky breath, trying to regain your composure, and wiped your tear-streaked face with the back of your hand before looking up at him.

And then, out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Mira still standing there, watching the intimate moment unfold between you and Jungwon with barely concealed irritation.

"Who's she though?" You asked, gesturing toward the girl who now stood awkwardly a few feet away, her smile strained and forced.

Jungwon rolled his eyes dramatically, the exasperation clear on his face as he shifted his hold on you. "She's just a casual friend," he muttered under his breath, his tone leaving no room for interpretation.

Mira took that as her cue to awkwardly introduce herself, though it was clear she was far from pleased with the situation. "Hello. You must be his girlfriend," she mumbled, her eyes flicking between the two of you as she watched the embrace dissolve.

"Yeah," you replied simply, your tone firm but polite, unwilling to give her any satisfaction from this moment. Your grip on Jungwon tightened subtly, a quiet assertion that he was yours, and you weren’t going anywhere.

As you broke away from the hug, Jungwon leaned down to whisper into your ear, his breath warm against your skin. "She's annoying," he muttered with a slight chuckle. "She was trying to get me to date her without you knowing."

You turned your head slightly, hiding a grin as you whispered back teasingly, "You should’ve gone then."

Jungwon pulled back just enough to give you an incredulous look, his brows furrowing in playful annoyance. "How could I?" he whispered back, his voice full of mock indignation. "I love you."

Mira, sensing that she had no place in this moment, let out a soft huff and turned on her heel, walking away quickly with a flick of her hair, clearly defeated. Jungwon barely glanced her way, his attention solely focused on you, his arms still wrapped around you like a protective shield.

The two of you stood there in the middle of the sidewalk, oblivious to the world around you. After years of being apart, of missed touches and long-distance calls, nothing else mattered. The noise of the city faded away, and all that was left was the sound of your heartbeats, syncing up once again after so much time spent apart.

The warm water cascaded down on you both, the steam filling the bathroom and fogging up the mirror. Jungwon's arms were wrapped around your waist, pulling your back against his chest. His fingers gently traced patterns on your belly, sending shivers down your spine despite the heat of the water.

"It feels different, doesn't it?" Jungwon murmured, his voice low as he nuzzled his face into your wet hair, inhaling your scent. His lips found the curve of your shoulder, pressing a soft, sucking kiss there before trailing up your neck. "Being together again..."

"...not just talking on the phone or facetiming," you interjected, your voice barely a whisper, enjoying the gentle touches. His hands slowly washed your body, cleaning you with care. You leaned your head back onto his shoulder, giving him better access to your neck. "I missed this."

"Mmm, me too," Jungwon hummed against your skin, his hands gliding down to your thighs, gently massaging them. The suds of the body wash made his touch slick. "I missed being able to touch you like this..."

"...to feel your heart race when I kiss your neck," he continued, his hands slowly sliding back up, skimming over your hips, your ribs, before finally resting underneath your breasts. "To hear your breath hitch when I..." He paused, his touch becoming more gentle. "Hold you like this."

His large hands cupped your breasts tenderly, his thumbs caressing the hardened peaks. He rocked his hips forward slightly, pressing his hardened length against the small of your back. "Even this... feels different. Better."

"It's... intense," you breathed out, your voice hitching as his touch became more insistent. His touch was gentle yet firm, reverent yet demanding. Your hands gripped his wrists, not to push him away, but to anchor yourself, to ground yourself in the overwhelming sensations. "Like..."

"...like we're trying to remember every detail, every feeling," you continued, your voice trembling. "Like we're starving for each other and can't get enough." Your breath caught as he squeezed your breasts gently, his thumbs rolling over your nipples. "Jungwon..."

His name fell from your lips on a soft moan as he grinded against you slowly, his mouth finding yours. His tongue delved in, deepening the kiss as his hands continued their slow exploration. The water poured down on you both, washing away the suds, but not the heat building between you.

His touch grew bolder as he turned you to face him, his hands sliding down your slick body to wrap around your thighs and lift you up. Your legs wrapped around his waist, your heels digging into his lower back as he pressed you against the cool tiles. "Look at me," he rasped, his voice thick with desire.

Your breath hitched as you met his gaze, his eyes dark with need. His hardness prodded at your entrance, pausing there. "Remember how it was, before?" He flexed his hips forward slightly, filling you just a little. "Remember how we fit together?"

"Yes..." you whispered, your nails digging into his shoulders. He slowly pushed into you more, inch by inch, his face contorted with pleasure. "Just like that... we fit..." You threw your head back, gasping as he sheathed himself fully inside you. "Jungwon..."

His length was thick and long, stretching you to accommodate him. He pulled out slowly, his hips rolling forward again as he thrust back in, his pace measured and deliberate. His hands gripped your ass tightly, spreading your ass cheeks slightly to grant himself deeper access. "Your eyes... they get so big,"

He leaned forward, his mouth latching onto one of your hardened peaks, sucking hard as he continued his slow thrusts. He was taking his time, drawing out the pleasure for both of you. His length glided in and out of you easily, the water and the body wash acting as natural lubricant.

"Jungwon... it's... so good..." you moaned, your voice barely a whisper. Your hands clutched his shoulders tightly, your nails digging into his flesh. Your breaths came in short pants, mingling with his harsh breaths. "You're so deep... I can feel you..."

His pace quickened, his thrusts becoming more insistent. The sound of water splashing filled the bathroom, accompanied by your soft moans and his ragged breathing. His mouth found yours again, swallowing your cries. His thickness caressed every inch of you, his pelvis grinding against yours with each thrust.

"You're... so warm... so tight..." he groaned against your mouth. His hands tightened on your bottom, his fingers spreading you wider as he increased his pace. The sound of their bodies slapping against each other echoed in the bathroom, accompanied by their heavy breathing. "I can't... hold back..."

"Don't... don't hold back..." you whimpered, your body tensing as he nailed a particularly sensitive spot. "Harder... Jungwon... please..." Your head lolled to the side, your breath coming in short pants.

His thrusts became brutal, his hips slamming against yours with abandon. The water in the tub splashed wildly, nearly overflowing as he fucked you with reckless abandon. His mouth latched onto your neck, biting and sucking hard as he chased his climax. "Fuck... fuck... FUCK!"

"Jungwon... yes... yes!" You cried out, your body tensing as your release neared. His thickness rubbed against you perfectly, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Your body clenched around him, your inner muscles milking him as you shattered around him.

"Ahhh!!" He threw his head back, his body stiffening as he found his release. He slammed into you one last time, his body shuddering as he spilled into you. His arms wrapped around you tightly, pulling you flush against him as he rode out his release. "Ahh..."

Finally, he collapsed against you, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. You remained suspended in the water, his softening length still buried inside you. After a moment, he gently pulled out, his thick seed dripping from your stretched open hole.

You leaned back against the tub, your legs splayed wide open as you gazed at your dripping hole. A satisfied smile spread across your face as you felt the warmth of his seed coating your insides. You reached down, gently probing your stretched hole with your finger, feeling his thick load inside you.

Jungwon watched you with hooded eyes, his face flushed and his breathing still heavy. "You look so... satisfied," he commented, his voice lazy and content. He reached out, his hand mirroring yours as he gently touched your slick hole.

You looked at him, your eyes glinting mischievously. "Mmm... I am... but there's still some left..." you purred, pushing two fingers deep inside yourself and scooping out some of his seed. He watched as you brought your fingers to your mouth, sucking them clean.

His eyes widened, his pupils dilating as he watched you clean your fingers. "That's... so dirty..." he murmured, his voice laced with approval. He reached out, his own fingers mimicking yours as he gently pushed them into your stretched hole, scooping out more of his warm seed.

You moaned softly, your eyes rolling back as he fingered your hole, his fingers coated in his own seed. Jungwon brought his fingers to his mouth, licking and sucking them clean just like you had done. You watched him, your heart racing at the sight of him devouring his own essence.

"You're insatiable..." he groaned, his eyes glinting hungrily as he looked at you. His fingers delved back into your hole, pushing deep as he sought more of his release. "Let's get clean, hmm?" he suggested, his voice low and gruff.

You nodded eagerly, your body tingling with anticipation. He slowly cleaned you up, his touch gentle and caring as he washed his own essence off your body. Then, he lathered up a washcloth and began to clean himself, his face flushed and his breathing heavy. "Turn around..."

You turned around, your back pressing against his chest. His strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. The washcloth gently cleaned your back, your sides, your stomach... and then lower. You moaned softly as he cleaned between your legs, his touch gentle yet insistent.

"Spread your legs wider..." he whispered against your ear. You complied, your thighs parting to give him better access. The warm, soapy cloth cleaned your folds, your crease, your tight little hole.

He spent extra time cleaning your hole, his fingers gently spreading you open as he washed inside you. You felt so clean, so refreshed, as he finished up and set the washcloth aside. His arms remained wrapped around you, holding you close as he nuzzled his face against your neck.

"Let's dry off..." he murmured, helping you stand. He stepped out of the tub first, then helped you out. The bathroom was filled with steam, the mirrors fogged up. He grabbed a towel and began to dry you off, his hands roaming over your body reverently.

You stood there, letting him dry you off, feeling his warm breath on your skin as he worked. When he finished with you, he dried himself off as well, his eyes never leaving yours. Once he was dry, he picked you up in his arms and carried you out of the bathroom.

You didn't know when you fell asleep but the first thing in the morning you noticed was the warmth of Jungwon’s body pressing close against yours, his arm draped lazily around your waist. The soft morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a gentle glow on the tangled sheets that barely covered the both of you.

Your mind was slow to piece together the events of the night before, the hazy memory of falling asleep together in each other’s arms, feeling completely safe and enveloped in warmth. The soft rise and fall of Jungwon’s chest against your back was a comforting rhythm, and you let yourself linger in the moment.

Then, a sharp knock on the door broke the serenity. You stirred, blinking sleepily as you felt Jungwon’s arm tighten around your waist, his head buried deeper into the crook of your neck.

"Jungwon, there's a knock," you mumbled, your voice heavy with sleep as you tried to shift his arm off you, your fingers brushing over his in a half-hearted attempt to wake him.

"They can wait..." he grumbled, barely audible, pulling you closer as his lips ghosted against your shoulder, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down your spine. For a brief moment, you almost believed him—whoever it was could definitely wait. Until the sound of a familiar voice echoed from behind the door.

“Jungwon-ah, are you awake?”

You bolted upright, eyes wide, your heart immediately racing. His parents. You could barely register Jungwon’s groggy response as he rubbed his face with both hands, clearly still half-asleep, while you were already scrambling to find your clothes. You glanced over at him, eyes wide with panic as you whispered, "Are they here unannounced?"

Jungwon shot up from the bed, instantly awake at the realization. His eyes widened in disbelief, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. “Oh my god,” he muttered, quickly grabbing for his clothes. You hurriedly followed suit, pulling your shirt over your head as you glanced at the door nervously.

“I’m coming!” Jungwon called out, his voice slightly strained as he hopped around on one leg, trying to pull up his pants in a rush. His fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, and you could see the flush creeping up his neck as the reality of the situation dawned on him.

You sat back on the edge of the bed, pulling your knees up to your chest, watching as Jungwon took a deep breath and stepped out of the bedroom. The door closed softly behind him, and you could hear the muffled sounds of his conversation with his parents in the other room.

“Oh… hi mom, dad,” Jungwon greeted, his voice tinged with an awkwardness that was impossible to hide. You could picture him standing at the door, scratching the back of his neck, trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy. “You… you should’ve told me you were coming.”

His mom’s voice was lighthearted, as if nothing were amiss. “Do we really need to tell our son when we’re visiting?” she teased, stepping into the dorm uninvited. You could almost hear her footsteps as she walked around the room, probably inspecting every corner like mothers do.

His father’s voice came next, gruff but not unkind. “At least your dorm is clean,” he commented, as if his primary concern was whether or not the room was up to his standards. Jungwon let out a small, nervous laugh in response, clearly trying to keep the conversation light.

You could hear the subtle tension in his voice as he continued. “Uh… I’ll be right back, I just need to… shower,” he stammered, clearly struggling to act casual as he hastily excused himself. “Just… sit here for a bit, okay?”

The door to the bedroom opened again, and Jungwon slipped back inside, closing it quickly behind him as if that simple action could shield both of you from further embarrassment. His face was flushed, his ears a deep shade of pink as he leaned back against the door for a second, eyes shut.

“They’re really here,” he muttered, as if trying to process it himself.

You shook your head, laughing softly at the absurdity of the situation despite the tension swirling in the room. "Of course, they are. At least you got us out of that one... sort of."

Jungwon groaned quietly, moving towards the dresser to grab a towel, muttering under his breath about needing a miracle. You could only smile, watching him shuffle around with an awkward energy, knowing this was one morning neither of you would forget anytime soon.

After quickly showering and changing into something more comfortable—Jungwon in a loose sweatshirt that conveniently hid most of his neck, and you in one of his oversized tees—you both exchanged nervous glances before stepping out of the bedroom. The awkward tension still hung in the air as Jungwon reached for the door handle, the two of you silently hoping that his parents hadn't picked up on anything too obvious.

As the door swung open, the comforting smell of breakfast greeted you both. His mom was busy setting plates on the small dining table, her movements efficient yet graceful, while his dad sat at the table, scrolling through his phone. You noticed the slight pause in his mother’s actions when she caught sight of you, her brows raising in surprise before she quickly composed herself.

“Oh,” she said, the surprise melting into a knowing smile. “Is she your girlfriend? The one from Canada?”

Jungwon’s ears instantly turned red, his fingers tightening on the door handle as he gave a shy nod. “Y-Yeah,” he mumbled, glancing nervously at his father, who looked completely oblivious to the conversation until now.

His dad blinked, clearly confused by the sudden revelation. “Canada?” he repeated, his eyebrows furrowing as he looked between you and Jungwon, trying to piece things together.

Feeling the awkwardness settle around the table like an unwanted guest, Jungwon led you both to the dining area, where you carefully took your seat next to him. You made sure to sit up straight, shoulders relaxed but composed, not wanting to make any wrong impressions. After all, meeting your partner’s parents for the first time, especially under such unexpected circumstances, was nerve-wracking enough.

As you slid into the chair, you nudged Jungwon lightly with your elbow, your voice soft but filled with curiosity. “You told them about me?”

Jungwon let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck—his fingers brushing dangerously close to the hickey he’d tried so hard to hide. “Well… kind of?” he replied, his voice rising slightly at the end, as if even he wasn’t sure of his own answer.

You barely had time to react when his mother appeared by the table, a warm smile on her face as she set down plates of egg toast in front of everyone. The golden, buttery aroma filled the room, momentarily easing the tension, but only for a moment. Just as you reached for your fork, his father’s voice cut through the silence.

“What’s that?” His dad’s eyes were narrowed in on Jungwon’s neck, specifically the faint purple mark peeking out from under his sweatshirt. The color drained from Jungwon’s face as he instinctively slapped a hand over the spot, clearly panicking.

“Oh, this?” Jungwon stammered, his voice suddenly an octave higher than usual. He swallowed hard before blurting out the first excuse that came to mind. “It’s, uh… a mosquito bite.”

You could practically feel the heat radiating from his embarrassment, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. His father, however, was far from convinced. He raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical as he leaned back in his chair. “A mosquito bite that big?”

Jungwon’s fingers tightened around his fork, his face burning with mortification. He opened his mouth to say something—anything—but the words just wouldn’t come. Desperate to save him from any further embarrassment, you quickly jumped in, plastering on the brightest smile you could muster.

“Oh, aunty!” you said, your voice filled with enthusiasm as you turned to his mom, completely shifting the conversation. “Your hair looks gorgeous! Where did you get it done? It really suits you!”

Jungwon let out a silent breath of relief, his shoulders visibly relaxing as the attention shifted away from him. His mom, clearly flattered by the compliment, absentmindedly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her expression softening as she smiled at you.

“Oh, thank you!” she said, her tone warming with motherly pride. “I got it done at this little salon near our house. I wasn’t sure if the color would suit me, but I’m glad you like it.”

You nodded eagerly, leaning into the conversation as if you hadn’t just saved your boyfriend from one of the most awkward moments of his life. “It really brings out your eyes,” you added, feeling Jungwon’s hand under the table give your knee a grateful squeeze.

As his mom continued to talk about her favorite salon, the conversation flowed smoothly—albeit with a few nervous glances exchanged between you and Jungwon. But for now, at least, the hickeys and last night’s chaos were safely tucked away, hidden under layers of polite conversation and egg toast.

You quietly took a bite of your egg toast, nodding along as Jungwon's parents chatted animatedly at the table. Suddenly, a familiar warmth settled on your thigh, and you felt a gentle squeeze that sent a shiver down your spine. You darted a glance at Jungwon, who was casually munching on his breakfast, acting innocent despite his hand now resting firmly on your leg.

“What are you doing?” you whispered, leaning slightly toward him, your voice low but urgent.

“Just touching my girlfriend. I’m allowed to, right?” he murmured back, a playful grin tugging at his lips as he took another calm bite, his hand lingering where it shouldn’t.

“You can, but not here,” you hissed, your eyes flicking quickly toward his parents to make sure they were still oblivious.

Jungwon’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Finish up quick then, I need you... but I can wait until Mom and Dad leave,” he murmured, his hand softly tracing patterns on your thigh.

“Wonnie,” you whisper-teased, trying to stifle a laugh, “you should wait.” You lightly slapped his hand away, giving him a pointed look.

He pouted, clearly enjoying the game, but kept quiet as you both continued breakfast, hoping his parents hadn't noticed the quiet exchange.

• september seventeen, 14:37

masterlist.

p.sh | upcoming.

© iconchae | tumblr

[bananastarion]

Rambling headcanons about how Astarion's trauma could manifest in your relationship.

Disclaimer: I am not fetishizing trauma or PTSD here. I have C-PTSD myself, and have dated others with it as well. So some of this is (loosely) inspired by my own experiences. It's not pretty, it's not fun, but I'd say it's pretty realistic. So yeah, fair warning! Anyway, let's gooooo

Astarion isn't fazed by much, but he IS claustrophobic- having to claw your way out of your own coffin, being trapped in a mindflayer pod and being trapped in a tomb for a year straight would do that to anyone. If he is ever unfortunate enough to be stuck in a small space again, he'll go into a blind panic. He'll hyperventilate and try to force his way out any way he can, and if he can't get out in time he'll just completely mentally shut down for a bit. If you plan to pull him into a little broom closet for a sneaky fuck, just forget it ok? You will probably get your eyes accidentally clawed out.

There is a long period in your relationship where Astarion is gradually getting more comfortable with being vulnerable around you, but he's also very self-conscious about it. He doesn't want you to pity him or think he's weak. You will be tempted to give him lots of validation and praise to make up for all of the psychological abuse he endured, to reassure him that he's finally safe and free, and that you love him for more than just his body. That his problems won't ever drive you away, and that you don't judge him. He appreciates your words deeply, he wants and needs them more than he cares to admit. But at the same time, they completely overwhelm him. Finally being in a good place with a caring partner is such a stark contrast to what he's been through, that it forces him to see even deeper into the void inside him and recognize just how badly he was treated, how deprived he's been. They hit him hard in both good and bad ways, and sometimes he'll tell you to stop because he just can't handle feeling so much right now. It's best to stick to mostly surface level stuff and ease carefully into the deeper, more meaningful observations.

The sweeter your words, the more his mind races with fears that you are idealizing him and eventually you'll come to see him for what he really is- and then abandon him. Fears that he'll come to depend on your kindness only for it to be ripped away, whether by you or by circumstances beyond his control. Fears that you don't really mean it, that you're just manipulating him the way he did to others. Deep down he hopes and trusts you're sincere, but it's just so hard to accept when Cazador's voice is in his head, countering all of it. This is all so new to him, so unknown. And the unknown is terrifying. He gets frustrated that your kindness does this to him, he wants to be able to embrace your words, he's so impatient to heal and finally be over this shit already. He judges himself so harshly for still struggling with all this. Cazador's dead, he is free, he has someone who truly loves him- why isn't that enough?! Why can't he fully appreciate it, is he just going to feel broken forever? He worries he'll take too long to get over his past, and you'll get tired of it and leave. Expect to give him lots of reassurance about all of this.

He doesn't like to cry around you, but over time you will lower his guard enough that he'll stop fighting back the tears quite so much. Sometimes it's a bad dream, sometimes you say something that just hits him hard (even if it's in a good way), and sometimes he has no idea what triggered it. You tell him he can wake you up any time if he needs you, but often he chooses not to wake you and just suffers through it alone. When it happens while you're both awake, at first he would roll over and face away from you when the tears started flowing if he couldn't collect himself, and you'd just hug him from behind. But eventually he feels comfortable enough to bury his face in your chest and just let it all out. When it's really bad, he'll be trembling and hugging you so tightly as he sobs into your shirt that it's almost hard for you to breathe. The best thing you can do is just be there with him, stroke his hair, caress the tears off his cheeks. It can be dicey, but eventually you learn to read him well enough that sometimes stroking the scars on his back very gently can be healing for him. There are other times though, when this will be too much for him. Same goes for kissing. Also, don't even think about telling anyone you've seen him like this. But of course, why would you?

Don't go into therapist mode with him when he's that vulnerable, and if he decides to talk, just let him talk. Hold space for him and be there with him. Afterwards, help ground him in the present and reconnect him to his senses by pointing out things in the room, remind him that it's not all happening to him right now. Realize how special it is that he feels safe enough with you to be so vulnerable. There are times when he even breaks down during sex, and he'll say that he's fine and you can keep going, but it's for the best to stop what you're doing and check in instead. He often dissociates when he's triggered, and doesn't realize something is wrong until it's too late.

Trauma isn't always pretty, and there are times when it does strain your relationship. When he's really triggered, he might take it out on you. He'll try his best to push you away, and say terrible things he doesn't mean. Perhaps things Cazador said to him. His articulate manner of speech can be sharper than his blade when wielded against you in the heat of the moment. He doesn't believe you can love this side of him, that he is fundamentally broken and unlovable, so it's a test of sorts to prove his own fears. He doesn't necessarily realize what he's doing, he's just lashing out from a point of pure fear. Trauma is an explanation for this behavior, but not an excuse, so it's important you set very firm and consistent boundaries when he gets like this. He might not appreciate it in the moment, but he will once he calms down.

It takes some time for him to feel truly secure with you, but he's getting there. In the meantime, he's starting to get a little clingy and codependent. He's not used to having so much freedom, and doesn't always know what to do with himself when you're not around. Being in your presence is when he's closest to feeling safe and at ease, and being apart for too long can cause his mind to race, especially when he has nothing to distract himself with. It drives him crazy that it gets to him so much- he's never been dependent on anyone before, and this side of him surprises himself. He hates it, which only stresses him out more. He tries to play it off, but it's very obvious he is struggling with separation anxiety. You don't want to overindulge him, but to ease his fears you decide to get a pair of magical rings. You can make each other's rings glow whenever you want- so if Astarion is feeling lonely, he can make your ring glow and you can make his glow back. Sometimes, just that is enough to get him through a rough day without you. Once he has done some more healing, eventually he will come to enjoy his alone time in a way he's never gotten to before in his life, and as much as you enjoy spending time with him, you'll be so happy for him to finally have that.

[mariclerc]

A project of love | ls2

Summary: where you have to do a project with your crush and you try not to fall for him.

Warning: none.

a/n: requested and dedicated by @bananaleclerc I hope you like it!! And yes, I need a break from posting so much 😂😂

You're hunched over a textbook at a library table, surrounded by scattered notes and a half-eaten granola bar. Just then Logan enters the library, a whirlwind of energy and a backpack overflowing with what looks like every microbiology textbook ever written.

He slammed his books down next to you. “Hey there, study buddy! Ready to conquer the microscopic world?”

You jump a little, startled. He flashes a dazzling smile. “Uh, yeah, hi Logan. I was just... uh... reviewing.” You say, trying to sound casual.

“Awesome! Me too. Though, to be honest, my brain feels like it's about to explode from all these bacteria names.” He pulls out a chair dramatically and sits down. “Did you get a chance to look at the project outline Professor Davies sent? Apparently, we're germ-fighting partners!”

Your stomach flips. Internally screaming, you manage a smile. “Yeah, I saw it. Partnered up, huh? Makes sense, I guess.”

“Definitely! We balance each other out, right? You with your quiet genius vibe, and me... well, I bring the enthusiasm.”

You laugh nervously, a blush creeping up your cheeks.

“I wouldn't call myself a genius, but hopefully, I can keep up with your... enthusiasm.”

“Oh, you will, trust me. So, what do you think? Should we start with some foundational stuff, or dive straight into the exciting world of, like, antibiotic resistance?” he grins.

You take a deep breath, trying to focus. “Maybe foundational stuff first? That way, we're both on the same page when we get to the more complex topics.”

”Sounds like a plan! But hey, don't worry about keeping up. Like I said, I'm basically a walking microbiology encyclopedia. Just ask away if you get lost.”

You nod, but your mind is racing. Trying to focus on the project feels impossible now that you're so close to him.

You clear your throat. “Okay, so... cell walls of bacteria... what were we talking about those in lecture?”

Logan launches into an explanation, peppered with jokes and pop culture references. You try to concentrate, but all you can think about is the way his eyes light up when he talks about something he's passionate about.

Later, after a productive study session, you're packing your things.

“So, should we meet again tomorrow? Same time, same place?”

You feel your heart pounding. “Uh, yeah, sure. Sounds good.”

“Great! Hey, you seem a little quiet today. Everything alright?” he asks softly.

You force a smile. “Yeah, no, I'm just... tired, I guess... All this studying.”

“Studying can be draining! But hey, at least we're suffering together, right?” He winks at you. “See you tomorrow, germ fighter!”

He flashes another smile and throws you a peace sign before walking off. You sigh, a mix of frustration and a secret thrill bubbling in your chest. Studying with Logan might be the most nerve-wracking, yet strangely fun, experience of your university career so far.

You watch him disappear into the library crowd, a bittersweet pang in your chest.

You mutter to yourself. “Germ fighter, huh? More like heartbreaker.”

You gather your things, a sudden wave of determination washing over you. You like Logan, a lot. But you can't let that distract you from the project. You take a deep breath and head out of the library, a plan forming in your mind.

***

The next day, you arrive at the study table a few minutes early. You've spent the morning making flashcards – not just on microbiology, but also on Logan's interests you've gleaned from his conversation snippets. Genetics? Check. Obsession with the movie "The Andromeda Strain"? Double check.

He bursts in, a little late and slightly out of breath.

“Sorry I'm late! Professor Davies got us sidetracked talking about her research on bioluminescent bacteria. Apparently, there's a kind that glows neon green – can you believe it?” He says hurriedly, making you laugh a little, just then he notices the flashcards on the table. “Whoa, flashcards? You serious?”

You nod smiling, not as nervously as yesterday. “Just thought they might help us remember all this complex stuff. Besides, I found some fun facts related to the topics we need to cover. Maybe a little trivia can keep things interesting?”

His eyes wide at your words. “You got fun facts about bacteria? Okay, you officially win coolest study partner ever! Shoot, let's hear one.”

You pick up a flashcard and grin. Maybe studying with Logan won't be so bad after all. Maybe you can find a way to balance your academic focus with a sprinkle of something more.

***

The following week becomes a whirlwind of flashcards, late-night library sessions fueled by takeout, and a slow, simmering tension between you and Logan. Your knowledge of bacteria trivia becomes legendary, earning you surprised yet impressed glances from Logan. He, in turn, starts bringing coffee (with extra whipped cream for you, which you secretly adore) and peppering the study sessions with personal anecdotes, revealing a surprisingly deep and caring side beneath his bubbly exterior.

One rainy afternoon, hunched over a microscope analyzing bacterial cultures, Logan asks. “Hey, you ever wonder what those bioluminescent bacteria actually look like in real life?”

You glance up, surprised by the sudden seriousness in his voice. “Not really.” you admit, “but Professor Davies said she has some under a special microscope in her lab. Maybe we could ask if we could take a peek after our next class?”

He grins, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Perfect... We can make it a little research adventure.”

The stolen glance you share sparks a warmth in your chest, a silent acknowledgement that this is more than just a study session. The next day, after you convince a hesitant Professor Davies to let you glimpse the glowing bacteria, you find yourselves alone in the dimly lit lab.

As you peer through the microscope, Logan leans closer, his shoulder brushing yours. “Wow.” he whispers, “they're incredible.”

You hum in agreement, captivated by the tiny emerald lights dancing before your eyes. The silence stretches, charged with unspoken emotions. You can feel the heat radiating from him, his breath tickling your ear.

Suddenly, the lab door bursts open, revealing Professor Davies returning from her meeting. You and Logan jump apart, both cheeks flushing a deep red.

“Did you get to see them?” she asks cheerfully.

“Yes, Professor,” you stammer a little bit, “they're amazing!”

As the week progresses, the air between you crackles with a new awareness. You find yourself stealing glances at Logan as he talks, your heart skipping a beat when he laughs at one of your jokes.

During a particularly frustrating attempt at culturing E. coli, you blurt out, “Ugh, these bacteria are so stubborn!”

“Hey,” Logan says softly, placing a hand on yours, “we'll figure it out together... Like always.”

His touch sends a jolt through you, and you meet his gaze, your eyes locked in a silent conversation. In that moment, you both know this partnership has become something more, a budding connection waiting to bloom amidst the petri dishes and microscopes.

The shared look hangs heavy in the air, the frustration of the stubborn E. coli forgotten. Logan's hand lingers on yours, his thumb gently brushing against your skin. You can feel the warmth radiating from him, and a blush creeps up your neck.

“Maybe,” he starts, his voice a low rumble, “we should take a break from these little buggers. Grab some coffee, clear our heads?”

You nod mutely, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs. Stepping out of the lab, the rain has stopped, leaving the air fresh and clean. As you walk side-by-side, a comfortable silence settles between you. You steal a glance at Logan, his profile sharp against the setting sun.

Reaching the familiar coffee shop you frequent, you order your usual, Logan opting for his favorite with extra whipped cream (a detail that makes your stomach flutter with a strange mix of amusement and affection). Settling into a quiet corner booth, you both sip your drinks, the tension still simmering beneath the surface.

“Thanks for sticking with this project,” Logan says, his gaze fixed on you. “It wouldn't have been nearly as fun without you.”

A shy smile graces your lips. “It wouldn't have been so bad with you either.”

He leans closer, his eyes searching yours. The air crackles with unspoken desire. In a voice barely above a whisper, he asks, “Can I do something?”

Your breath catches in your throat. You nod hesitantly, a shiver running down your spine. He closes the distance between you, his hand cupping your cheek. His touch is soft, sending a jolt of electricity through you.

The kiss is tentative at first, a brush of lips that sends a wave of heat through your body. But then, something shifts. He deepens the kiss, his hand moving to cradle your head, tilting it for better access. You melt into him, the taste of coffee and something uniquely Logan swirling on your tongue.

The kiss is brief, broken by a gasp for air. He leans his forehead against yours, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. Your eyes flutter open to meet his, a goofy grin plastered across his face.

“Wow,” he breathes, a mixture of awe and amusement in his voice.

You can only manage a shaky smile, your heart overflowing with a mix of exhilaration and nervousness. The world seems to tilt on its axis, and for a moment, only you and Logan exist in this small corner of the coffee shop.

As you pull back and smile, a newfound confidence sparks within you... Maybe this partnership, born amidst bacteria and microscopes, could blossom into something more. And you, for one, are eager to see where it leads.

[transmutationisms]

serious question but do you personally believe there is a way to approach psychiatry in a way that uplifts and upholds patient autonomy and wellness or is the entire trade essentially fucked haha. Btw this is an ask coming from a 3rd year med student—with a background of severe mental illness—who is considering a residency in psychiatry after receiving life-saving care in high school pertaining to said conditions. (I have peers who have been involuntarily hospitalized and treated horribly in psych wards, with approaches i patently disagree with, but was lucky not to experience. I don’t like modern american medicine’s approach to mental illness; “throw pills” at it to “make it go away” ie. a problem of overprescribing, inadequate and non-holistic approach to mental health, and i feel a lot of that can be attributed to the capitalistic framework. I also def agree with you that so much of what can be considered normal human responses to traumatic events/normal human suffering can be unnecessarily pathologized—a great example being the whole “chemical imbalances in the brain is the ONLY reason why im like this” argument that ive unfortunately fallen hard for when i was younger and am still currently dismantling within myself…and like dont even get me started on this field’s history of demonizing POC, women, LGBT, etc). Like i deeply love my psych rotations so far, and i utterly feel in my gut that this is the manner in which i would like to help people—a lot of whom are just like me—but im wondering if there is a way to reconcile these aspects in a way that one can feel morally okay participating within such an imperfect system, in ur opinion… ngghhhhhh i just want to be a good doctor to my patients…

(ps i love all ur writing and analysis on succession!! big fan mwah <333)

i don't mean to sound unduly pissy at you, specifically, but i do have to say: every single time i've talked about antipsych or broader criticism of medicine on this website, i immediately get a wave of responses like this, from doctors/nurses/psychs/students of the above, asking me to, like, reassure them that they're not doing something immoral or un-communist or whatever by having or pursuing these jobs. and it's honestly frustrating. why is it that these conversations get re-framed around this particular line of inquiry and medical ego-soothing? why is it that when i say "the medical encounter is not structured to protect patient autonomy or well-being," so many people hear something more along the lines of "doctors are mean and i wish they were nicer"? why is it that it's impossible to discuss the philosophical and structural violence of academic and clinical medicine without it becoming a referendum on the individual morality of doctors?

i'm choosing to read you in good faith because i think it's possible to re-re-frame this line of questioning to demonstrate to you the sorts of critiques and inquiries i find more interesting and more conducive to patient autonomy and liberation. so, let me pick apart a few lines of this ask.

"is the entire trade essentially fucked?"

if you're thinking of trying to 'reform' the project of medical psychology within existing infrastructures and institutions, then yeah, it's fucked. if you're still assuming that affective distress can only be 'treated' within this medical apparatus (despite, again, no psychiatric dx satisfying any pathologist's understanding of a 'disease' ie an aberration from 'normal' physiological functioning) then you're not challenging the things that actually make psychiatry violent. you're simply fantasising about making the violence nicer.

"I don’t like modern american medicine’s approach to mental illness; “throw pills” at it to “make it go away” ie. a problem of overprescribing, inadequate and non-holistic approach to mental health, and i feel a lot of that can be attributed to the capitalistic framework."

i hate when i talk about psychotropic drugs being marketed to patients using lies like the chemical imbalance myth, and then pushed on patients—including through outright force—by psychiatrists, and the discussion gets re-framed as one about 'overprescribing'. my problem is not with people taking drugs. i am, in fact, so pro-drugs that i think even the ones administered in a clinical setting sometimes have value. my issue is with, again, the provision of misleading or outright false information, the use of force and coercion to put patients on such drugs in order to force social conformity and employability, and the general model of medicine and medical psychology that assumes patients ought to be passive recipients of medical enlightenment rather than active participants in their own treatment who are given the agency to decide when and how to engage with any form of curative or meliorative intervention.

'holistic' medicine and psychiatry do not solve this problem! they are not a paradigm shift because they continue to locate expertise and epistemological authority with the credentialed physician, and to position patients as too sick, stupid, or helpless to do anything but receive and comply with the medical interventions. there are certainly psychotropic drugs that are demonstrably more harmful than others (antipsychotics, for example), and some that are demonstrably prescribed to patients who do not benefit from them and are even harmed by them. conversely, there are certainly forms of intervention besides pharmaceuticals that people may find helpful. but my general critique here is aimed less at haggling over specific methods of intervention, and more at the ideological and philosophical tenets of medicine that cause any interventions to be imposed by force or coercion on patients, then framed as being 'for their own good'. were suffering people given the information and autonomy to actually choose whether and how to engage in any kind of intervention, some might still choose drugs! my position here is not one of moralising drugs, but making the act of taking them one that is freely chosen and available as an option without relying on physician determination of a patient's interests over their own assessment of their needs and wants.

"so much of what can be considered normal human responses to traumatic events/normal human suffering can be unnecessarily pathologized"

true, but don't misunderstand me as saying that drugs or any other form of intervention should be forcibly withheld from those who do want them and are made fully aware of what risks and harms seeking them could entail. again, this would still be an authoritarian model; my critique is aimed at increasing patient autonomy, not at creating equally authoritarian and empowered doctors who just have slightly different treatment philosophies.

"dont even get me started on this field’s history of demonizing POC, women, LGBT, etc"

ok, framing this as "demonisation" tells me that you're not understanding that, again, this is a systemic and structural critique. it is certainly true that a great many doctors currently are, and have historically have been, outright racist, trans/misogynist, ableist, and so on. framing this as a problem of a well-intentioned discipline being corrupted by some assholes is getting it backwards. medicine attracts prejudiced people, not to mention strengthens and promotes these prejudices in its entire training and practice infrastructures, because of its underlying philosophical orientation toward enforcing 'normality' as defined by 18th-century statistics and 19th-century human sciences that explicitly place white, cis, able-bodied european men as the normal ideal that everyone else is inferior to or failing to live up to. doctors who really nicely tell you that you're too fat are still using bmi charts that come from the statistical anthropometry of adolphe quételet and the flawed actuarial calculations of metlife insurance. doctors who really nicely deny you access to transition surgery are still operating under a paradigm that gives the practitioner authority over expressions and embodiments of gender. the issue isn't 'demonisation', it's that medicine and psychiatry explicitly attempt to render judgments about who and what is 'normal' and therefore socially 'healthy', and enforce those standards on patients. this is not a promotion of patient well-being, but of social conformity.

"i deeply love my psych rotations so far, and i utterly feel in my gut that this is the manner in which i would like to help people"

let me ask you a few questions. you say that you like your psych rotations... but how do your patients feel about them? is their autonomy protected? are they in treatment by free choice, and free to leave any time they wish? are they treated as human beings with full self-determination? if you witnessed a situation in which a patient was coerced or forced into a certain treatment, or in which you were not sure whether they were consenting with full knowledge or freedom, would you feel empowered to intervene? or would doing so threaten your career by exposing you to anger and retaliation from your higher-ups? what higher-ups will you be exposed to as a resident, and then as a practicing physician? could you practice in a way that committed fully, 100%, to patient autonomy if you were working at someone else's practice, or in a hospital or clinic? could you, according to current medical guidelines, even if you had your own practice?

when you say "this is the manner in which i would like to help people", what do you mean by "this"? can you define your philosophy of treatment, and the relationship and power dynamic you want to have with any future patients? is it one in which you hold authority over them and see yourself as determining what's in their 'best interests', even over their own expressed wishes? have you connected with patient advocates, psych survivors (other than your friends), and radical psychiatrists and anti-psychiatrists who may espouse heterodox treatment philosophies that you could consider? do you think such philosophies are sufficient for protecting patient autonomy and well-being, or are they still models that position the physician's judgment and authority over that of the patient?

"im wondering if there is a way to reconcile these aspects in a way that one can feel morally okay participating within such an imperfect system"

and here is the crux of the problem with this entire ask. you are wondering how to sleep at night, if you are participating in a career you find morally distasteful. where, though, do your patients enter into that equation? do you worry about how they sleep at night, after having interacted with a system of social violence that may very well have traumatised them under the guise of providing help? why does your own guilty conscience worry you more than violations of your patients' bodies, minds, and basic self-determination?

i can't tell you whether your career path is morally acceptable to you. i don't think this type of guilt or self-flagellation is fruitful and i don't think it helps protect patients. i don't, frankly, have a handy roadmap sitting around for creating a new system of medicine and health care that rests on patient autonomy. affective distress is real, and is not something we should have to bear alone or with the risk of having violence inflicted upon us. what you need to ask yourself is: how does the medical model and establishment serve people experiencing such distress? how does it perpetuate violence against them? and how do you see yourself countering, or perpetuating, such violence as someone operating within this discipline? what would it mean to be a 'good' actor within a violent system, if you do indeed believe that such a thing is ontologically possible?

[thebibliosphere]

So, I've been getting a few "hey, so now you're fixed, you're going to write books faster now, right?" type messages, and hmmm. That's a loaded word right there. "Fixed."

Yeah, not too keen on that word.

What I assume these people mean to do is congratulate me on finding out a major cause of distress and illness in my life and offer well wishes for my continued relief and recovery. I assume that's what was really meant. But just to entertain the first part of that ask, no, I am not "fixed."

There is no "fixing" the kind of chronic illness or disabilities I have. My ailments are genetic and lifelong, and if you're new here, newly diagnosed at the start of the pandemic, so my treatment thus far has been limited. Most of it is things I have pieced together myself.

That I've been able to do anything over the last year when I suffered 215+ migraine days on top of the connective tissue disorder I have, and the other condition that causes spontaneous anaphylaxis--not to mention the unmedicated ADHD I cannot treat with meds (yet)--is nothing short of miraculous.

So, now that my migraines are improving thanks to finding out I have binocular vision disorder on top of all the other stuff, will I be writing books faster?

I can only hope so.

But I also cannot say, "yes, absolutely, one book a year from here on out," because I just do not have the physical and mental capacity to guarantee that. Nor am I going to inflict that kind of mental and physical torture on myself (again) because it's the exact kind of thing that causes my health to crash and burn. And here's the thing:

Every time I burn myself out. Every time I push myself too far to keep up, it takes longer and longer to recover. The harder I push myself, the fewer books I will produce. That's the truth of it.

So I get it, it's frustrating. You want more of the fun thing (and thank you so much for loving what I do!), but you'll have to bear with me a little bit longer.

I am finding my stride as a multiply disabled creator, and I've spent the last two years untangling the guilt and imposter syndrome I experience over being "popular" but not being well enough to produce work at the same pace as everyone else around me.

I have worked out a system that I hope will be sustainable instead of leading to the continuous cycle of burnout I was trapped in for 10+ years as an editor. I have safety nets and supports in place that I didn't have before, and hopefully, those will help too. Time will tell.

Am I excited to get back to work? Absolutely. I'm ecstatic at the prospect of having fewer migraine days and more coherent brain days. But I'm also going to take my time to enjoy the process as well. I'd like to enjoy the things I write too. And I hope you can appreciate that.

So thank you for understanding, and for your patience. If you decide you can't wait, I'll understand. But please don't send authors, even able-bodied, neurotypical ones, messages like that. It's unkind. And I don't think any of you mean to be unkind.

[stellocchia]

I had a dream where Blue and Killer got bodyswapped and, when they first found out, they were both happy about it.

Killer because he thought he could have an easy and relaxed time until he figured out how to switch them back (because he still wanted to go back to Dust, Horror, and Cross so he immediately knew he had to actively look into how).

And Blue because at least now he got to let off some steam without caring about the consequences (because they still retained the other person's soul somehow? Only their conscience got switched).

Only then, both get confronted with how shit the other person's life is.

Killer isn't used to experiencing emotions constantly anymore, so that's already tiring for him. And I like to think that Blue has hyper-empathy syndrome on top of that. And that one comes with a not-so-fun set of symptoms like:

Heightened sense of empathy to the point where you full-on experience other people's emotions when they do, physical pain response when seeing others getting hurt (also heightened pain sensitivity), feeling inadequate, unworthy, or guilty when you're unable to help others (as that tends to become a big part of the person's identity), emotional dysregulation, harder time recognizing other people as autonomous, social anxiety, struggle maintaining personal boundaries, being more prone to self-isolation due to the frequent onslaught of negativity, a tendency toward developing codependent relationships.

Now, Killer struggles with some of this stuff as well (see a tendency to end up in codependent relationships, emotional dysregulation, struggles recognizing others as autonomous beings, and struggles maintaining personal boundaries) but most of them are new sensations and they're not easy to handle.

Pair that with the fact that Blue is constantly on the move helping AUs and getting barely any breaks because both of his teammates are old immortals who don't realize that he's struggling to keep up and that working with them is literally a form of self-harm and, yeah. Buddy's not having a great time.

He also recognizes that Blue's relationship with Dream is basically the flip side of his relationship with Nightmare. He is dependent on Nightmare to keep him empty because emotions on Stage 1 are Hell, and Blue is dependent on Dream to drown out the constant onslaught of negativity and his heightened pain responses. Neither of them can leave without suffering for it and it sucks. It sucks especially because, in Blue's body, he can't help but care about it.

On the other side, Blue found himself suddenly dealing with the Stage switches, determination-induced hallucinations (which, for him, take on the shape of his brother, as that's the one he's left behind and that keeps haunting him), chronic pain that he cannot simply beg Dream to numb for him, and the awful conditions he and the others are kept in at the castle.

Not to consider that, while he thought he could vent his frustrations without care, it's made very obvious from the start that Killer has three whole people relying on him. So he cannot actually afford not to care despite his emotions regarding them feeling so muted. And they have a LOT of issues. Dust and Horror have hair-trigger tempers and they often try to goade him into fighting to release pressure (because that's something Killer does for them), and Cross needs to be reminded who he is and where he is often. And so does XChara who Blue didn't even know existed until this switch.

And that's all while Blue is struggling to even remember who he is half the time and has to also deal with Nightmare's quite frankly abysmal understanding of personal space and boundaries regarding touch. Blue soon starts to think that these bitches need a union because damn. Like, he ain't getting paid either for his work with the Star Sanses, but this is worse.

Also, this experience helps both Killer and Blue to contextualize that time Blue tried to help Killer but went about it the wrong way. Because Killer now understands how Blue thinks. He understand that it is a genuine struggle for him to let others make their own choices when he's directly affected by the consequences. And Blue understands how little personal agency Killer is afforded in his day-to-day life. And how shitty it was to try to push him into getting helped how he thought was best, disregarding his opinions.

Basically, after they return in their own bodies, these two befriend each other.

And the dream ended with both of them helping the other to leave their toxic workplace environment and reconnecting with the healthy relationships in their life (Blue helps MTT+Cross getting to the Epic Sanses and Killer helping Blue get back to his universe and getting back to his brother)

[riahollywood]

could I request something where it’s your time of month and you accidentally get blood on erling’s bedding and you’re scared he’ll be angry but he just wants to look after you? 🥹 ty x

warning: mentions of a toxic ex and blood!

you silently cursed to yourself as you were awoken by a sharp stabbing pain in your lower tummy. you could’ve only been asleep for a couple of hours after struggling to get off to sleep with the excruciating pains, but had eventually managed to drift off wrapped up in erling’s arms and clenching a hot water bottle to your body.

shifting your legs slightly to try and get comfy, you mumbled a quiet and frustrated ‘oh no’ to yourself as you felt the all too familiar wetness through to your pyjama shorts.

you managed to wriggle your way out of erling’s grip. he was in a deep slumber and hummed to himself before turning over. you breathed a sigh of relief, at least you didn’t have to deal with him.

you pulled back the sheets and scampered across to the en-suite after grabbing some fresh clothes to change into. you tried to be as quiet as possible to not awake erling but it was proving to be a difficult task as you ran the tap and flushed the toilet. you just hoped he was so tired out from training the previous day that he would still be snoring away.

you opened the en-suite door and your heart dropped when you saw erling sat up in bed, rubbing at his tired eyes.

“baby…” he spoke, a look of concern plastered across his face.

the light from the en-suite shone out into the bedroom and as you walked over to the bed you noticed a pool of blood on the white bed sheets.

you felt the heat rush to your cheeks. you had only been seeing each other for a few months. with you suffering from bad periods every month, erling had been nothing but an absolute sweetheart, buying you chocolate and ice cream, making sure you had a hot water bottle at all times and giving you extra cuddles. but a bad experience with an ex boyfriend had left you scarred after one evening you accidentally got blood on his shorts and he went crazy at you.

it was because of this that you stood there frozen, looking at the blood on erling’s crisp white bedding that probably cost hundreds. you felt your throat close up and tears prickling at your eyes.

he scooted forwards on the bed so he could reach out to you, dangerously close to the blood that he was seemingly unphased about as he reached a hand out.

you still couldn’t help but think the worst.

“sweetheart, come here.” he beconded you to come into his arms but you still stood frozen. had he not seen the blood?

“i’m so sorry… i… i didn’t realise…” you muttered out, glancing over to the crimson stain and bracing yourself for the shouting that you were sure was to come.

erling shook his head. here we go, you thought.

you were surpised by what he did next.

he got up off the bed and scooped you up into his arms before sitting back down onto the bed against the headboard, with you on his lap.

“are you okay? are you all sorted, do you need me to get you anything?” you searched his voice for sarcasm but it seemed he was being genuine. you were confused.

“i’m really sorry, i-i’ll replace the sheets.” you mustered out, a tear now slipping down your cheek.

“shh, darling stop saying sorry. you have nothing to apologise for.” he rested his forehead against yours to make sure you knew he really meant it.

“but… i’ve ruined your sheets .” you spoke softly, avoiding his gaze.

he used his finger to tilt your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“baby it’s just a bit of blood… these things happen, i can buy more sheets. all I’m concerned about is you and if you’re okay.”

your eyes lit up at his words.

“really?” you asked, sniffling as you tried to wipe away the few tears that had now fallen.

he took a moment to take in your reaction. “did you think I would be angry with you?”

you shrugged. “well… yeah.”

all he did was bring you in closer to his chest, tightening his grip around you.

“baby, i would never be mad at you for something like that… never.” he kissed the top of your head and you sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, feeling relieved. he wondered if this had happened to you before, perhaps with an ex who had not been so nice about it. the thought made erling grip you even tighter as he peppered as few more kisses to your face.

he brushed those thoughts to the back of his head. you were safe with him, he would never shout at you or do anything to scare you. all he wanted to do was look after you.

“what do you say i run you a nice hot bubble bath, you relax, i’ll get us some clean sheets and then we have the biggest cuddles ever?”

- - -

send me a request here!

[yuri-for-businesswomen]

this is why i hold back with the information i was a prostitute myself for as long as possible because as soon as i do - no matter how neutral and objective i was before, like for example here:

it always goes well im sorry your experience was bad when i havent said a single word about how i judge my own experience. im really on the verge of tears right now because debating women in prostitution who dont (yet) suffer any negative consequences who dont hold sex buyers accountable and defend prostitution are so fucking frustrating. like im glad honestly that you are coping so well apparently even though your obvious cognitive dissonance and inability to see how „yeah im selling sex because i need money“ means someone buying sex from you is abusing that very need seems like coping to me. seems like you are making it all about yourself and your experience and refuse to see the bigger picture

[ddlcbrainrot]

Okay, thing about ["Can they be happy if they're all not real"] you HAVE to assume that they will be if there wasn't a proper ending, if you didn't have to directly interface as a god to their world, they would eventually learn to deal with the nature of their reality because there is no other option, and while you could see that as something to be terrified of, I don't think it should be. Life as a whole, artificial or not is meant to have meaning, but something that frustrates alot of people is the fact the purpose of life is inherently undefined, there's NO meaning on it's own, and if there isn't any meaning to start out with, how could there EVER be meaning? However, that's not how things really are, right? because you live for a reason, a personal reason tied to who you are I'm not just talking about ["Oh you were born!"] ["You have some divine reason to be here!"] NO! the idea that someone else should get to determine your life purpose, that life itself should determine your purpose is fucking STUPID to me because if you know it consciously or not, you have a reason to live, as a core moral principle, or a simple motivation, you have a reason to live and THAT is life's meaning life DOESN'T have a perfect story, no inherent theme to weave through it's different timelines life has NO meaning but the kicker here is that your life, your human experience is driven by motivation motivation IS life's meaning, nothing else So the idea that anyone, trapped for eternity would succumb to despair, forever? is STUPID because eternity is a WHILE and the idea that only one emotion can be even conceptualized to stay the same amount of potent over that eternity is also, really, really dumb if life, experience, doesn't have variables, risks, lows, than what is the POINT?! an afterlife, a fate where you are eternally happy, it seems good! yeah! but it is PURPOSELESS you don't have any drive to GET better, because you're already perfect! there's no need to work to achieve anything, because you'll be in a CONSTANT high eternal bliss is a hell of lost humanity, lost purpose and personally, the idea of overwhelming trial and suffering for eternity in hope of getting better, is SO so much more beautiful to me in this thought, the Doki's are in a type of hell, I recognize that an eternity of somewhat solitude, trapped from what is real but they never experienced that, they aren't trapped, they've been born in hell and I don't think that fate will stay as bad because torment dulls over time, you begin to be able to deal with it better and if they are all trapped together and able to experience life to some degree of normalcy, everything might be okay you might disagree with me but my main reason for thinking this is that even with an eternity in hell, you must believe that eventually, you can be happy sure, it may be short lived but it's better to have hope in hell, than to be purposeless so yeah I think that they'll be able to handle being trapped outside of humanity's world they have an eternity to get used to it, one can assume

you said it yourself, people in real life are kind of obsessed with finding meaning, or just have some sort of comfort in the idea that they should their lives have a greater purpose or worth if that makes sense. so, having that being taken away for you, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that your whole life is fake, that there is no greater purpose to strive for, would be a hell of a realisation. and i think it would take a toll on all of the girls.

but i do agree that eventually they would learn to be content with what they have. the road towards that acceptance is gonna be a long one, and as u said urself they do have all of eternity to figure it out

[oh-saints]

Erling Haaland alphabet nfsw

i'm sorry i know you all don't see this coming but i'm missing my bf so much... 👉👈

please DNI if you're not 18+ yet!

A for after care

erling’s exactly the way he looks, even on the sheet; beastly giant. but off the sheet, he’s super gentle with you to the point he doesn’t want to wipe you off himself, afraid he’ll break you into two on top of shattering your world minutes ago.

B for body part

there was one mischief moment of his when he was measuring how big his hands were against your body parts. but there was one that fell into the palm of his hands like they were sewn for erling and erling haaland only; your bum. ever since, it’s his favourite part of your body to touch, to (gently) slap.

C for cum

while he likes your bum to be grope, erling would rather cum on your face because he gets to see you so sexily on your knees, tongues out as you wait patiently for his coming, before swallowing him whole after he came because you like to lick him off clean.

D for dirty secret

the sight of you on your knees as he’s about to cum might be one thing, but you doing that with a pair of your black-rimmed glasses perched on your nose? erling can guarantee he comes twice as much and twice as fast.

E for experience

being a virgin before you met erling, you’re the one who takes the initiative to try all these things you’ve only heard of or read from cosmopolitan. erling, more often than not, happily complies every chance he gets.

F for favourite position

erling LOVES anything that he does in front of a mirror because he gets to see your expression every time he hits your lovely g-spot, the way you crumble as orgasm hits you, and the way your body moulds into his embrace when he catches you as you descend from your high.

G for goofy (e.g. are they always serious in bedroom or are they not?)

erling is always goofy, and you always like his gummy smile when he’s being goofy and care-free and all that. although the sight of his eyebrows set firm and eyes shut tightly when he’s about too cum is also tempting.

H for hair

have you all seen erling’s beautiful golden locks on a manbun? especially when untied after every match where he’s left frustrated? yeah, that thing spiked your level of libido.

I for intimacy

the mirror is one thing, but erling doesn’t like exposing you for the whole world to see. so he keeps everything under the wraps as tightly as he can because sharing you means giving away the intimacy.

J for jack-off

you kind of lifted the level of sex and its aftermath for erling so he’s always suffering whenever he has to be away for so long (i.e. euro or world cup). that’s the only time when he seeks help from his hands to relieve the pain, pressure and pleasure.

K for kink

while he can shamelessly admit the mirror thing, he has a secret preference of recording you (with consent, of course) because he can get to see things he sees on the mirror whenever he’s away. sometimes even better because the film also records your heavy breaths, groans, grunts, moans, whims, whimpers…

L for location

always. love. wherever. the mirrors. are.

M for motivation

nothing is better than an extra motivation for a champion. and when your champion is as beastly and as ruthless as erling, you’re more than happy to provide all the reasons why he should win a match, a game, a league, a championship… and most importantly, why he should come home often from the after parties.

N for no (as in what turn him off or something he’d most likely reject)

the whole exhibitionist concept and its execution.

O for oral

erling swears he’s never had anyone whose pussy smells so incredibly floral... he doesn’t know if it’s your feminine wash or what you eat—and frankly he doesn’t care, as long as he gets to bury himself in the field of flowers. combine that with the voice of a siren whenever he goes down on you? really, erling does not relate to anyone who can possibly describe a v-area as bush anymore.

P for pace

before erling popped your cherry, you’d like to think you’re a vanilla person. missionary in slow pace, kind of thing. but who can blame you for coming way early when you have erling haalad ready to piston his dick in and out of you like a madman?

Q for quickie

you’re a very clingy person in general, which results in difficulty to letting erling go for a business trip. especially one where you know he’ll be away for far too long for your liking. so on those days—especially those days—your naughty side comes out to tease him just until he’s frustrated so he can leave the house later than expected, and you’ll have him for an extra 15-30 minutes. it’s effective, you’d say.

R for risk

erling would really rather have you in all sorts of positions you think you’re capable of than risking the privacy and the intimacy you both share. because with erling’s reputation, he doesn’t have much of it left.

S for stamina

you can definitely give erling a run for his money deposited to the account of your personal trainer because girl, damn it, again?

T for toys

do you know the bullet vibrator that can be controlled remotely from your phone? that’s erling’s new best friend lately. the reaction of you gasping or squirming all the sudden as you walk ahead of him when he played with the tempo was another delectable thing to watch.

U for unfair (e.g. how much they like to tease?)

have we mentioned that erling is goofy and mischievous most of the time? his victim includes you, and every time he wants to make you cum by oral ministrations. the more you squirm, the more you thrash left and right, the more you tremble at whether his touch or his tongue, the more erling takes home another achievement.

V for volume

there’s another reason, actually, as to why erling likes it so much to live on his countryside house: he can have you screaming the place down without police dropping by to make sure there’s no murder taking place.

W for wild card (a random headcanon)

“baby, I got us a reservation in a special place. please spare this weekend for me, yeah?” when you ask nicely like that, of course erling would say yes. it was usually a picnic in a garden somewhere or going to a boring museum, or other things he might not like that much. so nothing was registered in him when they checked into a hotel, only to find a jacuzzi installed INSIDE their room. safe to say, no clothing is required during the stay because they all have been used to wipe off some watery remnants from the jacuzzi to the bed.

X for xray

how many times have we seen erling sat with split/opened legs? or budda pose? yeah, no need for further elaboration.

Y for yearning (i.e. how high is their sex drive?)

it’s down to erling’s schedule, at the end of the day, but you always—like always all the time—make sure it’s worth every other day he’s absent.

Z for zzz (i.e. how quickly they’ll fall asleep afterwards)

despite not being able to touch you after sex because of his ridiculous fear to break you off into two, erling always stays behind until you fall asleep first. be it because you take shower first before you head to dreamland, or it can be because he simply wants to cuddle with you while you’re drifting off in his arms…

[leighsartworks216]

A Decent Man

Wyll x AFAB!Tav/Reader (can be read as platonic)

Wyll deserves a longer fic but my brain is mush rn

No body descriptions so it can be read by anybody who suffers from periods, but I have pulled from my own experiences and made it Very Heavy. I also think this could be read as platonic. There's nothing really pointing toward romance, and the kiss on the cheek can totally be platonic (as well as cuddling) so yeah take it as you will

Warnings: blood, menstruation, anxiety, embarrassment

Word Count: 937

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

The night had been so perfect. Wyll had accepted you into his tent when the weather turned sour. He opened up his bedroll to you when you were shivering. All night you slept wrapped in his arms, safe, protected and warm. The Absolute was far from your mind. Tadpoles did not seem to exist in the temporary bliss that encapsulated you both.

And then you woke up, and you just knew it was too damn good to be true.

The first thing you were aware of was the strong pair of arms holding you close. One draped over your side, the other cradling your head in the crook of his elbow. Next, the scent of campfire smoke and the oil he used on his braids. And then, the discomfort between your legs. Warm and slick and terrible.

Panic rushed your heart, adrenaline stealing the sleepy haze from your mind. When in the night had your period began? Early enough to have you bleeding through Wyll’s bedroll? Or late enough you would be lucky if it didn’t stain your pants? There was no way of telling, but the awful guilt flooded your chest all the same.

You risk a glance at Wyll’s face. It’s the most relaxed you think he’s ever been in all the time you’ve known him. Always he carried his burdens in the lines of his face, the furrow of his brow, behind sweet smiles and his dashing Blade persona. Your heart hurt at the thought of waking him and stealing that peace.

As slow and careful as you could, you slipped his arm from around your waist. He shifted slightly, and you waited. But after a moment he still did not wake. You continue your escape. Cold air hits your body like an arctic wind as you pull back the corner of the thin blanket. You lift yourself from his arm that acted as your pillow, sitting up. You cringe as a tightness clutches at your belly, and the wet feeling of blood spilling out. There is no doubt in your mind now: you’ve bled all the way through.

Tears of frustration prick at your eyes. Wyll was kind enough to provide you shelter and comfort, and your body decided now would be the most perfect time for a practical joke against you. If you had the wherewithal to remember to track your cycle with everything else horrid going on, perhaps you could have avoided this. Or maybe your body would have brought on your period sooner, just to catch you off guard.

The quiet sound of your name, drowsy and confused, seals the deal on this being one of the worst days of the entire quest so far, everything else be damned. You wanted to drown in your embarrassment, suffocate on your misfortune. Anything to ignore the shift of the blanket as Wyll sits up beside you, frowning as he tries to meet your eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asks softly, as though one wrong misstep and you’d shatter. His own mind races with thoughts of nightmares, or even the mysterious Dream Guardian that often came to visit.

The last of your dignity shrivels and dies as you adamantly avoid looking at him, glaring instead at the floor by your shoes. It is harder to tell him what’s happened than it is to drown yourself in the Chionthar river, and far less pleasant. The words grit at you. They feel like jagged steel as they come up your throat to be voiced aloud.

“I… I started my cycle last night.” You sigh, fighting the flurry of hormone-driven emotions as you bury your face in your hands. “I think I’ve bled through your bedroll, Wyll, I’m so so sorry.”

If it was Shadowheart or Karlach, you’d be far less embarrassed and far less upset. Hells, even Lae’zel, and you weren’t even sure she had a blood cycle like this.

You start to assure him you’ll wash it out, that he can have yours if he feels uncomfortable sleeping on his own again - anything to make this right. But before you can even get the words out, he’s rubbing your back.

“Hey, it’s alright. Why don’t you go wash and get changed. I can deal with this.”

You pull your face from your hands to blink at him. He smiles when he finally meets your eyes, sweet and reassuring. “Are you sure?” you ask. “I’m sorry, but you just have a tendency to do things people ask even when it makes you uncomfortable.”

He laughs. “As much as I hate to admit how true that is, a little bit of blood won’t be pushing me out of my comfort zone.”

You’re almost certain you really will start crying as you wrap your arms around his neck and hug him tight. He’s careful to avoid knocking you with his horns, but wraps his arm around your upper back to hold you close. You kiss his cheek and thank him.

“For doing what any decent man worth his salt should do?” he asks, though despite the teasing in his voice, he can hear the utter relief in yours. He truly never considered before that something so small would mean so much, something he truly considered the absolute bare minimum. It only encouraged him to do more, if only to ease the burden of years of suffering through this alone put on you.

“I hate to be the one to break it to you, Wyll Ravengard, but there is a great lack of decent men.”

“Then I pride myself on being one of the last of this dying breed.”

---

Tag List:

@anonymously-ominous

[fiercestpurpose]

i’m so fascinated by how a main theme of btvs season 2 is the absolute devastating catastrophe of buffy losing her virginity. it’s kind of shocking to me that the show can talk so candidly and seriously about a 17 year old girl having sex. i love the awkward conversation buffy and her mom have in 2x17, it feels honest and real. i feel like it would be easy to say that it’s misogynistic of the show to have buffy choosing to have sex be a cause of so much suffering for her, but there’s something about her panic and guilt and fear and regret that really rings true for me. what do you think?

Yeah, I think the show is absolutely focused on Buffy and on the consequences that it has for her. 2x14 takes her grief very seriously, and 2x17 takes her fear very seriously.

2x17 in particular is playing on the way that this is both an absolutely normal scenario and something that is unique to Buffy -- like "older boyfriend has sex with girl and then treats her badly and starts stalking her" is something that really resonates as a teenage story, even if it's also about vampires.

I do have trouble with Joyce and her conversation with Buffy -- I never know how we're supposed to read her and her parenting. Like, obviously berating your kid for having bad judgement in dating a guy who turns out to be a stalker is like. not the best parenting. And she does stress that this is Buffy's fault. But also her main messages are that she loves Buffy a lot and feels very frustrated that Buffy is shutting her out and keeping secrets from her (which of course she is). When Joyce blames Buffy, is that the show blaming Buffy or is that the show doing a good job of showing how a loving but flawed parent might realistically react?

I do tend to lean towards the latter, specifically because of the conversation that Buffy and Giles have in 2x14, when he specifically stresses that he still respects her. That conversation really means a lot to me because the Giles/Buffy relationship is one of my favorite things about the show. I also think that that conversation works as a good contrast to the one she has with her Joyce so that the one with Joyce comes across more as Joyce's perspective than as the show bullying Buffy.

There's a vaguely icky cast over it for me just because it's Whedon and it's such an intensely Whedon move and I can sort of see his vaguely icky fingerprints over everything and his interest in making women suffer in particular ways, but I think that's outweighed by the extent to which the narrative cares about Buffy and her experiences and reactions and feelings surrounding her first time + the ensuing fallout.