✨Zoro’s Sake Bottle✨

the week before had been pretty standard for jake, which meant a lot of nothing. monday night he was at heeseung’s place, half watching a game and half playing fifa with sunghoon until three in the morning. tuesday was drinks with sunoo and niki at that bar near campus. wednesday he skipped his morning lecture, slept until noon, and then spent the rest of the day hanging around jungwon’s dorm because jay had ordered pizza and jake didn’t feel like cooking. thursday was another party (he couldn’t even remember whose) and friday he woke up with a headache and a random girl’s hoodie on his couch.

it was the kind of week he’d been having for most of his college life, just bouncing between his friends’ places and his own small one-bedroom apartment. the lease was almost up, and he’d already decided he wanted to move. not because he hated it, it was fine, but the walls were thin, the neighbors complained too much, and he wanted more space. he’d been looking for a bigger place, just for himself, no roommates, no shared fridge, no awkward small talk.

the plan was simple: find a one-bedroom close to campus, maybe a little more expensive, but worth it for the peace. but then the housing office screwed something up. the unit he’d signed for got pulled last minute because of some “maintenance issue,” and by the time they told him, everything else on his list was already taken. they offered him a spot in a two-bedroom to “hold him over until something opens up,” and he took it, assuming they’d find some random guy to fill the other room eventually.

they didn’t. instead, they gave the second key to you.

“a girl?” heeseung asked, glancing over like he wanted to make sure he heard it right.

“yep,” jake said, “and before you ask, no, i don’t know anything about her. could’ve been some random dude from campus, but no, they put me with a girl.”

“it’s not the end of the world, you know.”

“yeah, except it kind of is,” jake said. “what if she’s, like, one of those people who tells you to keep it down because she’s got an 8am? i don’t need that kind of energy in my space. my place is supposed to be… my place.”

“your mojo dojo casa house?” jake shot him a look while heeseung giggled. “look, maybe it’s good for you,” he continued. “maybe you’ll stop bringing home random girls every other night.”

jake smirked. “or maybe i’ll just have to get better at sneaking them in.”

heeseung shook his head. “do you even know her name?”

“uh… i think it’s y/n? never seen her around campus. at least, not that i remember.”

“you could ask jungwon,” heeseung said. “he knows everyone.”

“yeah,” jake muttered, already half-distracted. “guess i’ll text him later. just… hope she’s not an asshole.”

heeseung gave him a look. “pretty sure she’s hoping the same thing about you. and she is probably right.”

so the rest of that week, jake was milking every last second of living alone. he left dishes in the sink without guilt, blasted music at 2 a.m. and walked around in just a towel after showers. it was good, chaotic and messy, but his kind of good. in a few days, there’d be another person in his space, and even though he wouldn’t admit it out loud, he wasn’t sure how much of himself he’d have to hide.

by wednesday, he had a lecture he couldn’t skip. attendance was part of the grade, and he’d already missed two. the class was one of those electives that pretended to be chill but always devolved into debates that dragged on way too long. he was used to zoning out, tossing in a comment or two just to keep his participation points. that day, though, the professor brought up some case study about media ethics, and jake, half out of boredom, half for fun, threw in a take that was just controversial enough to get people talking. what he didn’t expect was someone immediately firing back.

“that’s a terrible point,” a voice cut through from somewhere to his left, sharp enough to pull his attention off the professor.

jake turned his head, eyebrows lifting. you were a few rows over, leaning back in your chair, arms crossed like you’d been waiting for him to slip up just so you could pounce. you didn’t look nervous, or even slightly unsure, more like you were daring him to keep going.

“no, it’s not,” jake said easily, because there was no way he was letting some random girl dismantle him in front of the whole class.

“it is,” you said, tone flat, almost bored. “you’re just defending it because you think sounding confident is the same thing as being right.”

he scoffed, leaning forward in his seat. “and you’re disagreeing because you think being loud makes you smarter.”

for half a second, your mouth twitched, like you were fighting the urge to smile, but instead you sat up straighter, eyes locking on him as you launched into a rapid fire breakdown of why his take didn’t hold up. it wasn’t just a counterpoint; it was methodical, and you didn’t give him a second to slip in until you were done. he waited for the last word to leave your mouth before firing back, picking apart your logic, throwing in examples just to push your buttons. you didn’t flinch. if anything, you seemed more energized by the challenge, cutting him off mid-sentence, shaking your head with this smug little tilt that made his jaw tighten. within minutes, the rest of the class wasn’t even pretending to follow along with the lecture — they were watching you and him volley arguments. the professor didn’t step in right away, probably curious to see who would outlast the other. when he finally did, there was the faintest smile on his face. “alright, i think we’ll stop here. thanks to jake and y/n, for the spirited contribution today.”

the name landed like a coin dropping in his head. y/n. so this was you. his new roommate. he sat back in his chair, eyes still on you as you looked away like nothing had happened, like you hadn’t just gone toe-to-toe with him for fifteen straight minutes. for a moment, jake just sat there, letting it sink in. of all the people they could’ve stuck him with, it had to be you: sharp-tongued, unshakable, clearly not the type to let anything slide. he wasn’t sure if he was annoyed or impressed. maybe both. he’d expected his new roommate to be some background character in his life — someone who paid their half of the rent and stayed out of his way. instead, he’d gotten someone who looked him dead in the eye and called him out without hesitation. and now he couldn’t stop wondering if you’d be like that all the time, or if it was just a class thing.

later that day, he found jungwon in the campus café, earbuds in. “yo,” jake said, walking up. “you know a girl named y/n?”

jungwon pulled out one earbud, narrowing his eyes like he was trying to place the name. “yeah, i know her. why?”

“she’s my new roommate,” jake said. “met her today in class. well— ‘met’ is generous. more like she tried to shame me in front of thirty people.”

jungwon’s mouth curled into a small smile. “yeah, that sounds like her.”

“great,” jake muttered. “anything else i should know? is she, like… intense all the time?”

jungwon shrugged. “depends. she’s smart, doesn’t take crap from anyone, so, if you’re expecting her to just let you do your thing without comment, good luck.”

jake sat on the chair beside him, letting that sink in. “awesome. love that for me.”

jungwon smirked. “maybe you will.”

jake didn’t know what jungwon meant by that, but he was annoyed anyway. he was already holding a grudge against you, and not just because you’d tried to embarrass him in class. it was the fact that you were about to invade his space. his space. his mojo dojo casa house. the one thing he’d been looking forward to keeping entirely his own. and he was almost sure you didn’t even know he was your roommate yet. maybe they’d just hand you a key and let you figure it out when you showed up at the door. honestly, part of him wanted to see your face when you realized you were going to be living with the guy you’d gone toe-to-toe with for fifteen minutes straight in class.

except he didn’t get to see it. instead, later that night, his phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number:

[you]: hey! this is y/n. i got your number from the housing office

[you]: i’m gonna be your new roommate

he stared at the screen for a second, frowning. the message was friendly, almost too friendly. not at all what he’d expected from someone who’d been ready to verbally fight him to death earlier that day. so he typed back:

[jake]: so i’m guessing you didn’t realize i’m the same jake from that elective class

your reply came fast:

[you]: cool

[you]: so saturday work for you to move in?

that was it. no sarcasm, no smug comment, no acknowledgment beyond the bare minimum. like you couldn’t care less. so jake typed back. 

[jake]: yeah

[you]: i was thinking around 8 a.m.

jake blinked.

[jake]: 8 am? seriously?

[you]: yeah that’s usually when people start moving otherwise it gets late and we won’t finish in time

he stared at your last message, already annoyed at how matter-of-fact it was. eight in the morning. on a saturday. clearly, you were going to be a problem. the way you just stated it, like there was no room for discussion, like you knew exactly what you were doing, it rubbed him the wrong way. he could already tell you thought you were smart and sharp, the type who always got the last word. still, he agreed to the time. whatever. it was just one early morning. he’d deal with it. except, on friday night, he found himself in a situation where dealing with it became unlikely.

niki texted first, asking if he wanted to go to a frat party at yeonjun’s. normally, jake could’ve said no, but if niki was going, sunghoon was going too. and if sunghoon was going, sunoo would end up there. if sunoo was going, jungwon would tag along. and if jungwon was going, jay wouldn’t miss it. and once jay was in, heeseung was coming too, which meant heeseung was bringing weed. and if heeseung was bringing weed, jake had no choice. so, yeah, he was going.

the night was exactly what he expected, and every time he thought about leaving, someone shoved another drink in his hand, or heeseung started laughing at something and somehow convinced him to stay another hour. by the time he got home, it was late. way too late for someone who’d promised to be functional by eight a.m. still, he felt pretty good about himself. he’d packed up most of his apartment earlier that week, stacked boxes into his car, even cleaned the kitchen. all that was left was to wake up on time, meet you, and help move. except he didn’t wake up on time. in fact, he didn’t wake up anywhere near eight.

he woke up at— well, “woke up” is generous. it was noon. the sun’s already rude through the blinds and his phone battery’s dying because he forgot to charge it. but when he grabbed his phone, the first thing he saw was the time, and then immediate, gut-level panic set in. he shot out of bed, tripping over the pile of clothes from last night, and threw on whatever was closest: sweats, shirt inside out, mismatched socks. somewhere between shoving his wallet into his pocket and finding his keys, he finally noticed the one missed call from you. and one single text.

[you]: where are you?

with no follow up, no all caps rage, no triple question marks. he had you pegged as the type to spam twenty messages and call until his phone caught fire, so the sheer chill of it threw him off. so he typed back, “sorry, woke up late” and all you did was leave it on read. weird. still, he loaded himself into his car, already stuffed with boxes, trash bags of clothes and drove to the new apartment.

when he got there, the front door was locked. which, okay, fair. except… he didn’t have a key yet. and judging by the silence and total lack of life inside, you weren’t home. he started texting, but nothing. sent a couple more, still nothing. called, rang out. now he was sitting in the driver’s seat, engine off, staring at his steering wheel like it was gonna give him the answers. that was it, he was homeless now. he was alone, in a parking lot, surrounded by his own boxed-up belongings, slowly spiraling because you were ghosting him before you’d even officially met.

after four hours of torture, of sending countless messages to different friends asking if they had a spare couch for him to crash on, you finally pulled into the parking lot. before you could even close the car’s door behind you, he was already out of his own car, walking fast toward you with this mix of relief and frustration written all over his face. “where the hell were you?” he asked, his voice somewhere between annoyed and breathless.

you just glanced at him, locking your car, throwing your bag over your shoulder, and said, “out.” no explanation, no detail, just a flat answer that somehow irritated him even more.

“out?” he repeated, following as you started toward the building. “i’ve been sitting here for hours. i thought you were gonna be here when i got here.” 

you shrugged, not even slowing your pace, and said, “i finished my move this morning, then i went to do my stuff. what do you want me to do, sit around all day waiting for you?”

he blinked, because as much as that annoyed him, he couldn’t exactly argue with the logic. “you could’ve at least answered your phone,” he tried again, his tone still sharp but quieter now. “you could’ve told me where you were.” you glanced at him like you couldn’t believe he was making this a big deal. 

“jake, you woke up late. that’s not my problem. i texted you once, called you once, you didn’t answer, so i went on with my day.” 

he ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly, feeling this weird mix of embarrassment and irritation because you were right, he knew you were right, you didn’t owe him a play-by-play of your day, but still, he’d been stuck in the car for hours thinking you’d ghosted him or forgotten he was moving in. so you handed him the key without ceremony, and then you walked him through the apartment, pointing out the light switches and the laundry schedule for the building. it was clear you’d already settled in enough to claim your space, and when he asked about the rooms, you didn’t even try to sugarcoat it — because he hadn’t shown up on time, you’d gone ahead and picked yours, and obviously you’d taken the one with the ensuite. makes sense, he’d thought, even though in his head he was trying to figure out if there was a polite way to argue for it without sounding petty. there wasn’t. 

so he just nodded while you explained which cabinet in the hallway was his and which shelves in the fridge he could use, and he kept thinking about how he’d imagined this moment going differently, maybe a little more friendly, or a little less efficient. by the time you were done showing him around, he was still standing there with his bag in hand, realizing you’d already turned back to whatever you were doing before he got here, like the whole moving-in thing was just one more item on your to do list.

and it was weird, the first day. jake was still figuring out where to put his stuff, boxes half open in the living room, one duffel bag sitting on the couch. you were around, but not really. sometimes he’d hear you moving in the kitchen, sometimes a door closing. you kept yourself busy with other things, like tidying up shelves, rearranging stuff in the bathroom, but never really lingering around him. he’d try to make some small comment about anything or how heavy the box was, but you’d just hum or nod without looking up. not rude, just minimal.

around dinner time, he was sitting on the floor, pulling cables out of a box, when you passed by. he decided to try again. “so, uh... is it okay to smoke weed in here?”

you stopped mid-step. “what kind of weed?”

he blinked like he wasn’t sure if that was a trick question. “what kind?”

“yeah. what do you smoke?”

“uh, just some pressed weed i get from a friend.” the friend in question was heeseung.

you looked at him like he’d just admitted he eats microwave fish every day. “no. get hash or something that doesn’t stink up the whole place.”

he stared at you, half surprised you knew the difference, half offended you thought he could casually drop money on that. “you think i’ve got hash money?”

you didn’t bother answering. just kept walking down the hall like the conversation was over. he let it go for a while, partly because he was too tired to argue, partly because you clearly weren’t the type to back down on random rules like this. so later, after he’d unpacked most of his stuff and was starting to feel like maybe the apartment wasn’t a total maze, he found you in the kitchen. you were leaning against the counter, scrolling on your phone, looking way too relaxed for someone who’d just finished telling him his entire stash was trash. “so what if i wanna smoke?” he asked, like the thought had been simmering in the back of his head since you’d walked away.

you sighed. “fine.” you got your bag, pulled out a small pink hello kitty case, unzipped it, and handed him a vape pen. “here. so you don’t make the place smell like cheap weed.”

he took it carefully, holding it between his fingers like it might break. “you’re just giving me this?”

“yeah. consider it a gift. welcome to the apartment.” you didn’t wait for a reaction. you just turned and went straight to your room, shutting the door behind you. he stayed there for a while, standing in the middle of the kitchen with the pen in his hand, staring at it. he couldn’t tell if you were insanely generous, weirdly controlling, or both. all he knew was that he suddenly had a vape pen and absolutely no idea who the hell his new roommate actually was.

and as the first week passed, jake still had no idea who the hell you were. and it passed with a lot of unpacking, awkward silences, and jake slowly realizing that living with you was going to be a whole different kind of challenge. he spent most of his mornings moving boxes, setting up shelves, and trying to figure out which things actually belonged in the apartment and which were just random trash he’d been holding onto too long. you kept mostly to yourself, your own rhythm never really syncing with his. sometimes he’d hear the shower running, the clink of dishes, the sound of you tidying up, but you didn’t really say much. he tried to make conversation here and there, asking if you knew where the extra hangers were, joking about how one of the light bulbs kept flickering. but you’d just hum, nod, or give a short answer before disappearing back into your room. it frustrated him more than he expected, and yet he couldn’t deny that there was something compelling about how unbothered and self-contained you were.

by the end of the week, he’d made more progress with his stuff than he thought he would, but he was still adjusting to the fact that you were this constant, quiet presence that refused to be read. he didn’t know if it was intimidating or fascinating, or maybe both. whatever it was, it made him more aware of how he moved, how he spoke, and how quickly he could lose himself in trying to get your attention, even when you weren’t giving him much to work with. he couldn’t quite place it, but there was a pull there, subtle, like he was slowly cataloguing all the little details about you without meaning to.

“didn’t you say you didn’t want a roommate who’d constantly be in your business?” heeseung caught up with him on campus later that week, walking a few steps ahead before turning with a teasing grin.

jake shot him a look, half annoyed, half exasperated. “yeah, but dude, she’s way too quiet. i can’t tell if she’s judging me or just ignoring me.”

heeseung shook his head, smiling. “so you wanted someone quiet and now you’re mad because she actually is?”

jake ran a hand over his face, exhaling slowly, knowing full well how ridiculous he sounded. he had spent days complaining about the idea of a roommate, imagining someone annoying, loud, constantly in his space, and now here he was, griping about someone who literally did what he asked: kept to herself, stayed out of his way, didn’t force conversation or attention. and yet, it frustrated him more than he expected. 

there was this weird tension in his chest, part irritation, part curiosity, part… something else he couldn’t quite name. he hated admitting it, but he found himself noticing the smallest things about you, and it was confusing, because on one hand he wanted the space, the quiet, the low-maintenance roommate, and on the other hand, he couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that you did not give a fuck. he was aware he was contradicting himself, and that made him feel unsettled. part of him wanted to shake himself out of it, to remind himself that he wasn’t supposed to care this much, and part of him was quietly, stubbornly intrigued, wondering just how much of you he was going to notice before the week was over.

then, friday night, his phone buzzed. it was a message from minjeong, a girl he sometimes hooked up with, asking if she could come see the new apartment. he stared at the screen, a grin creeping onto his face. of course, no problem. before replying, he hesitated for a second, realizing he should probably check with you first, but the thought of minjeong seeing the place and giving him a little validation was too tempting. he typed a quick yes and hit send, already anticipating how you might react when he mentioned it. he wasn’t sure if you would care or just shrug it off, and part of him was curious to see which way it would go. it was a small test, really, to see where you stood in his world now, after a week of careful observation, silent judgments, and that inexplicable pull he couldn’t ignore.

so he walked out of his room ready to find you and give his very casual, very “oh by the way” announcement, only to be met with an empty apartment. no shoes by the door, no faint sound of your music bleeding through your bedroom walls. you hadn’t mentioned going anywhere — not that you had to, you weren’t friends — but still, it was weird. so jake pulled his phone out, thumb hovering for a second before typing:

[jake]: hey, just so u know, i invited someone over 

a beat later, your reply came in: 

[you]: ok 

just that. his brows knit, an odd twist forming in his chest. 

[jake]: where u at? 

he typed, almost without thinking. the answer was immediate and annoyingly vague: 

[you]: out

he stared at it, something about that one word sticking under his skin. you were out. out where? out with who? and why didn’t you care that he was bringing someone here? so now he’s pacing around the living room for a while. it’s not like he expected you to drop your location or anything, but something about it just sits wrong in his chest. and now he’s overthinking. where could you even be? and why is he suddenly caring this much? he tells himself it’s just curiosity. except he keeps checking his phone like you might send a follow-up.

and by the time minjeong shows up, he’s still in his own head about it. she walks in all confident, tosses her hair, does the whole slow smile thing she always does. “nice place,” she says, already looking him up and down like she’s rating him along with the apartment. he smirks back, plays along, but it’s half-automatic. she leans on the kitchen counter and asks if he missed her. he says “of course” because that’s what he’s supposed to say, but his eyes flick to his phone sitting on the coffee table, dark screen staring back at him.

they sit on the couch, she slides closer, her hand on his thigh, and he’s doing the whole flirty banter thing but it’s on autopilot. every time there’s a sound from the hallway, his head snaps toward the door. minjeong notices after the third time and laughs, “what, expecting someone else?” he shakes his head, “nah, just… thought i heard something.” she raises an eyebrow but lets it go, moving in again. he’s responsive, sure, but his brain keeps circling back to the same two questions: where the hell are you, and why does it bug him so much that you didn’t care about this?

eventually, she’s kissing him and he’s kissing her back, and they’re headed toward his room. he’s still glancing toward the door every few seconds like you’re going to walk in at any moment. when they get to the bed, his phone is still in his hand for a second before he remembers to toss it on the nightstand. she notices and smirks, “you waiting for a more exciting guest?” he laughs it off, pulling her down with him, but his ears are still half-tuned to any noise outside. it’s ridiculous, he knows it, but the whole thing feels a little off-balance, like part of him is still in the living room waiting for the front door to open.

and the front door didn’t open that night at all. unless you count when minjeong left. it was late, way past midnight, after they’d already done enough to wake up the entire building if anyone had been around to hear it. and that was the thing, no one was. or at least, you weren’t. and jake kept coming back to that, the quiet in the apartment that wasn’t just because minjeong was gone. you hadn’t come home. you hadn’t been home all night.

he sat on the couch for a bit after walking minjeong out, phone in his hand like he was expecting some kind of alert, something that would tell him where you were without having to actually ask. he scrolled aimlessly, checked the time, opened and closed your chat three times without typing anything. he told himself it wasn’t his business, you were an adult, you could do whatever you wanted. but the longer he sat there, the more he kept glancing at the door like maybe you’d just appear. so around three in the morning, after deciding he wasn’t gonna sleep unless he knew for sure, he finally gave in. he typed out something short:

[jake]: ur not coming back tonight? do u have ur key? i’m locking up 

it didn’t take long for your reply to come through: 

[you]: not sleeping at home 

[you]: i have my key 

short, no explanation as always, just enough to make him stare at the screen for a while. he locked the door like he said he would, but even then, he stayed in the living room a bit longer, phone face down on the coffee table, wondering why the hell it mattered so much. he told himself it was just because he liked knowing who was in the apartment at night. that was all. just basic roommate awareness. nothing else.

when he woke up the next morning, you were already home, the house smelled faintly of coffee. it was quiet, a lived-in silence. he could almost map your movements from his room. you’d been up for a while, moving like someone who didn’t feel the need to announce their presence. he padded into the kitchen barefoot, hair still sticking up from sleep, and found you leaning against the counter with a mug in hand. you were watching the coffee swirl lazily inside it, eyes still heavy but mind clearly elsewhere. for some reason, that annoyed him a little, how comfortable you seemed in your own head. “would be nice if you told someone when you’re sleeping out,” he said, tone casual, but not casual enough. “so no one gets worried.”

you looked up slowly, brows pulling together just a touch. it wasn’t defensive, more like you were trying to understand why he’d say something like that. “why would you be worried? it’s not your problem.”

he blinked at you, caught off guard by how flatly you said it. “it’s… common courtesy,” he said after a beat, shrugging like it was obvious. “worrying about where a woman is. world’s dangerous out there.”

you laughed. it wasn’t polite or restrained, and it was the first genuine sound like that he’d heard from you. light, unguarded, almost surprised at him. “wow. you’re quite the gentleman.” you took another sip of coffee, your mouth curling faintly at the rim of the mug. “did you at least invite the girl from last night to stay over?”

his brows lifted slightly. “how do you know there was a girl here?”

“you said you’d invited someone. i assumed.”

“could’ve been a friend.”

“was it?”

he hesitated. “…no.”

“and you didn’t let her sleep here? sent her home in the middle of the night? what a gentleman you are.” and the way you said it was easy, amused, not mocking exactly, but you knew it would get under his skin. and it did.

you brushed past him then, and you disappeared into your room. he stood there longer than he should have, eyes fixed on the doorway you’d gone through. something about the whole thing stuck in his chest: the way you’d turned his comment back on him, the ease with which you’d disarmed him, that little smile like you were in on a joke he hadn’t been told. and jake wasn’t entirely sure what the hell was going on with him. he didn’t like people poking around in his life, didn’t like having to explain himself, didn’t even like the idea of anyone thinking they could read him. and yet something about you was getting under his skin. it was irritating.

so he told himself it wasn’t that deep. just curiosity, right? he wanted to figure you out. that was it, nothing more. but still, when he realized you had that same morning class together — the one you’d already gone head-to-head in a couple weeks ago — he caught himself planning for it. the class started early, and usually he’d drag himself out of bed last minute, throwing on whatever shirt that didn’t smell and heading out without a word. this time was different, he set his alarm for an hour earlier, got up without hitting snooze, even made coffee before you could. it wasn’t about impressing you (he wouldn’t admit it even to himself if it was) it was about… timing. so by the time you emerged from your room, hair still a little mussed from sleep, jake was leaning casually against the counter, mug in hand, already dressed and ready to go. casual, like he hadn’t been waiting. like this was just how his mornings worked.

“you’re up early,” you said, almost suspicious.

“yeah. felt like it,” he replied, too quickly, then took a slow sip of coffee to make it seem effortless. but the truth was, he’d calculated this perfectly. if he left when you left, that meant you had to walk together. and if you walked together, maybe he’d get another piece of whatever puzzle you were. so you’re halfway through your coffee when you notice he’s still there. jake’s on the couch, legs stretched out, phone in hand, not even pretending he’s in a rush. you’re moving around the kitchen, rinsing the mug, tying your hair back, checking the time, and he’s just sitting there. you give him this look, a suspicious glance, like, shouldn’t you be gone by now? but he doesn’t move.

when you finally ask why he hasn’t left yet, he says he’s waiting. you keep getting ready, slipping on your jacket, and ask what for. he says for the time to go. you stop for a second, frown at him, then keep going. “we have class together,” he adds, like it’s a fact that explains everything. 

you shrug. “and?” he looks at you like the “and” is obvious. 

“and it’s easier if we go together.” you stare at him a little longer, just enough to make him shift in his seat, then go back to your routine without answering.

in his head he’s already decided it was a bad idea. not the worst one he’s ever had, but bad enough that he’s starting to think he should’ve just left first, slipped out before you were done, because now it’s getting weird. the kind of weird where you’re both in the same room but not really in the same moment. he’s slouched on the couch, not even pretending to do anything else, just letting his eyes follow you while you get your stuff. when you’re finally ready and moving toward the door, you stop halfway like you remembered something. he waits, thinking you forgot your phone, but you just stand there looking at him. “what?” he says, his voice almost casual but not quite. 

you blink at him, like you’re surprised he even had to ask, and then you say, “aren’t you coming with me?” and for a second he doesn’t know how to answer, because he wasn’t planning on it, and somehow you asking makes it feel like he should’ve been. you grab your bag, holding the door open just enough to make it obvious you’re waiting. he gets up slower than necessary, like maybe to prove a point, and follows you out into the hallway. you lock the door, check the handle once, then start walking without looking at him. he falls into step beside you, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, posture easy like he’s just strolling instead of heading to an 8am lecture. 

and for a while it’s just the sound of your shoes on the pavement and his occasional sniff. the air’s still got that sharp morning chill, and you pull your jacket a little tighter. he glances at you sideways, like he’s got something to say but he’s holding it back until it’ll land the way he wants. “remember the last time we had this class together?” he finally says, the corners of his mouth lifting.

you don’t look at him. “no.”

“yeah you do,” he presses, and you can hear the grin in his voice. “we ended up arguing for, like, half the lecture. i don’t even remember what it was about.”

“then maybe it wasn’t important.”

he laughs under his breath. “probably not. but i remember you getting all serious about it. it was kinda—” he tilts his head at you, “—entertaining.”

you stop at the crosswalk, eyes fixed on the blinking red hand. “you only think that because you never have anything real to say.”

he looks at you shocked. “…what?”

“you heard me,” you say, and it’s not even mean, just matter-of-fact, and jake at this point this is how you always make your point.

the light changes, and you step forward before he can come up with a comeback. he walks next to you, but there’s a pause now, and he can feel it settle in his chest, strange. because you’re not wrong, but you’re also not someone who usually just says things like that. he’s half smiling, but inside he’s turning the comment over, wondering if you’ve always thought that or if you just decided it today. so by the time you’re halfway down the block, he decides to poke at it. “so… you think i talk just to hear my own voice?”

“no,” you say, not looking at him. “i think you talk because silence makes you uncomfortable.”

he lets out a low whistle. “wow. brutal.”

“also true.”

he kicks at a crack in the sidewalk. “and here i thought we were bonding on this nice morning walk.”

“we’re walking to class. that’s all.”

but you say it without any heat, and that messes with him more than if you’d snapped. he’s used to people either feeding into his teasing or shutting it down, but you do neither. you just keep going, like he’s background noise. and the whole time, he’s thinking about how he doesn’t actually know where you stand on… well, anything. he knows the shapes of your reactions, the expressions you make, the way you close off when you’re done with a conversation. but the why behind it? no clue. and for someone like him, who’s so used to reading people, that’s almost infuriating. almost. because if he’s honest, it’s also the most interesting part.

once you get to the class, you’re sitting two seats to the left of him. the class today is some big group discussion thing, and the professor has just announced the topic: social media and whether it’s made society better or worse. jake’s leaning back in his chair, tapping his pen against the desk, already plotting his moment. he doesn’t really care about the actual topic, he just wants to say something dumb enough to make you whip your head around in disbelief. he figures you’ll roll your eyes, maybe sigh loudly, maybe mutter something under your breath. that’s the payoff he’s after.

when his turn comes, he clears his throat, and with this fake casual tone goes, “i think social media’s the best thing to ever happen to humanity. like, if we didn’t have it, we’d still be living in caves or something.” he even throws in a little shrug, like, yeah, obviously. he’s waiting for you to bite. but you don’t. you don’t even look at him. instead, from across the room, some guy he vaguely recognizes — sunghan or sungchan, something like that — immediately jumps in. “that’s literally the dumbest take i’ve heard in weeks,” the guy says, and then launches into this rapid-fire list of points about misinformation, mental health crises, economic inequality, all tied back to the rise of social media. it’s brutal. sunghan/sungchan has stats, examples, quotes from studies. jake tries to cut in once or twice with a “yeah but—” or “that’s not really—” but he gets steamrolled every single time.

the professor looks mildly entertained but doesn’t intervene. the rest of the class is clearly enjoying the free show. by the time the guy is done, jake has been verbally drop-kicked into oblivion and is now just sitting there, staring at his notes like they might save him. that’s when he catches you trying so hard not to laugh. your head is tilted slightly down, your hand covering your mouth, but your shoulders are shaking just enough to give you away. he can see your eyes flick toward him for a split second before you look back at your screen. it’s not loud, it’s not mean, but you’re absolutely laughing at him, and somehow that’s worse than if you’d just called him an idiot to his face.

so when class ended, jake lingered by the door, pretending to check his phone but really waiting to see your reaction. he didn’t quite know why he cared at all, but he did it anyway. you were gathering your bag slowly, methodically, like you weren’t in a rush to leave. he caught your eye for a second, trying to gauge if you were mad or impressed or whatever it was he felt. “so… that guy kind of roasted you,” you said as you slung your bag over your shoulder, not even looking at him. your tone was flat, but there was something in it that made jake pause. probably because he never thought you could possibly initiate a conversation, but you did. 

“i was just… making a point,” he said, a little defensively, leaning against the wall. “i thought it would… shake things up.”

you glanced at him, brow slightly raised. “you mean irritate everyone in the room?”

“that’s… partially true,” he admitted, smirking. “but also, come on, he kind of came at me with like ten facts and three graphs and this is, frankly, your fault.”

you finally looked at him, eyes narrowing a fraction. “what? why?”

“erm, yeah,” he said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “you were the only person i wanted to see annoyed.” he paused, realizing he sounded ridiculous, but didn’t care enough to fix it.

you snorted softly, almost a laugh, and jake’s stomach did that weird flip. “you’re really trying to get my attention like that?"

jake blinked at you, caught off guard by how direct you were. he opened his mouth to say something clever, then closed it again, realizing anything he said would sound stupid. he ran a hand through his hair, trying to look casual, like he wasn’t suddenly hyper-aware of every word you were saying. “uh… i mean, no, not really,” he said finally, shrugging in a way that was supposed to be nonchalant but probably came off awkward. “i was just… paying attention, that’s all.”

you just shook your head slightly, a faint smirk playing on your lips, and muttered, “sure, keep telling yourself that,” before turning and walking out of the room without another word. jake stayed where he was, frozen for a second, watching you move. he told himself he was just observing, making mental notes, like a perfectly normal, totally innocent thing to do. but the second he saw you from behind, the way your jacket shifted and the rhythm of your steps, he caught himself glancing lower than he probably should have. he immediately chastised himself internally, straightening up and trying to act casual, pretending he wasn’t noticing anything at all, but the truth was, his eyes had betrayed him, and now he couldn’t stop tracking you. he followed you with a mix of fascination and mild guilt, half annoyed at himself for reacting like that, half unable to look away of your ass. he was trying to convince himself it wasn’t a big deal, that he wasn’t being creepy, that it was just instinct or habit or some excuse he could believe. 

jake ran a hand over his face, rubbing at the tension that had built up since he’d watched you leave. heeseung caught up with him in the hallway, leaning casually against the railing, and immediately smirked. “dude… were you checking her ass?” when the fuck did heeseung get here?

jake blinked, caught off guard. “no, not like that, i—i just… it was unavoidable. she walked past me.” he tried to sound convincing, but the explanation sounded thin even to his own ears.

heeseung raised an eyebrow, that teasing grin still in place. “so you did check your roommate’s ass.”

“you’re making me sound like a creep,” jake protested, heat rising to his face despite his attempt at nonchalance.

“you are a little bit creepy, to be fair,” heeseung said flatly, shrugging.

jake groaned, spinning his hand through his hair again, knowing he wasn’t going to win this argument. and yeah, he knew he’d looked. he was painfully aware of it. he couldn’t deny that you were attractive: your build, your posture, the way you moved with this effortless, contained confidence. and then there were your eyes, sharp and perceptive, the kind that seemed to see everything, even if you said nothing. he was aware of all of it, aware that you had this pull on him he didn’t want to admit, aware that your quiet, self-contained presence made every glance he stole more intense than it should be.

heeseung laughed, shaking his head like he’d just figured out jake’s secret. “man, you’re doomed,” he said, nudging jake lightly. “you’re already halfway in over your head.” jake rolled his eyes, but inside he was already replaying the way you’d walked past, how the jacket shifted over your shoulders, the calm, almost indifferent way you moved. he’d caught himself staring, yeah, but he didn’t care to admit it, not to anyone. it was one more thing about you he couldn’t figure out, one more reason he was quietly, stubbornly fascinated, and even though he’d never say it aloud, part of him couldn’t wait to see what else about you would catch his attention.

and that first month after jake checked you out, went by in a weird blur. not weird in the sense that anything dramatic happened, but in the way where jake kept catching himself noticing things he swore he wouldn’t care about. you were quiet, which he expected and knew. what he didn’t expect was how the silence wasn’t awkward, but it was steady. you didn’t give much away, not about your life, not about your family, not even about basic stuff like what you did on weekends before moving in. you always had this wall up, and he couldn’t tell if it was intentional or just the way you were. still, every once in a while, out of nowhere, you’d drop a sarcastic comment that was so perfectly timed it threw him off. it wasn’t often, but when it happened, he caught himself laughing harder than he probably should’ve.

he tried to test the waters sometimes, inviting people over just to see if you’d react. girls, friends, whoever. and honestly, you didn’t. if anything, you were almost too chill about it. you’d disappear into your room, door closed, headphones probably on, and not make a sound. the first time it happened, he thought maybe you’d get annoyed, or passive aggressive, but you didn’t. you didn’t even seem to care. and that made him feel guilty in a way he couldn’t explain. like, you were being way too decent about it for him to even think about making noise on purpose. he considered it once, just to see if you’d snap, but then he imagined how shitty it would be if you did that to him, so he didn’t.

with his friends, you were a little different. sometimes you’d come out and say hi, mostly if jungwon was around, since you already knew him. you talked to him more than the others, and jake noticed that too. you weren’t rude to the rest, but you didn’t go out of your way to interact either. it wasn’t that you were antisocial, more that you just didn’t give out pieces of yourself easily. and that became the part jake couldn’t stop circling back to.

what threw him most was how the tension kept building, even when nothing was really happening. the more you stayed closed off, the more he wanted to know. it didn’t help that every time he called someone over, it felt emptier than it used to. he didn’t know when it shifted, but it did. before, having a girl over was automatic, easy. now, after a couple weeks, it just didn’t feel the same and he didn’t even know why. the excuse he told himself was that he was busy, but deep down he wondered if it was because of you. he hated that thought, so he shoved it down, but it lingered anyway.

some nights he caught himself with the dumbest thing in his head, thinking you were kind of a shadow holding him hostage. he’d laugh to himself, because obviously it wasn’t that deep, but then again, the words fit in a way he didn’t want to admit. he’d think about it when he was lying awake, about how he hadn’t wanted a roommate in the first place, and now that he had one, he couldn’t stop thinking about all the things he didn’t know about you. 

and then you told him you were having someone over. first time ever. no warning, no buildup, just said it casually like it wasn’t a big deal. but it was for him, at least. he tried not to make a face, though his brain immediately went into overdrive. someone over? who? what kind of someone? was this, like, a friend situation or more than that? he didn’t know if it was his place to even ask. you’d made it pretty clear from the beginning that there was space between you two, that you weren’t looking to blur lines. and since you never asked him anything about his own business, it felt wrong to pry into yours.

still, the curiosity was eating him alive. he asked the only question that came to his head: if you wanted him to leave. the second he said it, he regretted it, because there was nothing in the world he wanted less than leaving. but he said it anyway, tried to make it sound casual, then added if you wanted him locked in his room instead. you barely looked up from what you were doing. “do whatever you want,” you said, and that got him. it was nothing, just three words, but it stuck like a thorn.

later, when the knock came at the door, he was already in his room pretending to be busy, except he wasn’t. he was standing near the door with his phone in his hand, not even scrolling, just waiting. he opened it a crack when he heard your voice, enough to press his ear to the wood like some kind of loser. the voice that answered you was familiar: beomgyu. of course, it made perfect sense. he knew him from campus, mostly through heeseung, since the two of them were basically glued together in that haze of weed smoke. he wasn’t surprised you knew him too, and it also tracked. he remembered the vape pen you’d handed him the first day you moved in. he’d never actually seen you smoke in the apartment or even outside, but he had the sense you did. actually, jake never really saw you doing anything at all. so he listened in without shame. your voices were close, just muffled enough through the wood to make him lean harder. “you’re not alone?” beomgyu asked at some point.

“no,” you said. “jake’s here.”

there was a pause before beomgyu spoke again, casual, almost nosy: “you guys getting along?”

“it’s not like we interact that much,” you replied easily, like it wasn’t anything. “but i’d say yeah, it’s fine.” and he froze at that. not like we interact that much. it was true, technically. still, hearing it out loud made something twist in his stomach. it wasn’t an insult, not even close, but he stood there staring at the door like he’d just been punched. so he waited for more, but you and beomgyu moved on to something else he couldn’t quite catch. he didn’t realize until then how ridiculous he must’ve looked: half crouched, ear glued to the door, but he stayed there anyway.

eventually, you and beomgyu went to your room. the realization left him with this strange knot in his stomach. he couldn’t tell if it was jealousy or just curiosity, or maybe both at the same time. he hated that he couldn’t put a name to it. he tried to ignore it, lying in bed and staring at the ceiling, but the longer he sat there, the worse it got. eventually he gave up and got out of his room. he told himself he just wanted water, and that if he happened to run into beomgyu on the way, it wouldn’t even be weird. as long as beomgyu had his clothes on, it would be fine. he padded out into the kitchen, pretending to be casual, but his ears were tuned to your room. that’s when he heard your laugh. not the polite little chuckle you gave, but a loud laugh, the kind that broke out without you trying to hold it back. and it was beomgyu who made you laugh like that. jake stood there with the fridge door open, not even grabbing anything, just frowning at the sound like it personally offended him.

and then there was the smell. faint at first, but it didn’t take long to confirm. weed. you and beomgyu were smoking inside your room. jake shut the fridge, leaned on the counter, and tried to process that. he could feel himself spiraling, pacing a little, walking back and forth because he couldn’t sit still. the laugh still echoed in his head, mixed with the smoke that somehow seeped into the hall. after a while, the sound died down. no more laughter, no more voices, just silence. that was worse than hearing you laugh. jake went back to his room and then left it again almost immediately, too restless. he didn’t know what to do with himself. he hated the idea that out of every guy you could have decided to let into your room, it was beomgyu.

the thing was, jake actually liked beomgyu before this. he thought he was funny in that stupid way that worked in groups. he wasn’t the kind of guy jake ever thought of as competition, because why would he? beomgyu was the type who got away with everything because no one could ever be mad at him for long. but now that jake knew you were close to him, suddenly all the little things he’d brushed off about beomgyu started to bother him. his jokes weren’t that clever, he laughed at his own comments too much, he had this way of talking like he knew everything, and it grated on jake’s nerves. and the fact that you, out of all people, thought he was worth laughing with made jake’s chest feel tight. 

and after a while, beomgyu left your room, you right behind him. jake was sitting on the couch with the tv on, some random show playing, though he hadn’t registered a single line of dialogue. he just wanted to be there, in plain sight, like some kind of silent reminder that this was still his apartment too. beomgyu walked out looking way too comfortable, way too casual for jake’s taste. he greeted jake like they were the best of friends, clapping him lightly on the shoulder. and sure, they weren’t strangers. they’d hung out a couple times, he was funny, easy to get along with. but right now jake didn’t care. he forced a smile, threw out a polite “hey man,” but his jaw was tight, and he knew his expression wasn’t fooling anyone.

you followed close behind, hair a little messy, eyes bright, clearly in a good mood. when beomgyu said goodbye, he leaned down and hugged you, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head. “later, we’ll finish severance,” he said casually, like it was already an established ritual.

that one line stuck to jake’s ribs more than he wanted it to. severance. he didn’t even know you were watching that. now apparently you were watching it with beomgyu. his brain started filing through everything he knew about you, like he was trying to build some complete picture and somehow come out on top of it. he knew you had those hello kitty mugs in the kitchen, the kuromi dish towel, the snoopy blanket folded on your bed. so he knew you liked hello kitty and snoopy. he’d seen you drink coffee so watered down he almost called it tea. he’d heard you listening to old one direction songs, he knew you wore vanilla perfume, he knew you were friends with sakura and that once you’d worked on some project with jungwon, and that is how you got to know him. he knew all that. and now he had to add this new thing to the list, you were watching severance with beomgyu. and he didn’t know what you and beomgyu had, or if he even wanted to know. but it gnawed at him anyway, the idea that beomgyu had a piece of you he didn’t.

when beomgyu left, he said “see you, bro,” and jake nodded with the fakest polite smile, jaw tight. he wasn’t mad at beomgyu specifically, not really. but he was mad. he didn’t even know at what. maybe himself. maybe the fact that he didn’t know what the hell was going on in the room next to his.

when the door shut, you came back into the living room, and jake turned his head, voice low and even, like he was casually making conversation. “you were smoking?”

you froze for a second and then shrugged, reaching for something in the kitchen. “yeah. sorry if the smell bothered you.”

“didn’t bother me,” he said quickly. “i smoke all the time and you’ve never said anything.”

you looked back at him, eyebrows raised. “as long as you’re not smoking weed that stinks up the whole apartment, i don’t care.” you laughed a little, and jake felt the sound sit differently in his chest, lighter than before, like the tension had finally shifted. so he just tried to shoot his shot, because you were apparently in a good mood. and he hated that this probably had something to do with freaking beomgyu.

you busied yourself in the kitchen, pulling things out for a late snack, and jake found himself staring, debating if he should shut up or just ask. he leaned back, pretending casual. “so… you and beomgyu, then? i wouldn’t have guessed.”

the second the words left him, you burst out laughing. not a small laugh either, but a full, loud one that echoed through the place. you turned around, hand still holding whatever you’d grabbed from the fridge, and shook your head at him. “jake. beomgyu is my cousin!”

his brain short-circuited. he sat there, stone-faced, but inside he wanted to hit his head against the wall. hours. he’d spent hours stewing, imagining you making out with someone in the room next to his. all that, just for you to be hanging out with family. “oh,” he said finally, trying to keep it cool, but his voice cracked slightly at the end. he cleared his throat. “i—”

you were still laughing, wiping under your eye like you might tear up from how hard it hit you. “you thought—oh my god, you thought we were…?”

“i didn’t think anything,” he cut in, sharp, defensive. “just asked. chill.”

you grinned at him, knowing you’d hit a nerve. “yeah, sure. you didn’t think anything.”

jake pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek, eyes flicking back to the tv, but all he could hear was your laugh ringing in the kitchen and the absolute humiliation settling in his stomach. maybe he was losing it. maybe he was reading way too much into things. maybe he just really, really hated not knowing anything about you so he was starting to make things up. so later that night he ended up doing the worst possible thing, which was talking to sunghoon and heeseung about it. and those two should not be trusted with advice, ever. they were sitting around in heeseung’s living room, controllers in hand, when jake let it slip, just needing to get it off his chest. “dude, if you wanna know more about her, it’s not that deep,” sunghoon said, not even looking up from the screen. “just… ask. or, i don’t know, pay attention.”

“yeah,” heeseung added, stretching. “you follow her on instagram, right? that’s step one.”

jake shook his head. “i don’t follow her.”

both of them turned to look at him like he’d confessed to a crime. “but you’ve stalked her, obviously,” sunghoon said.

“yeah,” jake admitted immediately. “of course i did. but she doesn’t have anything posted. she’s super low profile. it’s useless.”

they nodded like this was the biggest tragedy they’d ever heard, and then heeseung leaned in, annoyingly calm. “the only reason you’re going crazy about this is because you don’t know if she’s single.”

“that’s not it,” jake snapped back a little too quickly, a little too defensive. but it was kind of it. not all of it, but a piece. the truth was he’d been catching himself noticing you in ways he didn’t want to admit. at first it was just the obvious things, like your face, the way your hair always looked like you didn’t think about it too hard but it still landed perfectly. then it was smaller things, like the way you tilt your head when you’re listening to someone, or how your hands move when you’re talking, like your words can’t quite keep up. he didn’t want to be one of those guys who sits there cataloging every detail, but he couldn’t help it. he’d catch himself watching the way you crossed your legs, or the way you leaned forward when you laughed, and then immediately look away like he hadn’t been staring. it wasn’t even about being smooth or making a move, it was just the fact that you were magnetic in this casual, almost annoying way. and he hated that he noticed all of it, hated that every time you walked out of a room he was replaying little flashes of how you looked without meaning to.

so yeah, he wanted to know if you were single. he didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, but it just stuck in his head after the whole beomgyu thing. so later that week, he brought it up to jungwon in the most casual way he could manage, like it was just some random passing thought. he mentioned the whole situation, how he thought beomgyu was something else and how embarrassing it was to find out he wasn’t. jungwon listened, eyebrows slightly raised, and then cut straight to the point. “so you want to know if she’s single?”

jake nearly choked. “no, no, i mean, not really. i was just curious because i thought beomgyu was, you know, something. but i was wrong, so…” he trailed off, trying to look unbothered.

jungwon, who was sharper than he ever let on, tilted his head. “look, i don’t know either. she’s pretty closed off. but i don’t think so. never saw her with anyone.” so that was useless. jake got nothing out of it, except more confusion. but then he remembered something heeseung had said the night before, in one of those stupid conversations they always had. heeseung had said, if you want to know how a girl feels about you, just see how she reacts to your body. which was ridiculous advice, borderline dumb, and jake wasn’t going to actually be weird about it. but the thought stuck in his head anyway.

so on friday, he decided to test it. he walked out of the bathroom with only a towel around his hips, though he had underwear on underneath just in case of a worst case scenario. he slowed his pace on purpose, trying to look normal but also making sure he was giving enough time for it to register. you were on the couch, legs curled under you, your kindle in hand. you looked up the second he stepped out, and your eyes went wide. “what the fuck.”

he froze mid-step, doing his best to look surprised. “oh my god, sorry, i thought you weren’t home.”

you stared at him, unimpressed. “you literally saw me when you went into the bathroom.”

he pressed his lips together, pretending to think. “oh, did i? must’ve forgot.” he said it with that smug little edge to his voice, and then walked off to his room like nothing happened. but he noticed the way your cheeks went a little red. you didn’t choke on air or drop your kindle obviously, but it was a reaction, just this tiny shift, like your body betrayed you for a second. he saw your eyes flicker over his torso quickly before darting straight back down to your kindle, like you hadn’t seen a thing at all. like you weren’t even aware you’d done it. and jake, being jake, stood there for half a second longer than he should’ve, towel secured, trying not to smirk too obviously. because yeah, maybe heeseung’s advice was dumb. actually, no — heeseung’s advice was dumb. but for the first time, jake thought it might not have been completely useless. 

so after that day, he started testing it, but nothing obvious, nothing that would make you call him out. he’d come back from the gym and not bother putting on a hoodie, just a loose tank that clung a little too much, shoulders still damp. he didn’t say anything, didn’t try to flex, just walked past you while you were on the couch and pretended not to notice when your eyes flicked up and then back down to your kindle or your phone. and he pretended even harder not to notice the way your ears went pink. sometimes he’d just hang around shirtless longer than necessary, instead of immediately throwing on a t-shirt. and maybe you didn’t say a word, maybe you didn’t even move, but he always caught the tiniest shifts, like the way you swallowed before answering him, the way you suddenly focused harder on whatever was in front of you.

one afternoon you were in the kitchen, standing at the counter making something to eat. he came up behind you to grab something from the cabinet, leaning just close enough to tower over your shoulder. you didn’t turn around, you didn’t step aside, but he noticed the way your shoulders tensed when his arm brushed past. he reached up, pulled down the box he needed, and that’s when he saw the tag sticking out from the back of your shirt. “your tag’s out,” he muttered, and before you could react he just pushed it back in with two fingers. but he felt the way goosebumps rose on your neck, the way your body stilled like you weren’t sure what to do with that touch. he didn’t say anything else, neither did you. he just stood there for a beat longer, holding the box, trying to act normal. but inside, he was wired. because you never said anything out loud, never gave him words to work with, but your body did. and he felt it, he felt it every single time.

and jake was convincing himself he was only doing it because you didn’t react badly. if the first time he’d tried something like that you had rolled your eyes, made a sharp comment, or told him to knock it off, he would’ve laughed it away and never tried again. that’s how it always went with you; if he pushed, you pushed back harder. you had a quick tongue and zero patience for his nonsense, and he’d seen you cut other people down in a heartbeat when they stepped out of line (him included). but with this, you let it happen. and that made him think, it was throwing him off because it didn’t fit the version of you he knew. you were sarcastic about everything, and if you weren’t shutting him down, then maybe he wasn’t crossing a line.

but then, over the next few weeks, he began to notice that it wasn’t just him anymore. or at least that’s what it felt like. little things turned into bigger ones, impossible to write off as accidents. like you’d bend down to grab something off the floor right in front of him, slow enough that his eyes didn’t have anywhere else to go. jake would clench his jaw, forcing himself to look away, but not before heat rushed straight to his ears (and pants). you’d sit on the arm of the couch instead of the empty cushion, your knee brushing his shoulder, your perfume sinking into his hoodie. one night you padded into the kitchen in just a tank top, stretching on your toes to reach the top shelf. jake had to press his palms against the counter behind him, knuckles whitening, because you didn’t ask for help, no, you just let him watch, every line of your body outlined under the dim light.

and jake thought maybe nothing was going on. maybe it was all in his head, even though it didn’t look like coincidence anymore. the way you brushed against him, the way your eyes lingered for just a second too long. it felt like you were teasing him back, in your own quiet, calculated way. and that awareness — knowing full well how fucked he was — made everything worse. because you see, you didn’t let people in. you kept yourself locked tight, doors closed, curtains drawn. he knew barely anything about you outside these four walls. you never volunteered details about your life, never invited him to tag along, never acted like you wanted to be friends. you weren’t close, not in the normal sense. you were just roommates, nothing else. but still… something was shifting. 

he remembered the first time he tested the waters when you walked past him in the hall and your perfume lingered long after you’d gone. he’d said it out loud, without thinking, a bold comment about how good you smelled. you froze, and you didn’t even say a proper thank you, you just mumbled something about liking vanilla, your voice a little too quick, a little too uneven. and then you disappeared into your room, shutting the door like nothing happened. but jake stood there for ten minutes after, heart hammering, because that reaction told him everything. 

and then came the touch. he’d been struggling with this stupid package, a cardboard box of instant ramen, taped shut like fort knox. he was grunting under his breath, fighting with the seal, when you stepped in. annoyed, you muttered something about him doing it wrong, and before he could argue, your hands were on him. your fingers wrapped around his wrists, guiding his movements until the box tore open with ease. you sighed, and for a moment, all he could focus on was how close you were. the heat of your body pressed into his arm, the faint brush of your hair against his jaw when you leaned in. and then you looked up at him. eyes wide, impossibly soft, lashes catching the kitchen light. there was that tiny smirk ghosting over your lips, playful, smug, like you knew exactly what you’d just done to him. “there you go,” you murmured, almost teasing, before slipping away, leaving him standing there with his pulse thundering in his ears.

after that, he couldn’t stop thinking. he went over it again and again, trying to decide if it meant anything or if he was just imagining things. he told himself it was probably nothing. just you being impatient. just him reading into it too much.

but the confirmation came later. he came home one night, the door clicked shut behind him. his shoes made a sharp sound against the floor as he walked inside. the apartment was still. no tv, no music, no movement. then he stopped, because there was a sound. faint and muffled. it came from the end of the hallway, where your door was closed. he stood still, listening. it came again. a short, broken sound. a soft whimper.

jake first thought he was imagining things. but when you did it again, he froze. this time he thought maybe you were hurt, maybe something was wrong. but the one after came too soft, too broken, too close to pleasure for him to mistake it. he checked the shoes at the door. only his and yours. no one else in the apartment. and there was no way you hadn’t heard him come in. jake knew how loud the door was. you always heard it, you always knew. and still, you were moaning in your room. that pushed it somewhere else entirely. if it was teasing, it was nothing like before. 

so he stomped back to his bedroom, jaw tight, every step heavier than the last. he felt like a freak for listening, for even standing there. his head kept repeating this is wrong, this is way past what i thought it was. but his body didn’t match, his pants told the truth. they were tight, uncomfortable. jake was hard. and that was the part that made him feel even worse. it wasn’t just that he’d overheard you; it was that the sound had hit him so fast he hadn’t even had time to deny it. it was automatic. one second he was frozen in the hallway, ears straining, the next his cock was pressing against the front of his jeans like his body had made the decision for him.

he sat on the edge of his bed, hands on his knees, trying to steady his breathing. what the fuck is wrong with me. she’s in there. she knows i’m home. she knows. the thought circled, sharp, louder than the blood rushing in his ears. he pressed his palm over the front of his pants like maybe the pressure would calm it down, but it only made him notice how hard he really was. he wanted to block it out, pretend he hadn’t heard anything. he wanted to tell himself you were just on the phone, or crying, or anything else that would make sense. but the sound was burned into his head already. too clear, too close. there was no mistaking it. and that was what fucked him up the most, that his body had answered to you before his brain could even think.

he leaned forward, elbows digging into his thighs, palms pressed together so tight his knuckles turned white. he squeezed his eyes shut, like maybe if he just forced himself still, forced himself quiet, it would go away. the hardness, the heat, the ache curling low in his stomach. don’t. don’t be that guy. don’t even think about it. but he was already thinking about it. not even a picture, not even a scene, just the sound of you. broken and soft, leaking under your door, and now stuck in his head like it belonged to him. his cock pulsed against his zipper at the memory, like it knew exactly what it wanted. he unbuttoned his jeans, just to breathe. just to make the pressure stop, at least, that was what he told himself. but the second the fabric loosened, the relief hit so hard he nearly groaned. his cock pressed against the thin cotton of his boxers, straining, and his hand hovered there like a magnet.

his breath caught when another sound drifted from your room, faint, muffled, but loud enough, enough to knock the last bit of reason out of him. he doubled over, biting back a curse, his hand slipping under the waistband before he could even think about stopping. the heat of his own skin made him shudder. just the first brush of his palm had his hips jerking up, desperate, like he’d been holding back for hours and not minutes. his head dropped as his fist closed around himself, slow, testing. fuck, this is wrong, so fucking wrong, he thought. but his body didn’t care. it only cared about the sound of you in his head, replaying again and again, and the slick drag of his hand working him through it. his thighs tensed, breath coming out rough and uneven. every time he told himself stop, stop, stop, his wrist only moved faster, harder, chasing after the relief he knew was coming, the one he couldn’t hold back now even if he tried. his hand sped up, and he couldn’t keep quiet anymore, with small, choked sounds slipping from his throat, swallowed quickly into the dark of his room. his other hand gripped the edge of the mattress so tight his knuckles hurt, grounding himself against the pull in his body.

your sounds were all over him now. they weren’t even real anymore, not in this moment, just echoes, broken pieces his brain kept inventing, filling the silence with the way he thought you’d sound. higher, sweeter, sharper. he couldn’t shake it. he didn’t want to. “fuck…” he whispered, teeth sinking into his lip. his hips started lifting off the bed, chasing the glide of his fist, faster now, desperate. every stroke made his cock twitch, leaking into his palm, slicking his movements until he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. his abs tightened, legs spread wider, the knot low in his stomach pulling so tight it hurt. his mind screamed wrong, wrong, wrong but his body begged more. he let his head fall back, throat bared, jaw clenched as his pace turned frantic. he was so close it scared him, his whole body straining, toes curling against the floor, veins standing out along his arm. then a low, guttural sound ripped out of him as he came, hot and messy over his hand, spilling across his stomach in heavy spurts. his body jolted with each pulse, hips jerking up uncontrollably until he had nothing left.

he collapsed back against the bed, chest rising and falling, his hand still sticky and trembling where it rested over himself. for a long moment, he just stared at the ceiling, shame burning behind his eyes, sweat cooling on his skin. what the fuck did i just do. and he spent a solid ten minutes just lying there on his bed, trying to convince himself that it made sense. he told himself he was just hard because he hadn’t had sex in a whole month, that was it, nothing more. it was perfectly normal. of course, he conveniently ignored the fact that the reason he hadn’t had sex for a month was entirely because of you, but no, that part didn’t factor in. he told himself he would only realize that connection in a few months, when he could actually think clearly.

the problem now was practical. he needed to get cleaned up. he needed to go to the bathroom. the thought of leaving his room in this state, cock still leaking, cum smeared across his stomach, was unbearable. the hallway was a risk, what if he ran into you? that was not happening. there was no way he could explain this, and he wasn’t ready to see your face right now. so he grabbed an old, stained shirt, the only thing he could find, and used it to wipe himself off the best he could. it was messy and gross, and he hated every second of it, but it was the only option until it was safe to move. he stayed in his room, waiting until it was late enough that he could assume you were either asleep or completely out of the house. only then did he finally step into the bathroom for a long, careful shower, making sure to clean every part of himself.

all the while, he kept thinking about what had just happened. he knew it was nasty, he knew it was a mess, but he also couldn’t shake the fact that you probably knew he had been there, probably knew he had heard everything, and that knowledge somehow made the situation even more intense. the idea that you had been aware, that you might have noticed, hung in his head, refusing to let him relax. he wanted to pretend it hadn’t happened, wanted to convince himself that it was just a random, unfortunate incident, but the truth was stuck there, and now everything about being in the apartment, the quiet, the sounds, even the thought of you, carried a weight he wasn’t ready to deal with.

and in the next morning, jake didn’t expect to see you up this early. when he stepped out of his room, the smell of coffee hit him first, sharp and warm, filling the hallway and pulling him toward the kitchen. there you were, standing by the counter, wearing those stupid short pajama shorts. his blood rushed instantly, and he felt the familiar tension in his pants. he tried to take a deep breath, trying to remind himself to get a grip, telling himself you were doing absolutely nothing, that this was normal, mundane, everyday morning stuff. but the truth was, you had never worn that in front of him before, and the coincidence of it being now, after everything last night, made it impossible to ignore.

he watched you stretch, reaching for a cabinet, the shorts riding up slightly, the way your hair fell around your shoulders as you moved. his mind betrayed him immediately, going places it shouldn’t have. he pictured what you’d do if he bent you over the counter, if you’d make the prettiest sounds, whether you liked being praised or degraded more, if you— what? he had to force himself to stop before getting hard again, before thinking any further, because it was already too much and he couldn’t let it go any further in his head. the thoughts hit him so fast that he had to take a step back and shake his head, trying to stop himself before it got worse. he let out a quiet, frustrated sigh, and that’s when you noticed him. your eyes went wide, and you mumbled, almost under your breath, “oh my god… you scared me.”

“sorry,” he said quickly, voice a little rough, trying to sound casual. “good morning. uh… need to go to the bathroom.” without waiting for a response, he turned and stomped off, moving down the hall as if he owned none of the tension in his body, leaving you standing there in the kitchen with no clue what had just happened in his head.

he could still feel the heat from seeing you like that, the pressure in his pants not going away, the way his brain refused to let it drop. every step toward the bathroom was a fight against his own thoughts, and he kept telling himself over and over: it’s just coincidence. nothing happened. nothing’s happening. but deep down, he knew that wasn’t entirely true.

“bro, i don’t think i wanted to know that,” heeseung said flatly when he and jake met up after class later that week. they’d been walking out together, just talking about random shit, and jake had dropped everything on him like it was nothing. “i don’t fucking care about when you jack off or why you did it,” heeseung added, shaking his head, “but just leave me out of it, man.”

“i need to get this out of my chest, and it’s your fault it happened in the first place,” jake said, frustrated.

“my fault???” heeseung looked at him like he’d just grown a second head. “how the hell is this my fault?”

“you said that i needed to see how she reacted to my body,” jake shot back, way too fast. “so i tested it out, and she started teasing me back.”

heeseung stopped in his tracks and let out a laugh that was half disbelief, half amusement. “i can’t believe i was the butterfly effect to this.” they started walking again, but heeseung kept looking at him like he was ridiculous. “ok, look. if she’s doing it on purpose, if she’s teasing you back, then you have something to begin with. that’s not nothing. she’s not single, right?”

“yeah,” jake sighed, “i think that’s obvious. i would’ve known by now if she wasn’t.”

“so why don’t you just shoot your shot then?” heeseung asked simply, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

jake didn’t answer right away. he shoved his hands in his pockets, stared at the ground while they walked. he wanted to say something like, “yeah, maybe i should,” or laugh it off, but the words didn’t come. the truth was, he knew exactly why he wasn’t doing anything about it. he wasn’t stupid, he could tell there was tension there, maybe even mutual. but acting on it was a whole other thing. it wasn’t just about making a move, it was about what came after, and that thought scared the shit out of him.

yeah, he wanted you. he couldn’t stop thinking about you. every little thing you did stuck in his head way longer than it should. but then he imagined putting it all out there and being wrong, or worse, being right and not knowing what to do next. it was easier to keep it in his head, easier to let it build up until he was alone. heeseung’s words replayed in his mind even after they split ways. shoot your shot. it sounded simple. to jake, it wasn’t. he wasn’t sure if it was fear of rejection, or fear of what it would mean if you said yes. maybe both. either way, the answer was the same: he was too much of a pussy to do it.

so that week jake decided to do the most mature thing to do: hide. in his mind, the only way to deal with this was to make himself disappear. if he didn’t see you, he wouldn’t have to think about what had happened, and if he didn’t think about it, he wouldn’t have to deal with the way his body reacted every single time you walked into the room. so he avoided you. he knew the time you usually left the apartment in the morning, so suddenly he was waking up earlier just so he could sneak out before you. he knew you usually came back in the afternoon carrying way too many grocery bags for one person, so he started timing his trips to the gym right around then, making sure he wasn’t there when you struggled with the door. if you were in the kitchen, he was in his room. if you were in the living room, he was suddenly showering for the second time that day.

it wasn’t subtle, heeseung probably would’ve told him he was being obvious if he had seen it himself, but jake didn’t care. he didn’t trust himself enough to be around you casually. the worst part was that he couldn’t even look you in the eyes anymore. because if he did, there was this very real chance he’d remember how easy it was for his mind to run away with him, how easy it was to cross that line in his head. and yeah, maybe it sounded dramatic, but the truth was, jake was exhausted. he couldn’t deal with walking around half hard just because you existed near him. the hiding, in his mind, was damage control. it wasn’t him being a coward, it was him protecting himself. at least that’s what he kept telling himself when he ducked out of the apartment five minutes before you got home.

well, that was what he was trying to do before he got a random text from you.

[you]: hey

[you]: is everything alright?

jake immediately froze. you never reached out first, at least, not like this. usually it was him asking if you wanted takeout, or if you’d seen his charger, or if you could please stop leaving your shoes in the hallway before he tripped over them again. but you? starting the conversation? something was definitely off.

[jake]: yeah, why?

[you]: you left the apartment 5 times today already

[you]: do you need anything?

yeah, jake thought. i need you to stop being so fucking desirable all the time so i can concentrate on being a functional human being. but that wasn’t something he could say. and now, on top of everything else, there was the fact that you’d clearly noticed him doing laps in and out of the apartment like a maniac. the whole point of this plan was for you not to notice. so he figured the only way out was the classic jake strategy: an excuse.

[jake]: yeah heeseung went through a breakup so im just making sure he is not miserable so ill just go there everytime he texts smth depressing

the excuse rolled out faster than he could think it through. he just needed something that sounded believable enough. heeseung was safe territory, always the guy to blame when jake needed a reason for anything. if you asked questions, he could throw in a few vague details about ronnie, that girl heeseung’d mentioned ages ago. technically, it wasn’t even a total lie. ronnie had existed. jake could stretch the truth from there if he had to. but you didn’t ask. you just read the message, sat with it for a moment, and then typed back:

[you]: thats a bummer

nothing else. no digging, no casual oh, what happened? just those three words that landed in his chest heavier than they should have. and he felt this weird mixture of relief and panic. relief because you hadn’t pressed him on it, and panic because you’d noticed him enough to text in the first place. he had to admit that part of him almost wanted you to push. almost wanted you to call him out, make him explain himself, force him to say out loud the things he’d been dodging. but you didn’t, and maybe that was worse.

so later that week, niki had dragged jake into saying yes to another party. the way niki put it was, “you either come with me or you keep sulking around your room like a creep,” and honestly, jake couldn’t even argue. he was tired of hearing his own thoughts, tired of looping back to the same memory over and over again. so yeah, fine, a party at yeonjun’s house sounded better than being left alone with his brain. at least there’d be music and people he barely knew to keep him distracted.

and yeonjun’s parties weren’t your typical college movie kind of parties. they always looked like they weren’t supposed to be fun, but somehow were. it was messy but it had its charm, and jake, for the first time in a while, actually felt his shoulders loosen up. he started doing what he usually did at these things, standing with niki, making dumb comments about everyone around them, drinking just enough to not think too hard. and it worked. for a good while, it worked. the noise and the conversations around him felt like a cushion, keeping his thoughts away from you. it wasn’t until he caught a glimpse across the room that it all fell apart.

you were there. of course you were. you stood in the corner, not even trying, and still managing to make everyone else look like background characters. you were wearing this dress that was simple but unfairly perfect, paired with over-the-knee boots that jake knew he shouldn’t be noticing but he did anyway. your hair was pulled back into a ponytail, leaving your neck bare in a way that made him immediately uncomfortable with how much he was staring. and then there was some guy, leaning too close to you, talking about something jake couldn’t hear but didn’t need to. the sight of it landed in his chest harder than he expected. it wasn’t jealousy, or maybe it was, he couldn’t tell. it was more like a sharp reminder of why he’d been avoiding you in the first place. because if just looking at you from across the room was enough to make his chest tighten and his hands curl into fists, then he was in more trouble than he wanted to admit.

so he stood there, trying not to react, pretending to listen to whatever story niki was telling beside him. but his eyes kept dragging back to you, to the way you laughed at something the guy said, to how your body angled slightly toward him. and jake realized, in that exact moment, that no party was ever going to be enough to keep his mind off you. what should he do? it’s not like he had the kind of intimacy to just walk up and say something, so he just stared, completely giving himself away. heeseung noticed, of course he did, and followed jake’s eyes until he landed on you. he laughed, shaking his head. “she’s here?!” heeseung asked. 

“i thought i was imagining it,” jake said, almost under his breath. “but yeah, apparently she’s here.”

he kept telling himself to look away, to stop being obvious, but he didn’t. he was stuck there, stuck on the way your hand brushed the guy’s arm when you laughed, stuck on how unfair it was that someone else got to stand in front of you while he sat there pretending not to fall apart. and then you looked over, right at him. your smile dropped just a little, your eyes widened, and it was clear in your face that you weren’t expecting to catch him staring.

so the guy in front of you was still talking, and honestly he might as well have been reading a grocery list because you weren’t paying attention anymore. you nodded at whatever he was saying, but your eyes weren’t on him, they were on jake. and that was enough to make jake’s stomach flip because what the fuck were you doing here? he’d never seen you at one of these parties before, not once. and he would’ve noticed, of course he would’ve noticed. he kept staring, which he knew was weird, but it was either that or look away and pretend you weren’t there, and clearly he didn’t have the strength for that. you were looking right at him, and suddenly the room felt smaller. after a few beats of mutual staring, you let out a small polite smile, muttered something to the guy in front of you, and then walked straight toward him, and jake’s brain short-circuited. don’t freak out, don’t freak out, don’t freak out, he kept repeating to himself, but his body wasn’t listening because all he could do was stand there like an idiot, face blank, while you got closer.

“hey,” you said, a little breathless, like you’d rushed it out before you could change your mind.

“hey,” jake replied, and his voice cracked just a little, which killed him instantly inside.

“i didn’t know you were coming,” you said.

“i didn’t know you were coming,” jake said back, immediately regretting just copying you word for word, but it was too late. you squinted at him for a second, like you were deciding whether to call him out on it, but instead he just said first, “i don’t think i’ve ever seen you at parties before.”

“maybe you weren’t noticing before,” you shot back quickly, and jake felt that one in his chest. he wanted to respond but his brain was buffering, so the silence hung there until you turned to heeseung, who was standing right next to him. “heeseung, are you feeling better?” you asked softly, touching his shoulder with that concerned look on your face.

the problem was, heeseung had no idea what you were talking about. he blinked at you, confused. jake had completely forgotten he’d told you that heeseung was going through a breakup. he hadn’t exactly mentioned to heeseung that he said that. so now jake was trying to silently signal him, making weird eye contact and tiny nods, but that only made heeseung look more panicked. “uh… yeah, yeah, thank you for asking,” heeseung said finally, with a forced smile that looked more like he had no clue what was going on than confirming he was okay.

you nodded, satisfied with the answer, and jake was standing there next to him, internally screaming. so jake said it without thinking, “i didn’t see you leaving,” and as soon as the words left his mouth he already wanted to take them back. 

you didn’t even blink though, you just said, “i went to yunjin’s to get ready,” and he nodded like an idiot, and then of course, right on cue, niki and heeseung decided to wander off and leave the two of you there, which only made everything worse. jake felt the silence press down between you, and it wasn’t like he could suddenly think of something casual and clever to fill it with. he couldn’t, his brain was blank.

it was awkward, no way around it. he kept reminding himself you were his roommate, that was literally all this was supposed to be. you two shared an apartment, you ate the same snacks sometimes, you argued about whose turn it was to take out the trash. that’s what it was. normal. except, yeah, there was the tiny detail where he had jacked off to the sound of you moaning in your room and then couldn’t look you in the eye for two days straight. that was the part he left out of the roommate definition.

you reached over suddenly, grabbed the beer out of his hand, and took a sip. jake just stood there frozen, staring, trying not to think about your lips on the bottle, trying not to think about your throat moving when you swallowed. and when you looked up at him with those wide, innocent eyes, like you hadn’t just completely wrecked his self control in two seconds flat, he actually felt his body betray him. his brain started spiraling in every direction. if he let this go, if he just stood there, he’d be fine. he could laugh it off, make some comment about how you owed him a new drink, let the moment pass. but if he kept staring at your mouth like that, if he noticed the way you leaned your hip against the counter next to him, he was done for. his self restraint was already stretched thin, one more move from you and it was game over.

so he forced himself to say something, anything, even though it came out a little too fast. “you know you can’t just steal my drink like that, right?” he tried to sound casual, but you tilted the beer back into your mouth and handed it back to him like it was yours now, not his, and jake just stood there holding the wet rim of the bottle, looking at the way your lip gloss was now on the glass. and then you moved closer, enough that he felt your shoulder brushing his arm every now and then, and he swore you were doing it on purpose. you were smiling at something across the room, acting so casual, and he kept thinking maybe he was imagining it. but then you looked up at him with that expression, and your lips were parted like you were about to say something stupid, except you didn’t. you just held his gaze long enough that jake started to feel the heat crawling up his neck. he finally leaned in a little and said under his breath, “are you drunk?” it came out a little harsher than he meant, like he was scolding you, but he couldn’t help it.

“no,” you said, almost laughing at the question. “that was literally my first sip of alcohol tonight. from your bottle.” you looked smug about it too, like you knew exactly what kind of effect you were having on him.

jake blinked at you, trying to find something to do with his hands. he ended up holding the bottle a little too tight, staring at the floor, then at you again. “then what are you doing?” he asked, quieter now, like he was testing the waters.

“talking,” you said easily, like it was the most normal thing in the world, and you gave him this small grin that wasn’t helping. you nudged his shoulder with yours again, deliberately this time, and he knew it. he felt his patience thinning, like he was standing at the edge of something dangerous.

and then it slipped out before he could stop himself. “who was that guy?” his tone was sharper than he intended, but he couldn’t stand it anymore. he hated the way he had watched you smile politely at some random dude five minutes ago.

you tilted your head at him, clearly amused at the question. “what guy?” you asked, even though you knew exactly who he was talking about.

“the one you were with when i saw you,” he muttered, eyes narrowing slightly as he tried not to look too obvious. 

you let out a soft laugh, not mean, just entertained, like you couldn’t believe he was actually asking. “oh. him. he’s no one,” you said simply, and the way you brushed it off so casually should’ve been reassuring, but it didn’t make him feel any better. and you didn’t give him the chance to respond either. instead, you leaned in just a little closer again, your voice dropping lower. “why? are you jealous?”

jake almost choked on air. he wasn’t prepared for you to throw that at him so directly. his jaw tightened as he tried to think of something to say that wasn’t a dead giveaway. he looked away, shook his head slightly, and managed a quiet, “no.” but the problem was that his ears were red, his hand was still too tight around the bottle, and he couldn’t look you in the eye anymore. and you definitely noticed, you always did. “just looked like you were… into the conversation.”

“you were staring at me,” you countered, not even hesitating.

“and what if i was?” he asked, testing the words out like they might bite back. that made you pause, which was rare, and jake noticed. it pressed on his chest in a way that didn’t feel casual at all. he could’ve laughed, shrugged, deflected like he always did, but instead he leaned in. not a lot, just enough for you to notice, and you did. 

you just looked at him, and you were close enough now that he caught the mix of your perfume and the faint smell of your shampoo. “then maybe i didn’t mind,” you said, quiet but steady.

jake’s jaw worked, and he had to glance away for half a second, his thumb tapping at the neck of the bottle. you leaned in too, closing that small gap. he turned back, met your eyes again, and his voice came out low, steady. “you shouldn’t tease me if you’re not serious.”

your head tilted a little, and you didn’t look away. “who said i’m not serious?”

that one hit him harder than he wanted to admit. he froze, his thoughts tangling up, but the silence between you wasn’t awkward this time. it was heavier, charged, and you didn’t back down. you stayed right there, waiting, like you wanted to see what he’d do. his grip on the bottle tightened and he finally said, “you know what you’re doing right now?”

“do i?” you asked, pretending you didn’t, but your tone gave you away.

and jake just stared at you for a moment too long, his chest tight, heat crawling under his skin. he couldn’t decide if you were messing with him or if this was actually happening, but either way, his restraint was hanging by a thread. jake finally swallowed, the tension in his chest making it hard to breathe normally. he shifted his weight, stepping just a fraction closer without realizing it. “i’ve been… i don’t know, noticing things,” he said, voice low, careful. “things you do. stuff that makes me… i don’t know.”

you raised a brow, tilting your head like you were trying to read him, he clenched his fist around the bottle, but it did nothing to calm the heat in his body. “like what?” you said, voice low.

he exhaled sharply. “like… how you look at me sometimes.” he paused, searching your face, seeing no judgment, no obvious teasing. “and honestly, i think you’ve been… i don’t know… teasing me. on purpose.”

you didn’t flinch, you just leaned slightly, so close now that he could feel your presence, the faint warmth radiating from you. “oh really?” you murmured, voice calm, but there was a sharp edge to it, a challenge. “and what makes you think that?”

jake had to stop himself from stepping even closer, from crossing the invisible line that both of you were dancing around. “it’s not subtle, you know?” he said, low. “you know exactly what you’re doing.”

“do you think so?” you whispered, almost a challenge.

he blinked, heart thumping, trying to keep it together. and then he took the plunge, voice rougher than he wanted, trying to gather the courage to ask about the thing he had in his head for weeks now. “the other day… i heard you. you were—” he paused to think, and then continued. “moaning. you knew i was home, didn’t you?”

you held his gaze, calm, unflinching. “yeah,” you said softly. 

“so you did it on purpose?” he asked, the words out before he could stop himself. the heat in his chest was thick now, almost painful.

you smirked just a little, teasing but controlled. “did it work?”

“yeah. it worked,” he admitted, voice low. “and it’s not just that. it’s driving me insane.”

you leaned a little closer. “is that supposed to be a warning or a compliment?”

he swallowed, voice tightening. “both,” he said, letting the words hang between you. “i can’t stop thinking about what i’d do if i could do something about it.”

your eyes darkened slightly, unafraid, curious. “and what would that be?”

he stepped closer, close enough that his chest nearly brushed yours, lowering his voice until it was barely above a whisper near your ear. he could feel the tiny shivers running down your neck, the goosebumps rising under his words, and it made his pulse spike in a way he didn’t fully understand. “i’d have you pressed against the counter, hands on your waist, keeping you still… telling you exactly what you’re doing to me. i’d hear you, feel you, watch you react. i’d make you feel like this, just like you make me feel.”

your head tilted slightly, lips parting, your voice dropping low, soft, whiny even, “and would i like that?”

jake’s heart thudded, heat crawling under his skin. he had no idea where this sudden, bold courage came from, why he was standing this close, whispering things he had only imagined a hundred times before. the sound of your voice so small, so caught in the edge between curiosity and teasing, made him feel both terrified and unstoppable at the same time. he was aware of the sharp intake of your breath, the way your body subtly responded to his nearness, and it sent a jolt straight through him, making him realize just how much he wanted you in ways he’d never let himself admit out loud before. “fuck yes,” he admitted, almost hoarse. “i’d hear every little sound you make and i wouldn’t stop until you couldn’t think about anything else.”

you breathed out softly, close enough that he could feel it on his neck. “then maybe i should do it again,” you said, voice low, teasing, confident.

he felt his chest tighten, and the edge of control slipping further. “yeah,” he whispered back, stepping just a fraction closer, the air between you thick. “but you better be ready… because i’m not holding back next time.”

the two of you stood there, close, quiet but tense, words hanging, neither moving away, both testing boundaries, the space between you a trap neither wanted to leave. you stepped back finally, just enough to put some space between you, giving him a chance to breathe again, and smirked just a little. “let’s see about that then,” you said, turning and walking back toward the crowd, letting the music swallow you up. jake watched you go, every step of yours making it harder for him to think straight. he could feel the tightness in his pants, painfully aware of it, and he knew with full clarity that he wouldn’t survive the rest of the party without losing control or wanting to drag you into a quiet corner somewhere.

he sighed and looked over at heeseung, who was laughing at some dumb conversation across the room. jake waved him over, trying to keep his voice casual, even though it wasn’t. “hey… i’m gonna head out,” he said, shrugging like it was no big deal. 

heeseung raised an eyebrow, obviously confused. “this early?”

he didn’t explain further, and heeseung didn’t press. it was easier that way. jake grabbed his jacket, feeling every second of the walk through the apartment buzzing in his pants, a reminder that nothing had changed, nothing had slowed down. he left the house, the noise of the party fading behind him, and the quiet of the night hitting him immediately. he had gone to the party to stop thinking about you, to get out of his own head, and now he was heading home to do the exact same thing, except this time there’d be no music, no distractions, no crowd, just him and the chaos of his thoughts, and the lingering, infuriating memory of you.

when he got home, jake just stood in the middle of the apartment for a second, staring at nothing, trying to make sense of the mess in his head. he couldn’t figure out what was going on, couldn’t tell if he was coming or going. was this really happening? did he actually just… say all of that to you? the words he’d let slip, the way he’d leaned in, the low whisper, the way you hadn’t flinched but had leaned in just enough to let him feel. that part of his brain that usually kept him grounded was completely gone.

every time he closed his eyes he could see you again, the way you’d looked at him, that quiet, teasing confidence that made him question everything he thought he knew about boundaries. he tried to rationalize it, telling himself he was insane, that he was overreacting, that this was all just a weird, freaked out moment. but no matter what he told himself, the tightness in his pants, the heat in his chest, the way his mind kept drifting back to what he’d whispered, reminded him that rationalization wasn’t even in the room. he flopped onto the couch, arms stretched over his head, staring at the ceiling, heart still racing. part of him wanted to laugh at how completely screwed he was, part of him wanted to throw something, and the rest just wanted to crawl back into bed and pretend none of this had ever happened. except he knew, with full certainty, that pretending wasn’t an option, not after tonight.

so jake had two options at this point: fuck you, or jack off. and obviously, he went with the second option, even though every nerve in his body was screaming for the first. the problem was, he couldn’t just do that. it wasn’t like you were some random girl he’d met at a party, or someone he could just call over without consequences. you were his roommate, the person he shared a space with every day, the one he had to see in the kitchen, on the couch, in the hallway. it was complicated, messy, and borderline ridiculous if he stopped to think about it, which he wasn’t.

so he did what he always did when he was desperate and desperate was now: he went to the bathroom, closed the door, and tried to focus on the one thing he could control. he leaned against the counter, hands moving on autopilot, mind filled with everything he couldn’t have and everything he wanted from you. he imagined every detail he’d memorized over the weeks, the way you moved, the way you sounded, the way you’d leaned in tonight, letting him whisper things he hadn’t even thought he’d have the courage to say out loud.

he kept telling himself this was a temporary solution, a coping mechanism, but the truth was, it was both comforting and torturous at the same time. each movement, each imagined response from you, was a reminder of what he was actually craving and why he couldn’t have it. not yet, maybe not ever. and when he finally stepped out of the bathroom, spent and flushed, he didn’t even try to get more water or check his phone, he just crawled into bed, muscles still tense, thoughts still tangled, finally letting himself collapse completely, knowing he’d wake up with the same tangled mess of desire, confusion, and frustration waiting for him the next morning.

and it did, because when he woke up the next morning, you weren’t home. and that alone would have been enough to throw him off, but then he checked his email and saw a message from the housing office. they’d found an apartment for him to live by himself. right. he remembered now, vaguely, that when he’d moved in, they’d said he’d have to wait and live with you until they found him a spot. he had gotten so tangled up in this mess with you, so wrapped up in every look, every word, every single move, that he had completely forgotten that part.

did he want to move out? he didn’t know. he wasn’t sure about anything right now. all he knew was that he needed to get a grip, a real one, because the way he thought about you all the time wasn’t just distracting, it wasn’t even remotely sane. he felt like his brain had been hijacked, running in circles that always led back to you. even when he tried to picture anything else, any normal part of his life, it always got twisted into thoughts of you leaning over the counter, your voice low, your eyes catching his without warning. like he was living some sort of stockholm syndrome at this point. 

and the apartment being empty for the first time in weeks didn’t calm him down. it just made the absence of you even louder. he felt like he was teetering on the edge of losing control entirely, and the only thing he could do was take a deep breath and remind himself that he had to get a motherfucking grip, because otherwise, he was never going to survive another day in his own head without completely losing it over you. he wanted to text you, ask where the hell you’d been, but he knew he shouldn’t. he didn’t know what to do with the knot in his chest, didn’t want to say the wrong thing or make it worse. 

it was saturday, so he did what he did best (better than lying, better than hiding, better than making up excuses): he grabbed a joint. he didn’t even bother going to heeseung’s this time. he was just going to do the thing he always did on saturdays when you weren’t a part of his life; smoke a joint, watch some dumb tv show, and pretend his brain was a harmless ball of static for a few hours. that was the plan. just him, the couch, and the faint high that would let him stop thinking about you for a while.

and then, of course, you came back. he was mid-laugh at some ridiculous scene on tv when he heard the door open. he glanced up, half expecting it to be empty hands, bags, nothing of consequence. and then he saw you. same clothes as the night before, casual but somehow, it hit him harder than it should have. your eyes caught his the second you stepped in, and he froze, trying not to read too much into the fact that you’d obviously slept somewhere else.

you paused in the doorway for just a second, like you noticed him noticing, and for a fraction of a second, he thought about asking if you were okay, where you had been, but the words didn’t come. instead, all he could do was sit there, high and stiff in a way he didn’t want to admit, trying to pretend the joint was helping him relax while secretly his chest was tightening. the air between you was a quiet tension, and just that brief meeting of your eyes said more than either of you spoke. he couldn’t tell if it was curiosity, annoyance, or something else entirely, and part of him wanted to lean forward, ask questions, touch, do anything to break the quiet, while another part of him was just terrified of what he might do if he let that part win.

“hey,” you said, closing the door behind you. the sound made him shift slightly, awareness snapping back to the room.

“hey,” he said back, voice low, leaning back on the couch with his arms behind his head, legs spread out in a way that screamed casual but didn’t fool anyone, especially not him. he was staring at you, trying to look effortless, but every part of him was alert, tracking you. “you didn’t sleep home last night,” he added, tone flat, pretending it was nothing.

you let out a small laugh, a sound that made him tense a little despite himself. “yeah, i thought i was going back home with you, but you disappeared.” his eyes went wide. he opened his mouth to say something, probably a defensive excuse, but before he could get any words out, you added, pulling at the hem of your dress like it was too short, “don’t worry though, i slept at yunjin’s. all of my stuff was there as well, so…”

he tried not to notice your bare thighs as you adjusted the dress, but it was impossible. his brain, already foggy from the joint earlier, immediately betrayed him. focus, jake, he told himself. just focus. he hummed something that might have sounded like okay, though he doubted you heard, and tried to put the thought of how you looked out of his head.

“i’m gonna take a shower,” you said, starting toward your bedroom. the movement was casual, natural, but it made his chest tighten in a way he couldn’t control. he watched you walk away, the sound of your footsteps fading, and just sat there, legs still spread, pretending the weed made him calm while in reality he was more worked up than he’d been in days. his thoughts were messy. he replayed last night, your eyes meeting his, the way you hadn’t flinched, hadn’t pulled away. the way your voice had carried a teasing edge, subtle but enough to make him question everything about his self control. he exhaled slowly, trying to steady himself, aware that the second you stepped out of sight, every rational thought was already collapsing. he was stuck in that limbo between wanting to reach for you and knowing he shouldn’t, between craving more of the teasing he hadn’t even fully understood and trying to convince himself he was fine. 

after a while that felt like hours, you stepped out of your bedroom, hair still damp, a big t-shirt hanging over your shoulders, and the tiniest shorts barely peeking out underneath it. jake tried to slow his breathing, pretending he wasn’t looking at you, though every instinct in his body was screaming otherwise. you moved toward the kitchen to do whatever you were doing, the casual way you carried yourself making him even more aware of every inch of you. he muttered from the living room, more to fill the silence than to communicate anything real. “i got an email from the housing office today,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady.

“yeah?” you murmured back, barely glancing in his direction. “what did it say?” he asked, exhaling slowly before answering himself, like the words carried weight he wasn’t ready to face.

“they said they’ve found me a new place if i still wanted to move,” he finally said, voice quiet, almost like saying it out loud made it more real.

you walked back toward the living room, stopping a few feet from him, your eyes locking onto his. at this point, jake knew you, he knew your style of responses, knew it would probably be “ok,” or “cool,” or maybe just “let me know if you do.” that was your thing, leaving people guessing. but now, the look in your eyes was different, a little sharper, a little more present. “do you want to?” you asked, soft, but it cut through the space between you.

jake’s chest tightened. he ran a hand through his hair, trying to avoid reading too much into the moment, trying not to let himself drift the way he always did when you were near. “i don’t know… do you want me to move out?” he replied, careful.

“you can’t answer a question with another question,” you shot back, eyes not leaving his. the tension between you was tangible now.

“i don’t know, that is my answer,” he said, voice low, trying to keep casual but failing. he could feel the weight of you standing there, the subtle shift in your stance as if you were reading him, waiting for him to crack, to slip, to give away what he really wanted. and even as he said it, trying to make it sound harmless, he felt himself unravel a little, conscious of the heat creeping up, aware that he wasn’t just thinking about moving out anymore. he was thinking about you, the way you always had this effect on him, the way being near you could make him lose control while pretending he wasn’t already lost.

“i thought you did,” you moved slowly toward the couch where jake was sitting, the way you walked catching his attention immediately. his legs were still spread, casual, confident, and he was leaning back, joint in hand. when he exhaled, he set the joint aside and looked up at you, eyes locked, smirk playing on his lips like he was trying to make a joke out of something far from funny.

“yeah, you see… look what you’ve done to me,” he said, tone serious, but that smirk betrayed the chaos beneath it.

“what do you mean?” you asked, tilting your head slightly, innocent, but there was an edge to your voice that made him pause.

“you know what i mean,” he replied, voice lower now. his gaze was steady, unapologetic, like he was daring you to test him. you stayed there, barely moving, just watching him. jake’s eyes were fixed on yours, smirk fading into something heavier, more serious, like he was holding back a lot of things at once. 

and at this point, jake didn’t know that you were confused inside too. he had no idea that every time he did something small, like leaning over to grab something from the fridge, brushing past you in the kitchen, or even just looking at you too long when you were on the couch, he was setting off this whole chain reaction inside you. honestly, it freaked you out. sometimes you caught yourself staring when you didn’t mean to, or laughing at something that wasn’t funny just because he said it, and then you’d have to stop yourself, walk away, act cold, shut down a little, just to keep yourself from completely losing it. it wasn’t that you didn’t like him, it wasn’t even just that he was attractive (he was annoyingly so), it was more like your body and your brain were completely misbehaving around him. that tension had been building, quietly, for months, and it made it hard for you to just be casual, to just be normal. 

and now here he was, looking at you like this, voice serious, his eyes holding something you weren’t fully ready to confront. and part of you wanted to melt into him, wanted to say something, anything, that would admit everything, but another part of you freaked out. it was exhausting and exhilarating at the same time. it made you feel alive and ridiculous all at once. and jake had no idea that the reason you sometimes seemed distant or cold was because of this exact thing. not because you didn’t like him, not because you weren’t curious, not because you were bored or uninterested, it was because every time he was around, the tension inside you was so intense that you had to protect yourself from completely losing control. sometimes you’d lock yourself in your room just to stop your mind from spiraling, sometimes you’d act indifferent in front of him, because you couldn’t handle the way your own body reacted. it wasn’t just teasing him, it was trying to survive yourself.

and now, standing there, barely moving, just watching him, feeling the weight of him, you realized exactly how messed up and complicated everything between you had gotten. your instincts screamed at you to do something, but instead, you shut down again. you turned, walked to the kitchen, moving like you’d done a hundred times before. jake’s eyes widened the moment he saw you retreat. he couldn’t help it, he wasn’t going to let this go without pressing, without getting something out of you, anything. so he followed, until you reached the counter, your hands splayed flat against it, looking down like you were trying to disappear. he stopped just behind you, close enough that you could feel him, close enough that your spine stiffened.

“are you gonna still pretend nothing is going on at all?” he asked, voice low and calm. the words hit somewhere inside you, and you felt it immediately, shivering slightly, even though he wasn’t touching you. you didn’t move, didn’t answer, just let the tension hang for a moment. he waited, letting the pause stretch, then asked again. “or are we going to talk things through?”

you tried to speak, voice small and hesitant. “i… i don’t know what you want me to say,” you whispered, and the act of saying it made your chest tighten even more. he shifted closer, and every fraction of an inch made your body react. your muscles tensed without permission, your mind spun with what you should do, what you could say, what you weren’t allowed to admit.

“you don’t have anything to say?” he asked, a little firmer this time, not moving away, letting you feel the presence of him looming just behind. his shadow fell over you without him touching, and you could feel the heat of him, the quiet authority in the way he stood. his body was fully towering behind yours now, your breath catching when you realized just how close he was.

you exhaled, low and shaky. “i… i don’t know,” you whispered again, words barely audible, but enough that he caught them. and even in that tiny confession, there was weight.

“funny, you were pretty bold last night,” he said, leaning in even closer. you couldn’t see it, but you knew he was grinning, could feel it in the weight of him behind you. his breath brushed the back of your neck and made your skin tighten. “why are you acting so shy now?” he asked again, and even though he hadn’t touched you yet, your body reacted like he already had. you were aware of every movement he made, the closeness, the subtle press of his torso behind you.

“i’m not shy,” you whispered, your voice just audible, betraying none of the heat building inside.

“no?” he said, tone sharper now, leaning closer without really moving, letting the space between you shrink even more. “then why don’t you tell me what you want, mhm?” he asked, voice low and teasing.

his body was fully behind you now, pressing into your back in a way that made your muscles tense automatically. his presence alone was enough to make your skin react, goosebumps rising along your arms and down your spine. you arched your back slightly without thinking, just from the sound of his voice, and his body was fully behind you now, and you could feel him, hard, obvious against your ass, and it made your chest tighten. he shifted slightly, pressing more insistently, and the bulge in his pants rubbed against you in a way that made your thighs clench without thinking. a low, rough fuck escaped him, almost a growl, and it twisted your stomach, made your core tighten in response.

“see,” he murmured, his mouth near your ear now, “this is what you do to me.” his hand brushed the counter near yours, fingers curling into the edge. then he pressed a little closer,  his body pushing into yours in a way that made you shift automatically. you felt the weight, the pressure of him against your back, the bulge pressing hard against your ass. your head tilted back slightly without thinking, and a small, strained whimper slipped out before you could stop it. “mhm? are you gonna tell me what you want now?” he asked, his voice steady in your ear. the sound, the proximity, the way he was so close, made your brain scramble.

“jake…” you whispered, voice trembling a little as your restraint started to slip.

“yeah?” he replied.

“what are you gonna do?” you asked.

he chuckled softly, leaning just a fraction closer so the tip of his nose brushed your hair. “oh, y/n, you can’t answer a question with another question,” he said, smirking, repeating the exact words you’d used on him earlier. there was a pause, just a beat, as he let the weight of it settle, his body still pressing against yours, still holding back more than he wanted to.

"i want you to do something..." you confessed, your voice almost breaking, low but desperate enough that he leaned closer to hear.

"like what?" he pushed, his tone steady but he moved his hands away from the counter to your hips, the grip on your hips wasn’t steady, holding you not so gently, fingers digging in just enough to keep you against him. you could feel how hard he was, the press of his bulge against you, and before you even realized, your hips started to move, unintentional, but enough to drag against him. his breath caught, almost a groan, and then he pulled you in tighter. "come on," he said, voice rougher this time, "tell me."

"anything, jake, please," you whispered, tilting your head back until the back of your head rested on his chest. you could feel how fast his heart was beating, his breath uneven above you.

his hands moved then, sliding slowly from your hips up to your stomach, hovering lower with each inch, testing how far he could go before you stopped him. your body reacted before you could think, leaning into his touch, chasing it. "tell me," he repeated, his lips brushing so close to your ear now that you shivered, "i need you to say it."

"fuck," you muttered, unable to form more than that, your voice messy with how badly you wanted it.

he chuckled against your skin at your reaction, low and knowing. "that all you got?"

you shook your head quickly, the restraint slipping out of you in pieces. "touch me already, jake, please."

this time, he didn’t hold back the groan that left him, deep and frustrated. "fuck… yeah, okay," he breathed, nodding slightly against your temple like he was finally giving in. his hands moved lower, deliberately slow, teasing you with every drag of his fingertips against your skin. one palm spread across your stomach, keeping you pressed to him, the other inching down, tracing the edge of your waistband like he wanted you to break first.

he let his fingers linger at the hem of your shorts, brushing just beneath the waistband, making you twitch. the other hand was already under your shirt, sliding up your stomach. when his palm reached higher, his thumb skimmed over your breasts until he realized. “fuck,” he muttered under his breath, squeezing a little harder, “you’re not even wearing a bra.” his voice carried a mix of surprise and satisfaction. “you wanted this, didn’t you?” he pushed, hand cupping your breast now, thumb dragging across your nipple slowly, making you whimper. you didn’t answer right away, but your breath told on you. he chuckled softly, enjoying the way you melted back against him.

“go on, tell me,” he pressed, his mouth right by your ear, “where do you want me to touch you, princess?” the name slipped out of him almost too naturally, and it made you shiver. the word clung to your skin, had your knees weakening, and he knew it.

“you know where, jake,” you whispered, voice breaking slightly, “please.”

his free hand slid down, inside your shorts now, the edge of your underwear dragging under his knuckles as he explored lower. he hummed against your ear, satisfied with how easy you gave in to him. “so needy,” he murmured, “tell me… what were you thinking about when you touched yourself for me, mhm?” his fingers flexed lower, pressing just enough to make your breath catch. you froze, shame and arousal mixing fast. “that day,” he kept going, relentless, “when you wanted me to hear you. what did you imagine, baby?”

his question left you dizzy, your head tilting back harder into his chest, your mouth opening but no sound coming out. his hand stilled, deliberately waiting. he wanted you to say it, to give him exactly what he asked for, and you knew he wouldn’t move until you did. “jake…” you muttered, your voice wrecked, your body already giving itself away even without the words.

“yeah?” he prompted, mouth brushing your ear, “don’t go shy on me now. tell me what you thought about.”

you swallowed hard, chest heaving against his hand, every nerve in your body screaming at you to give him what he wanted. his fingers were right there, waiting, unmoving, teasing you with the weight of his patience. “i was…” your voice cracked, almost a whimper, and he squeezed your breast harder, forcing you to spit it out. “i was imagining you touching me. like this.”

he hummed low in his throat, a cruel little sound that vibrated against your ear. “yeah? go on.” his hand slid lower, pressing down, reminding you where he could take this.

your thighs squeezed around his hand but you forced yourself to keep speaking. “i imagined… you putting your fingers inside me.”

he let out a quiet laugh, smug, hot against your skin. “fuck, that’s what you were thinking about? me—fucking you with my fingers while you moaned loud enough to let me know? you wanted me to hear, didn’t you?”

“jake—” your protest melted into a whimper when his fingers finally moved. he propped them under the thin fabric of your underwear, dragging slow circles right where you ached for him.

“so wet,” he muttered, almost in disbelief, “all this because of me? jesus, baby.” he didn’t even rush, dragging his fingers in lazy motions, slow and deliberate, like he wanted to drive you insane before giving you more. “this is what you were thinking about that day, huh?” he pressed, his voice sharp now, almost mocking. “lying there, knowing i was listening, spreading your legs and wishing it was me?”

your mouth fell open, a broken sound leaving your throat as he slipped two fingers between your folds. “fuck—” he hissed when he felt how you clenched around nothing, desperate. “you’re so ready for me. you don’t even need to be prepped, do you? just begging to be filled.” his fingers finally pushed inside, slow, deep, curling just right. you gasped, nails digging into his arm, and he groaned softly, enjoying how you reacted to every move.

“that’s it,” he whispered against your ear, thrusting his fingers in a steady rhythm, “take it. that’s what you wanted, right? me finger fucking you till you can’t even think straight?” your head fell back, a whimper catching in your throat, but he didn’t let up. “go on,” he ordered, curling his fingers again, dragging a broken moan out of you. “say that’s what you wanted me to do to you.”

“yes—” you breathed, desperate, “yes, jake, i need you.”

his smirk pressed into your skin, his pace picking up just a little. “good girl. finally telling me the truth.” every word out of his mouth was filth and command, his tone dripping with satisfaction. “you’re dripping all over my hand, baby. you hear that? fuck—” he drove his fingers deeper, curling hard, his palm grinding against your clit. “look at you,” he whispered, low and rough, “squirming for me. needy little thing.” your body trembled, your words dissolving into broken gasps, and he laughed again, cruel and soft. “don’t worry, princess. i’ll give you exactly what you were begging for.”

he started to move rougher, his fingers sliding in and out of you in a steady rhythm that kept building faster, deeper, harder. the way he pressed into you from behind, his hips flush to your ass so you could feel every bit of his hardness grinding against you, made your whole body tense. your back arched without thinking, desperate to take more, and your arms lifted, searching for something to grab onto, finally tangling in his hair, pulling at the back of his head just to ground yourself. he groaned at the tug, but didn’t slow down, curling his fingers inside you just right, the wet sounds between you filling the kitchen.

your moans grew louder, shameless, every sound spilling out only making him worse. “you make the prettiest sounds.” his lips brushed your jaw, his breath hot as his pace turned merciless, his fingers pumping into you with no pause, no relief. “fuck, look at you,” he said, grinding harder into your back while fucking you with his hand. 

you whimpered his name, and he chuckled darkly, his mouth right at your ear. “who would’ve thought, hm? sweet little you, letting me finger you like this.” your body jolted when he curled his fingers deeper, and your grip on his hair tightened, head falling back onto his shoulder. “yeah, that’s it,” he whispered, teeth grazing your skin. “you like that? you like when i fuck you like this?”

you moaned and nodded, and the thought hit you hard: jake was nothing like you expected. way filthier, rougher, better than anything you ever pictured, and it only turned you on more, made you want to give him everything. “fuck, i knew you’d be this good,” he growled, fingers moving even faster, slick and deep. “shit, y/n, you’re perfect.” his pace grew ruthless, relentless, every push making your body jolt against the counter. you could feel your limit building, pressure winding tighter and tighter in your stomach until it was almost unbearable. “do you want to cum for me?” he rasped against your ear, breath hot on your skin. you couldn’t form words, just a broken moan leaving your lips. “say it, baby, or i’ll stop.” his tone dropped, sharp, commanding, even as his fingers kept pounding into you, and your whole body burned at the thought of him actually pulling away.

“fuck—yeah, jake,” you gasped, your voice cracking. “please, let me cum.”

he chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating against your shoulder as his lips brushed your skin. “aw, such a good girl,” he cooed, his voice dripping with filth. “asking for permission like that.” his pace didn’t slow, if anything, it grew harsher, fingers sliding in and out of you so fast the sound of your wetness filled the room, obscene and loud. his free hand gripped your waist, holding you right where he wanted you as he fucked you with his hand, grinding his cock into your ass with every thrust. “come on,” he urged, his voice rough. “cum on my fingers, baby, give it all to me.”

you cried out his name, trembling, your whole body arching against him. “fuck, your pussy’s clenching around my fingers, baby,” he groaned, his head dropping back for a second, overcome with how tight you felt. “so fucking tight—so desperate for me.”

the way he talked to you, the filth in his voice, the pressure of his cock grinding against you, it all crashed down at once, your body shuddering as you came undone on his hand. it was loud, messy, overwhelming, the kind of orgasm that left you gripping his hair like you might collapse if you let go. jake moaned with you, his fingers still moving deep inside to drag out every last wave. “fuck, that’s it,” he muttered, lips pressed to your neck. “fuck, i could do this to you forever.”

your body trembled against him, still clenching around his fingers, your moans breaking into soft whimpers as he finally slowed, dragging his soaked fingers out of you with a filthy sound. he hummed, bringing them up to his lips just to taste you, his tongue sliding slow over his knuckles before he smirked against your ear. “you taste even better than i imagined.”

he spun you around so fast you gasped, his grip on your hips rough, possessive, like he couldn’t stand another second of not having you face him. your back hit the counter and you stumbled, breath caught in your throat as you looked up at him, his chest heaving, his jaw clenched, his pupils blown so wide it was like he’d lost all sense of restraint. you were flushed, trembling, your ruined underwear sticking uncomfortably between your thighs, but the only thing you could think about was him towering over you, the outline of his cock straining against his pants, pressing against your hip like it was begging for you.

“fuck, look at you,” he whispered, forehead brushing yours as his lips trailed hot kisses along your cheek, down your jaw, to the corner of your mouth, teasing, just out of reach. “ruined, all for me.” his voice broke on the last word, ragged with hunger. “please…” his voice cracked, and for a second you thought you were imagining the desperation in him. but then he said it again, firmer this time, his breath ghosting over your lips. “please, let me kiss you.”

your head tipped back a little, chest rising and falling in erratic waves, and his hand slid up your side to cup your neck, thumb dragging under your jaw. he was trembling, but not from hesitation, from restraint. “you don’t get it,” he muttered, almost like he was confessing something against his will. “you’ve got me fucking obsessed.” his nose brushed yours, lips still barely touching, his words vibrating against your mouth. “come on, please” he demanded, his grip on your neck tightened slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to make you shiver. “say you want me to ruin you.”

you couldn’t even form the words, too breathless, too lost in the heat of him. but you nodded, desperate, clutching his shirt like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. he groaned, finally smashing his lips against yours, messy, hungry, teeth clashing, tongues desperate. it wasn’t gentle, it was need. pure, raw, suffocating need. his hand dragged back down, pawing at your waist, your hip, like he couldn’t decide where to touch first. he was everywhere, kissing you like a man starved, whispering against your lips between frantic breaths, “my girl. my perfect fucking girl.”

his arms tightened around you, hands firm on the curve of your thighs as he pulled you up with ease, making you gasp when your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. you could feel how strong he was, the way his grip claimed you, as if he’d never let go. his mouth didn’t leave yours, lips bruising, tongue sliding hot and desperate against yours while his chest vibrated with a low groan. by the time he settled onto the couch, dragging you down onto his lap, your pulse was a mess. your body fit perfectly against him, straddling his hips, every shift pressing you harder onto the thick bulge straining through his pants. you whined into his mouth, the friction intoxicating, every grind pulling a deeper sound from his chest.

“fuck,” he hissed, breaking the kiss just long enough to press his forehead against yours, breathing ragged. his fingers dug into your hips, holding you still even as you tried to roll down on him again. “don’t do that. i can’t—” his words broke off into a groan, eyes fluttering shut as your heat pressed against him through the fabric.

you tilted your head, lips brushing his jaw as you whispered, smug and breathless, “can’t what?” and then you rocked against him again, slower this time, deliberately teasing, watching his composure crack.

his eyes snapped open, dark and wrecked, a strained chuckle escaping him. “you think you’re funny?” his grip tightened, pulling your body flush against his, making you feel every inch of his arousal grinding back up into you.

you only grinned, licking your lips, whispering like a dare, “maybe.”

his answer came as a guttural sound in his chest, one hand flying up into your hair, tugging your head back just enough to expose your throat as he kissed it hard. “keep testing me, baby,” your breath hitched as his hand tangled tighter in your hair, guiding you down between his spread legs. his eyes burned into you, pupils blown wide, chest rising and falling with ragged hunger. he looked feral, undone, and you couldn’t help but shiver at the sight of him like this, so desperate, but still in control, every move deliberate. “on your knees,” he rasped, voice dripping authority. “show me how good you can be.”

the tone made your stomach flip, heat rushing through your body. you sank down slowly, your knees pressing into the carpet, never breaking eye contact. his grip on your hair loosened just enough for him to cup your cheek with his other hand, thumb stroking across your swollen bottom lip. “fuck, look at you,” he groaned, leaning forward just enough to press another bruising kiss against your lips before pulling back. “my pretty girl, already wrecked for me. and i haven’t even fucked you yet.” his words made you whimper, thighs pressing together instinctively. he noticed, of course, chuckling low in his chest, the sound dark and mocking. “needy little thing. you’d do anything i tell you, wouldn’t you?” he asked, tilting your chin up with his thumb.

“yes,” you breathed, without hesitation. “anything.”

“good girl,” he smirked, his thumb pressing against your lips, slipping just enough inside for you to suck. you did, obediently, hollowing your cheeks around him, watching the way his head tipped back with a guttural moan. “shit, you’re gonna ruin me.” he let you go just as quickly, his hand moving to unbuckle his belt. the metallic clink filled the room, sharp, electric, making your pulse race. you licked your lips as he tugged his zipper down, freeing himself, his cock straining against the thin fabric of his boxers. he was so hard it almost hurt to look at, and you felt your mouth water instantly.

“is this what you wanted, hm?” he rasped, shoving his boxers down far enough for his cock to spring free, flushed and heavy in his hand. he stroked himself slowly, deliberately, eyes locked on yours. “you grind on me like a desperate little slut, and now look at you—on your knees for it. go on, baby. show me how bad you need it.”

you didn’t hesitate. your lips parted as you leaned in, tongue dragging up from his base in a long, slow lick that had his jaw clenching. his hand shot into your hair, tightening until it stung, forcing your head down so his cock slid between your lips, thick and aching. “fuck,” he groaned, his hips jerking forward despite himself, the sound almost breaking into a laugh at how quickly he lost control. “that’s it. open wide. choke on it, just keep those pretty eyes on me while you do.”

you hummed around him, and the vibrations made his thighs flex under your hands, his breath catching in a sharp curse. his head tipped back for a moment, chest heaving, but then he forced his gaze down again, eyes dark and wild as they burned into you. “jesus fuck,” he groaned, hips rolling steady into your mouth now, using your lips, your throat. he tugged harshly at your hair, pulling you off him with a wet pop. strings of spit clung from your swollen lips to his tip, and he wiped at your chin with his thumb, only to push it past your lips and into your mouth. “that’s it, suck it,” he ordered, voice rough, thumb pressing down on your tongue while his cock throbbed inches from your face. “you’re so fucking messy for me. you like this, huh? like being my filthy girl?”

“yes, jake, god,” you admitted, your lips wrapped around his thumb, tongue swirling around it like you were starving for him.

“fuck, that’s it,” he groaned, fist tightening in your hair as his other hand guided his cock back to your mouth. “open up, baby. take it all.” he pushed deep, his length sliding against your throat until you gagged around him, his groan breaking out into something almost animalistic. “look at you choking on it… messy little slut. you were made for this cock, weren’t you? fuck—yeah, you were. my perfect fucktoy.”

your eyes watered, drool spilling down your chin, and he hissed, hips jerking forward. “god, i could cum just from this… but i need to ruin you first.” with a sharp tug, he pulled you off him again, breath ragged, his cock slick and twitching in his hand. he yanked you up like you weighed nothing. “turn around,” he ordered, voice low and wrecked.

you barely had time to obey before he hooked his fingers into your shorts, dragging them down along with your ruined underwear. the air hit your wetness and he groaned, a filthy, guttural sound. his hand spanked your ass, the sting making you gasp. he leaned in, pressing a teasing, sharp toothed kiss against your ass cheek, his nose brushing dangerously close between them, inhaling like he was drunk on your scent. “fuck, i need that ass,” he muttered against your skin, voice breaking with hunger. his tongue darted out, barely grazing you before he pulled back, spinning you to face him again, eyes black with lust.

“you have no idea what i’m about to do to you, baby.” he didn’t give you a second to settle while you sat on his lap again. he took your shirt off, and his mouth latched onto your nipple with a greedy, wet pressure, sucking and nibbling in a way that made your chest tighten and your hips press down harder against him. every movement, every grind you made sent a low groan vibrating from his chest, his hands holding your hips so firmly you felt every pulse of his desire. you moaned around his mouth, letting your body do the talking, grinding your core down even more deliberately, feeling him react against you. his free hand moved to spank your ass again, rough, making you jump against him. “behave,” he warned, voice low and jagged, “i’ll fuck you when i want to, got it?”

you nodded, breathless, and let your head fall back, exposing your neck and chest to him as he trailed messy kisses down from your collarbone to the swell of your breasts, alternating pressure, teasing, making you writhe in his lap. his hands kneaded, pinched, gripped, every touch driving you wilder, and with every slick, deliberate movement of your hips on his cock, he groaned, muttering your name over and over. “please, jake, i need you to fuck me,” you finally said, voice trembling with urgency. 

he chuckled, low and rough. “oh god, you have no idea how much i wanted to hear that,” he admitted, his hands gripping your hips, holding you in place as his cock pressed against you, teasing your clit, just enough to make your stomach twist and your thighs shake. “fuck, let me grab a condom,” he said, already starting to move, before you paused him.

“no,” you said quickly, pulling him back just a little. “i want it raw, i’m on birth control.”

he groaned, a deep, guttural sound that made you shiver. “fuck… that is so hot,” he muttered, pressing himself against you harder, teasing the entrance slowly, deliberately, as if testing how much more he could make you beg before actually moving. he didn’t waste a second. his hands gripped your hips tighter, tilting you just right, teasing the tip of himself against your slick, already aching center. “you’re so dirty, i had no idea,” he groaned, low and rough, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “all that quiet, all that acting like you don’t care… was that all just a fucking act, huh?”

you gasped, tilting your head, feeling the hot pressure as he pressed in a little further, testing, stretching, making you shiver. “tell me,” he whispered, voice thick with need, “are you gonna be my fucking dirty slut now? gonna let me fuck you raw, make you mine?”

you nodded frantically, voice barely a whisper. “yes… please, jake, fuck me.”

“oh god, yes, fuck, i will” he groaned, slowly pushing inside, inch by inch, letting you adjust, letting you feel every stretch. the heat, the tightness, the slick press of him against you, it stole your breath. your forehead rested against his, breathing shaky, heart hammering, every nerve screaming with sensation.

“i… i can’t,” you whispered, voice shaky. “it’s too big jake,” and he groaned softly, holding you steady, letting you adjust to him.

“fuck, don’t say that,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “you can take it, baby. i know you can.” he shifted slightly, testing the space between you. you gasped, his cock pressed into you, hands gripping your hips, tilting you just right, rolling inside you with perfect precision. your breath hitched, heart racing, every nerve on edge as he stayed close, his cock inside you, his hands steadying your hips, his lips brushing the side of your neck. the tension was unbearable, every touch and shift making it impossible to think straight. “just… breathe,” he whispered, voice tight with need. “i’m right here, baby. i’ll go slow, okay?”

you nodded against him, trying to calm your racing thoughts while your body betrayed you, reacting to every little movement. he groaned low, hips shifting ever so slightly, testing, stretching, making your body writhe instinctively against him. “fuck—you feel so good,” he muttered, voice rough and urgent. “so tight, so wet… just for me.”

you let your hips move against him, grinding, matching his rhythm. “yes… jake… i’m yours,” you murmured, chest rising and falling, breath shaky, body pressed to his.

“yeah you are, aren’t you?” he groaned, a low, desperate sound, sliding his hands from your hips to grip your thighs, holding you steady as he began slow, deliberate thrusts. each one drove pleasure straight through you, a perfect, torturous rhythm. his lips brushed your jaw, neck, whispering filthy praise. “fuck… look at you… trembling all over for me… you’re mine, all mine, my perfect little slut.”

you moaned loudly, arching into him, hands tangling in his hair, body pressed flush against his chest. “jake— don’t stop… please…”

“fuck, don’t tell me to stop, baby,” he growled, shifting your hips with his hands, pressing harder, deeper. “you like this, huh?”

“yes… yes, please,” you gasped, voice breaking as each thrust had you teetering on the edge. your body shivered with anticipation, wet and slick, ready to snap, riding him more deliberate now.

he growled against your neck, teeth grazing your skin lightly, his thrusts relentless but perfectly measured, reading your reactions. “fuck, keep riding me, i’m gonna cum for you, keep going.” you arched back into him, breath coming in ragged gasps, hands clutching his shoulders as your thighs tightened around his waist. each roll of your hips sent his cock deeper, stretching you perfectly, and he groaned low in response, hands gripping your hips.

“you’re so fucking tight, baby…” he chuckled darkly, low and throaty, the sound vibrating straight through you. “i’m gonna fuckling blow a load inside you, keep fucking riding me, oh shit—” he bit lightly at your shoulder as he thrust faster, deeper, every motion precise, worshiping you with his touch. you lost it then, shuddering violently, voice breaking in a scream of his name, body convulsing around him, clutching him close as your release crashed over you in waves. he groaned, holding you, still thrusting, savoring every twitch, every cry, every gasp.

“oh shit, you came so good,” he murmured against your ear, hips still rolling, each movement carefully prolonging the exquisite overstimulation. “let me cum inside this fucking little pussy, please—”

you gasped, arching into him, voice trembling. “yes, god… please, jake… fill me…”

and then he did, groaning your name, every muscle taut as his release filled you, hot and overwhelming. he held you through it, rocking gently, letting you feel every drop, whispering filthy, desperate praise. “fuuuuck, what a good fucking pussy,” he muttered, still buried in you, forehead pressed to yours, breath mingling with yours. his hands never left your hips, keeping you flush against him as he slowly rode out the tremors of his own orgasm, groaning your name again and again. your vision blurred, your chest rising and falling, trembling against him, as he guided you through the aftermath. 

you clung to him, breathless and trembling, heart racing, he was still holding you close. “so fucking good…” he whispered one last time, lips brushing yours, still warm and soaked from the intensity of what just happened.

you’re still on him, chest pressed against his, both of you breathing like you ran a marathon. he’s sitting back a little now, hands lazily resting on your hips, still gripping just enough to remind you he’s there. you glance up at him, and he’s got that smirk, the one that’s supposed to be cocky but honestly, he looks wrecked too.

“so,” he says, voice low, teasing but tired, “that happened.”

“yeah,” you mutter, trying to catch your breath and failing spectacularly. “that happened.”

jake lets out a low chuckle and runs a hand through his hair. you bury your face in his chest, trying to hide, like somehow hiding there could make everything feel less intense. he tuts softly, holding you a little closer. “mhm, no. look at me,” he says, his tone firm but gentle. you lift your head reluctantly, cheeks still flushed. “no more hiding, okay?” he adds, and you nod, biting your lip, still feeling the heat and the leftover tension buzzing through your body. “you okay?” he asks, eyes scanning your face. 

you give a small, whiny “yeah,” nodding, and he chuckles lightly at the sound.

“did you… like it?” he asked next, and you notice the way he paused, the tiniest flicker of nervousness in his expression. he knew that was a cheesy, sure, post-sex ask, but he had to know. 

you smirk and giggle, letting yourself relax a little. “yeah, jake. i liked it.”

he exhales slowly, groaning as he slides back, freeing himself from your walls, and you can’t help but look at him, already missing how filled you were a minute ago. he’s wrecked, flushed, hair messy, and it makes you grin. “what you looking at?” he asks, smirk playing on his lips.

“nothing,” you reply, trying to play it cool, though your grin gives you away.

he leans in and presses a quick, small kiss to your lips, catching you off guard. you freeze for a second, then melt just a little into the moment. “so… wanna talk about it?” he asks, tilting his head, still holding you close. you blink at him, caught somewhere between embarrassed and amused, realizing that maybe the talking part is the part you’re not entirely ready for, but also, maybe, you don’t want to run from it this time. he squeezes your hip gently, as if prompting you to answer without forcing it. you take a deep breath, letting some of the tension slip away.

“do you wanna talk about it?” you asked, and he chuckled, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you were actually asking him this. 

“you can’t answer a question with another question,” he said again voice low, amused but tired at the same time.

you laughed awkwardly, your nerves showing. “i just… i don’t know, jake,” you admitted, voice unsure, looking down for a second before meeting his eyes again.

“don’t know what?” he pressed, leaning in, making the space between you feel smaller.

“i don’t know how you feel about me,” you said, letting out a small breath, trying to calm your racing thoughts. “so… i just can’t figure out exactly what i’m supposed to do with all of this.”

he blinked once, then laughed low, and it wasn’t like a normal laugh, more like he was trying to process what you just said and couldn’t decide if it was ridiculous, frustrating, or the most fascinating thing he’d heard all week. you watched him run a hand over his face, shaking his head slowly, the kind of shake that made it clear he wasn’t sure if he should be impressed, scared, or both. “okay…,” he muttered finally, half to himself, half to you, voice calm. “but i get it. i think i do.” he paused, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, like he was enjoying that he had your full attention. “so… you want me to spell it out for you? really tell you what i feel?”

you hesitated, just a little, because you weren’t sure if you were ready to hear it, or if you were ready to admit you’d been hoping for it. you nodded anyway, slowly, watching his face, waiting. he leaned back a bit in his seat, just enough to look at you properly, like he was gathering his thoughts in real time, and you could tell he was about to unload.

“i’ve been crazy about you since the very beginning,” he said, voice a little rough, but completely honest. “back when you didn’t give me a single thing to go on, and i had no idea what you were thinking, i couldn’t stop thinking about you. i was obsessed with figuring you out, learning what made you tick. and the more i got to know you, the more fascinated i became. you’re… you’re insane, in the best way. every little thing about you made me want to know more.”

he paused, swallowing, like he was trying to get the words out without tripping over them. “then, when you started teasing me… when you started pushing and pulling, letting me get close but not giving me everything, i lost it. i thought about you all the time. every day. you, your voice, your smile, the way you look at me… i probably shouldn’t be saying this, but fuck it. i can’t stop thinking about it, and about you. and now, after… that,” he gestured vaguely at the mess of the room and the two of you, “i have no regrets. that was the best sex of my life, no contest.”

you let out a breathless laugh, and he chuckled, shaking his head slightly, like he still couldn’t believe he was admitting all of this. “so yeah… i’m fucked up about you. completely. and i don’t even care.”

you blinked, caught somewhere between stunned, amused, and something else you didn’t have a name for yet. you didn’t know if you should laugh, tease him back, or just sit there and take it all in. but seeing him like this, messy, honest, a little wrecked from what just happened, made it impossible to be anything but completely present with him. jake leaned back a little, still holding you, letting the confession hang in the air. “so… what about you?” he asked, voice quieter now, curious but still casual, like he was afraid of scaring you off but couldn’t not ask. “how do you feel about all this?”

you hesitated again, trying to pull words together, but they kept slipping away. “i’m not good at this,” you admitted, your voice quieter than you expected. “i’m not good at saying things out loud. but you… you get under my skin the same way i get under yours. i don’t know how to say it prettier than that, but it’s real.” you paused, looking at him, almost daring him to make you keep going. he didn’t. instead, he smiled, small but satisfied.

“good,” he said simply.

you blinked, then nodded. “good.”

nothing poetic, nothing rehearsed, just enough for both of you. he kissed you once, soft and short, then got up and tugged you along with him, muttering something about you needing a shower. you were too tired to argue, and honestly, he was right. the two of you had made a mess of the place, and of yourselves. he turned the water on and stepped in first, pulling you by the wrist like he was making sure you wouldn’t back out. it wasn’t some movie scene with steam and passion and soap slipping everywhere. it was domestic, borderline clumsy. he tried to hand you the shampoo bottle with too much force and almost dropped it, then squinted because he’d gotten water in his eyes. you laughed at him, and he pretended to be offended, but he didn’t actually care. he just liked that you were laughing.

you weren’t used to standing this close without tension thick in the air, without second-guessing what the other was thinking. now you were just there, getting clean together, and it felt strangely natural. it felt like the most normal thing in the world, like maybe this was how it was supposed to be all along. by the time you both stepped out and wrapped up in towels, the room smelled like cheap body wash, and the mirror was fogged over. jake glanced at you, hair dripping, and smirked like the whole situation was funny but also a little serious, like he couldn’t believe how quickly things had shifted between you. you didn’t say anything, and you didn’t need to. it was good, just good.

so the next couple of weeks were kind of ridiculous, mostly because you both pretended for about two days that things were the same, and then it became really obvious they weren’t. jake had this new way of looking at you that you kept catching in random moments, like when you were pouring cereal or folding laundry, and it wasn’t subtle at all. he was completely gone for you, and you could tell, but he didn’t even bother trying to hide it.

the first time after that night it happened again, it wasn’t planned. you’d just finished watching something dumb on tv, and he made some joke that had you shoving his shoulder, and the next thing you knew he had you pinned against the couch cushions, kissing you like he’d been holding back for hours. it was messy and fast and you didn’t even bother moving to the bedroom. later, when you were both out of breath and sprawled in opposite directions on the couch, he laughed and said he wasn’t sure he’d ever look at the living room the same way again. you rolled your eyes, but the truth was you couldn’t either. a couple nights after that, he came into your room under the excuse of “borrowing your charger.” he didn’t even bother plugging it in before he was pulling you onto his lap, muttering something about how you were all he thought about during the day. it was slower that time, more deliberate, and he kept touching your face, brushing your hair back, doing all these little things that made it feel different from before. it wasn’t just sex anymore, and you could both feel that shift, even if neither of you said it out loud.

the funniest part was how the domestic side of living together changed too. suddenly, showers weren’t just showers. one night he pulled you in with him, no warning, and spent more time kissing you against the wall than actually washing his hair. you had to kick him out halfway through because you were going to run out of hot water, and he left pouting, soap still in his hair. the next morning, he walked into the kitchen with wet curls and this smug look on his face like he’d invented showering together. he also started hovering more. if you were cooking, he was in the kitchen, stealing bites and pressing up behind you. if you were working on your laptop, he’d somehow find his way onto the couch next to you, stretching until his feet were basically in your lap. and the hot moments were woven into all of it, like they weren’t separate anymore. you’d be brushing your teeth and he’d come up behind you, wrap his arms around your waist, and before you knew it you were pressed against the sink, muffling laughs into his shoulder.

what really gave him away, though, was how restless he got when you weren’t around. he’d pretend to be casual, but you caught him more than once waiting up just to see when you’d get home. sometimes he’d act like it was nothing, asking about your night, but other times he’d just pull you into his room without a word, kissing you until neither of you remembered what the question was. and two weeks in, it was clear jake was completely losing it over you. he didn’t care that you weren’t good with words or that you never gave long speeches about how you felt. he got what he wanted anyway, your attention, your touch, the way you’d grab his shirt first when things escalated. and in return, he gave you everything without holding back. every day, in some new way, he made it obvious. and you didn’t fight it, not really. if anything, you were just as gone as he was, even if you weren’t ready to spell it out.

later that month, he wasn’t even thinking when it happened. you had just walked out of your lecture, holding your bag against your shoulder, half distracted scrolling through your phone, and he was leaning against the wall across the hall, waiting for his own class. he saw you before you saw him, and without even a second thought he was already walking over. you looked up, a little surprised, and he just smiled, leaned in, and pressed a quick kiss against your mouth. it was just a short kiss, the kind you’d gotten used to at home when he was passing by you in the kitchen or when you sat next to him on the couch. but this time, it wasn’t in your living room. it was in the middle of the hallway with people walking by.

the moment it happened, you froze, not because you didn’t want it but because your brain immediately registered where you were. his too. you could feel the second he realized what he’d just done, because he leaned back fast, eyes flicking around like maybe no one saw. except of course people saw. people always saw. his friends were standing just a few feet away, watching everything with that look that said they didn’t need to say a single word. they’d known for weeks anyway. he’d been obvious as hell about it, smiling at his phone all the time, making up the worst excuses just to go home early, and acting different in a way that was so clear he wasn’t fooling anyone. your friends weren’t idiots either. you’d told them enough details already, and they’d connected the dots themselves.

the thing was, none of you had ever brought whatever this was out into the open before. at home it was easy. you were roommates, no one else around, and it didn’t feel like you needed to define it. but here, in front of everyone, a kiss, even a tiny one, meant something else. it meant people would start asking questions. it meant you’d have to talk about it. you laughed under your breath, more out of nerves than anything, and gave him a look that said really? here? and he rubbed the back of his neck like he didn’t know how to explain himself. “sorry,” he muttered, but not in a way that sounded like he actually regretted it. more like he regretted the timing. you didn’t say anything, just shook your head, and the two of you walked out together, trying to act like nothing happened. but the hallway was still buzzing, and you could feel eyes on your back the whole time. his friends were definitely going to bring it up later, and your friends were already blowing up your phone. 

a few nights later, you were just sitting on the couch with him watching tv, when jake suddenly turned to you and said, “you know i never actually took you on a date.” it was random, no lead up, just dropped in the middle of whatever episode was playing. you looked at him and asked, “do you want to?” and he didn’t hesitate, just nodded immediately and said, “of course i do.” you laughed at how serious he looked, like he’d been planning that line in his head. then you told him how the two of you had skipped a few steps in this whole thing, and he laughed back, agreeing, saying it was the first time he’d ever lived with a girl before even kissing her. you reminded him he’d done a lot of things with you before kissing you, and that made him smirk. he leaned over, went right for you, and things got heated again in a way that left the rest of the night blurry. it wasn’t anything new for the two of you, but it made the next day stand out even more.

the next day, jake actually followed through. he kept it quiet until later, but you noticed how he was watching you get ready, leaning against the doorframe of your room with his arms crossed and that stupid grin he always got when he thought he was being subtle. you couldn’t put mascara on without him sneaking behind you and stealing a kiss on your cheek or the corner of your mouth. by the time you finally managed to get dressed and say you were ready, you already had to fix your lipstick because he wouldn’t keep his hands off you. he ended up taking you to this restaurant you didn’t even know he was aware of, the kind with dim lights and real cloth napkins, and it felt way more romantic than you were expecting. it was weird because until that moment, you had been convinced that whatever you had with jake was basically roommates who hooked up sometimes (all the times, to be exact). he’d never said anything that pointed in another direction. but sitting across from him, watching the way he leaned in when you talked, how he didn’t even look around the room once, just stayed focused on you the whole time, it hit you that maybe he was taking this seriously. maybe he’d been taking it seriously from the start and you were only just noticing.

that month just blurred into something you couldn’t really label, but anyone watching would’ve called it obvious. you woke up next to him more often than not, even though technically you had your own room. he made coffee for you when he was already in the kitchen, sometimes adding too much sugar on purpose just to watch you complain and drink it anyway. you sat on the couch with your legs across his lap while he absentmindedly rubbed your ankle during whatever show you two were pretending to pay attention to. he kissed you in the middle of conversations, in the middle of you yelling at him, in the middle of you doing literally nothing. the hot moments didn’t go away either. brushing teeth side by side sometimes ended with you pressed against the bathroom sink. “goodnight” kisses had a tendency to spiral until you were both late for whatever you had to wake up for the next day. there were lazy afternoons where he sat at the end of your bed, scrolling on his phone, and you tugged him back under the covers just to see how fast he’d cave. it all felt stupidly natural, like you’d been doing it forever, but also new enough that every time it happened you caught yourself smiling after.

so when sunghoon invited you both to a party, you didn’t really discuss it. you just went together like it was the default. you were getting ready in your room, digging through a pile of clothes while jake sat on your desk chair, spinning slowly and watching you with way too much interest. “i’m kind of excited for tonight,” he said out of nowhere.

you glanced at him in the mirror. “why?”

he leaned back casually, like it was nothing. “because i love showing people how pretty my girlfriend is.”

you froze mid-mascara stroke, nearly poking yourself in the eye, then turned around. “what did you just say?”

he blinked, all fake innocence. “what? i just said—”

“no, no, you said the g word,” you cut him off, pointing at him.

he tilted his head, playing dumb. “g word? what g word?”

“girlfriend,” you said, wide eyed.

he grinned. “oh, that. well, if you don’t like it, i can always call you my roommate instead. the r word.”

you burst out laughing. “roommate is not the same thing.”

“i don’t know, i think it’s got a nice ring to it.”

“shut up,” you said, still laughing. “i actually like the other one better, but if you’re gonna call me that, you should at least ask properly.”

his smirk got sharper. “a proper request, huh? i can do that. but if i do it now, we’re definitely gonna be late to sunghoon’s party.” and before you could respond, he was already standing, already crossing the room, already leaning down into you. whatever thought you had about finishing your eyeliner or getting out the door on time just dissolved, because apparently his version of a proper request involved making sure you completely forgot the party even existed for at least another half hour.

after that night, things just settled into something that felt permanent. he’d hold your bag while you tied your shoes, you’d grab his drink when you went to the kitchen, he’d keep his hand on your back when you walked through crowded places. you were in each other’s space constantly, but it never got heavy, it only got easier. jake realized it later, in this quiet way that hit him when he least expected it. like when he was brushing his teeth and you walked by in one of his shirts, humming some stupid song, and he caught himself smiling with toothpaste foam in his mouth. or when he stayed up too late on his laptop and you fell asleep against him on the couch, your head sliding down his shoulder, and he didn’t even move because he didn’t want to wake you. 

he had been stuck on you from the beginning, even when he didn’t want a roommate, even when he told himself it would just be temporary, even when he thought he’d keep a little distance. he couldn’t. every time he tried, you pulled him back without even noticing. it was just the truth: he couldn’t let go of you, even when he thought he wanted to.

one night, you were both stretched out on the couch, the tv running something neither of you were paying attention to, and you asked, almost offhand, if he ever ended up answering the housing office about switching apartments. he glanced over at you, chewing at the inside of his cheek like he always did when he was pretending to think about something serious, and then he smiled in that way that was a little smug but still soft.

“oh, baby, i’ll never leave you if you keep holding me this way.”

୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ ronnie's notes: idk i blacked out and wrote 30k of horny roommates fic for addie @jakesimfromstatefarm, don’t ask me how but here we are. she’s jake utted, she loves roommates to lovers, and i guess my brain went okay fine and gave in. this whole thing was actually inspired by stockholm syndrome by one direction (yes, i’m in my 1d phase again) and tbh i was lowkey scared it’d be too cliche at first but honestly i think it turned out to be one of the fics i’m proudest of, especially the smut lmao so yeah this fic is horny, has way too much pining, and accidentally got more feelings than i planned. but it’s also pure fun, and if addie doesn’t scream at me after reading this, i’m officially quitting. THANK UUUUUUU

heejama's masterlist // latest fic perma taglist: @rairaiblog @nqdirr @iyoonjh @saeris-world @jayparked @solonenova @izzyy-stuff @gh9sty @sonaki001

you frown. it’s been exactly thirteen minutes and forty-two seconds since satoru looked at you last. he’s been on this stupid spreadsheet since class started, and it’s really starting to piss you off.

so you block his view.

“look at my fingers, toru,” you breathe, lifting your hand in front of his face. “i was in such a rush i forgot my rings. my hand looks so ugly.”

he lifts his head—just slightly, just enough that he can focus on the screen & not your hand in front of him—& replies without a beat. “looks pretty, baby,” he murmurs, kissing the back of your hand. “so gorgeous.”

oh, that’s enough.

“toru.”

“hm, baby?”

“kiss me.”

gojo satoru chokes on his tongue. he freezes, blue eyes leaving the screen only to dart around the crowded lecture hall in alarm. he lets his eyes drop to you, and perhaps he shouldn’t have, because you’re looking up at him with glossy lips & too-big eyes & lashes that flutter in that way that means trouble. gojo gulps.

“we can’t do that right now, sweetheart,” his voice catches. you’re pouting up at him but satoru only cups your cheek and tries to reason with you. “we’re in public. can you wait for me, angel?”

your brows furrow, lips wobbling into that pout that only spells out gojo’s demise.

“are you ashamed to kiss me in public?” you croak, fake sniffling. “am i that ugly?”

you’re not ugly. you’re the most beautiful girl in the world, you know it, satoru knows it, & he also knows you’re doing this on purpose. but your eyes are so glossy. your breathing’s all hitched. your shoulders shake like you’re about to sob—

gojo satoru folds under zero pressure.

he cups your face, thumb brushing faux tears off your lashes as he presses his lips to yours. you taste like strawberry candy & something too sweet to have a name. gojo sighs into your mouth. cocks his head. pulls back just to lean in again when your lashes flutter up at him all pretty. he lets his thumb tug your lip and tongue lick your teeth and—

“ahem.”

you both freeze.

in the row in front of you the nanami kento is there, frown on his face & completely unamused. there are pens littered on his desk & his laptop is wide open—is he reading semantic error?

he eyes you both, lips curled in disgust.

“this is not a love nest.”

you & satoru are blinking in disbelief when nanami turns back to his laptop. he slams it shut in embarrassment when he’s met with an inappropriate panel onscreen.

II. DISTRACTION #2: NETWORKING ❌ NOT WORKING ✅

time: 7:14 pm. location: Bergeron Center for Engineering Excellence

⎚-⎚

gojo satoru has five minutes until the most important meeting of his life.

an opportunity to pitch one of his latest projects to some high-class engineering recruiters—lucky him! he’s in a private office with his speech in his hands, and his beautiful girlfriend kicking her feet on the office table.

you’re supposed to be his supportive plus-one. and gojo does feel supported—how could he not when the love of his life is here for him, dressed up like a midsummer dream? but gojo thinks he’d feel even more supported if you weren’t bracketing his thighs & tugging on his tie every time he tries to speak.

“thank you all for coming. i’m honored to have this opportunity—“

“satoruu,” you coo. “i miss you.”

gojo satoru knows better than to sigh. he does it anyway, collapsing into your neck in resignation as he squeezes your hips. you’re pressing a glossy kiss to his jaw. “i’m right here, sweetheart,” he mumbles, closing his eyes. “will you let me focus?”

you nod sweetly, patting his cheek dismissively when he presses a kiss to your neck in thanks.

“thank you all for coming. i’m honored to have this opportunity to present—“

“satoruu,”

thirteen words this time. fairs.

“yes, sweetheart.”

“my feet hurt,” you state, kicking your feet up to show him. for once, you’re not being totally dramatic. even with your heels on satoru can see the sides of your feet reddening, flushed & slightly swollen against the material. his brows furrow. “how’d this happen, angel…?”

he kneels down to slip your heels off. you pout: “i got new heels so i’d look pretty for your presentation. now my feet hurt and i’ve ruined everything.”

satoru frowns, but you’re still spiraling. dramatic as always, talking like it’s the end of the world with your eyes glossy & nose wrinkled in lament. but gojo’s heart only goes sticky in his chest. how could you possibly ruin everything when you are everything?

he reaches up to wipe a tear off your cheek. “look at me, baby,” he murmurs, other hand rubbing circles on your ankles. he looks devastating like this—hair messy, tie loose from all your tugging & knees on the floor for you even though he’s in his finest dress pants. “you didn’t ruin anything, okay baby? look.”

he slips off your heels, then his own leather shoes, & laces them onto your bare feet. “wear these.”

you blink as he lifts you off the table, kneeling back down to adjust the shoes better. you wiggle your toes. your feet don’t even reach the middle, and you almost fall trying to walk two steps, but the gesture alone has you beaming. you turn to him with your lips bent in a clumsy smile.

“they’re huge, toru,” you tease, twirling around for him to watch. satoru only smiles. his heart goes sticky in his throat. he pulls you into a soft kiss because trying to speak might make his chest hurt.

knock knock.

one of satoru’s classmates—nerd #1—peeks his head in, expression slightly terrified. “uh, gojo? they’re ready for you in the boardroom,” he gulps. “you’re up.”

satoru nods, gathers his speech papers. you’re practicing walking around in his shoes now, arms stretched out to help you balance as you strut around with a grin on your face. gojo satoru looks down at his feet. they’re in nothing but a pair of socks.

right.

he sucks in a breath, then turns to kiss your forehead. “stay here where it’s warm, okay?”

you’re still admiring yourself in his shoes, but you chirp out an okay! regardless. satoru bites his lip. it’s showtime.

——

the faculty is looking at satoru like he’s grown two heads.

have they never seen a shoeless man before? how rude. he’s standing on the boardroom’s stage now, clipboard in hand, projector lighting up the board behind him. some of the recruiters are nodding. the others are trying not to look at his feet so they can’t be accused of classism. gojo satoru is not even poor. a glance at his suit should tell you that.

but gojo doesn’t care. he presents without issue—even though the entire time, his mind is on you.

the boardroom door has a center made of glass. through the pane, satoru can see you back in the office—you’ve somehow found music controls for the office’s boombox, and you’re dancing—oh god, you’re dancing—twirling around with a clumsy smile & laughing when you stumble in his much larger shoes.

satoru’s heart swells. his lip twitches.

gojo turns his focus back to his presentation. he’ll work hard to keep you smiling for the rest of your life.

III. DISTRACTION #3 : WHY IS MY GIRLFRIEND IMMUNE TO TUTORING…

time: 6:14 PM location: The Quad, Satoru’s Apartment.

⎚-⎚

“who discovered the americas ?”

“Martin Luther King.”

You are going to fail this exam.

“that’s enough general history today,” gojo mutters, voice croaking in alarm when you give your answer. you’re tucked in his lap, fingers curled in his collar, nose in his neck & completely unbothered. your perfume is sticky in his lungs. “let’s try math. you like math, baby?”

“mhm,” you kiss his jaw. “love it.”

no you don’t. gojo flips open a book with one hand, the other rubbing circles on your thigh. “let’s practice some integration…” he scans the page for questions while you twirl the hairs on his nape. “okay, this one. can you try this for me, princess?”

your lips tug into a bored frown. “okay,” you lean up to glance at the page, “done.”

he blinks, “done?”

“yes,” you flop back against him, soft & pretty & tired & his. “i solved it in my head.”

satoru bites his lip, brows knit in concern. “baby, you can’t solve integrals in your head.”

“i have a very strong brain.”

satoru prays for some strength of his own. okay—okay. he purses his lip. “so strong, baby. do you want to walk me through your process?”

you frown in his neck.

“first of all,” you tug his collar, lashes fluttering, “i looked at the numbers.”

“good job.”

“then,” you tug his earlobe, “i got bored.”

“oh.”

satoru sighs—of course you did. he purses his lip, blue eyes flitting across the page as his spoiled pretty angel hugs his neck; dreary and tired and ‘bored’ in his lap. finals are coming up and things are not looking good for you. he prays for strength (again).

you seem to have found some strength of your own. gojo’s not sure when you pick up your phone (which he had confiscated from you earlier), but while he stares into the distance and laments your guaranteed failure, you scroll through your phone with a grin on your lips.

“toru, look at this bag,” you coo, pushing the bright screen to his face. “it’s so pink and pretty, just like me.”

“just like you,” he repeats, still staring into the distance.

“wow, nine-hundred-and-fifty dollars,” you kick your feet in his lap. “baby, can i buy it?” you coo, voice sweet.

satoru blinks out of his daze. he glances at the phone screen—then at you, suddenly sweet & bright & brimming with energy. his thumb brushes your inner thigh. “baby, you’re supposed to be studying.”

“i am studying,” you frown, and gojo wants to kiss it off again. “i’m studying consumer behavior. can i have your card?”

there are three reasons gojo satoru should not give you his card.

you are going to fail your exams.

you haven’t double-checked if the price is in CAD or USD.

you are going to fail your exams.

gojo lets you have his card.

you squeal, hopping off his lap to retrieve his wallet in the other room. satoru leans back against his desk chair. in front of him, his desk is a mess of opened books & littered pencils, a ‘get good grades!’ subliminal playing on your mini speaker because you insisted the whispered affirmations would guarantee your success. gojo sighs.

“thank you, toru!” you sing as you pad back into the room, a skip in your step. you lean down to kiss his cheek & flop onto his bed to open his laptop. you have his wallet in your hands, and gojo satoru already knows you will not double check the currency.

gojo closes your textbook with a sigh. better luck next time.

ac: (see alt text!) @ to00fu

DISTRACTIONS, end.

“What’s a pretty guy doing here, all alone?” You played coy, flagging the bartender for a drink while (not-so-subtly) looking at him to see if he'll take the bait.

“…” No response. It seemed as if he was stuck in his own lonely world.

“Goldilocks?” You tried again, deadset on getting his attention, even if he's straight up refusing to give you a crumble.

“…Me?” He gruffed. Oh? That got a reaction out of him.

The stranger took another shot, stubbornly refusing to glance at you—refusing to give the attention you craved.

“Of course, you.” You chuckled, refusing to give up.

“Sorry, didn’t know.” He grunts. What a broody man.

“Girlfriend dumped you?”

Hook, line, and sinker. That made him pause. Must've hit a nerve.

“That's your way of asking if I have one?” He replied with a scoff, a petty smirk making itself known.

“You’re cute. Got me already.” You hummed, aiming to catch him off guard.

That got him to finally look at you. His eyes widen a fraction—barely even noticeable—as a light flush dusts his cheeks.

“How would I get you if I don’t even know your name?” He countered, finally having the courage to respond.

“Damn, you’re smooth.” You whistled, giving your name with a grin. Fuck, he was finally interested.

“Hm? What a pretty name,” he mumbled your name, a slight quirk lifting his lips. “Sounds like your mother loves you.”

Now that… kinda made your heart speed up. As if you unknowingly signed a bound-for-life contract with a person whose name you don’t even know, no less. You talked for hours; the conversation fell into a mad, easy rhythm. He looked familiar—as if you’ve seen him somewhere before. You don’t know when or where, but gosh, something about him felt unbearably enchanting. Like he bewitched you—letting him carve a hole in your heart with a sign that says ‘I live here now lol’.

Well, that’s a one-way ticket to enter his home.

No, seriously, he did take you to his apartment—sorry, penthouse. It was nearby, and neither of you was hammered enough to drive—it was relatively safe.

What happened after wasn’t safe at all, though.

After his front door opened, lust resumed to cloud your minds. You felt his presence looming behind you, his hands steady on your waist. The moment the door closed? He’s pouncing on you like an animal starved for weeks. Lips on lips, tongue to tongue, rough hands exploring the canvases of your bodies. His hand snuck on the back of your head, pulling you impossibly closer and angling his wet appendage even deeper—sweet sounds involuntarily leaving your throat, and he swallows it down like a champ. He tastes like a hint of mint and strong whiskey. God, you hoped the walls were thick.

Your hands slide inside his shirt with feather-like precision, moving from his soft pectorals (now hardened as you felt him flex) to his defined abdominal muscles. Six packs, you counted. You felt him shiver as your hands moved dangerously lower to where he needed you most.

He slowly, begrudgingly pulled away, panting as a string of saliva connected you. The erotic display made your head fuzzy with need, forgetting the fact that you literally didn’t know his name. He could be a serial killer for all you care, but it doesn’t matter as long as he’s giving you a taste of ecstasy.

“Leon.” He groaned, and your brain lagged, leaving you momentarily frozen. A small ‘huh?’ was all you could conjure.

“Leon Kennedy, the name you’ll be screaming later, gorgeous.” He grunts, and a wide predatory grin settles on his face as he kisses you with the same—if not more—vigour as before.

His arm wandered behind your legs, effortlessly lifting you. You yelped, scrambling to hold him tighter. All that bastard did was laugh, nosing and playfully biting your stomach. Hard to be annoyed when he quite literally rocked your world moments after. You couldn’t leave immediately after, even if you tried—you felt like a fish walking in the sand for the first time with the way that your legs. just. won’t. work.

So you let him romance you with aftercare. Soft, fleeting kisses and gentle hands tidying you up.

The next day was far from different. Now, the reason why you couldn’t walk away wasn't just because of your out-of-commission legs. You couldn’t walk away simply because a man—Leon, as you've learnt—has you locked in his strong arms and hulking muscles. Every time you shift, his hold would get even tighter. And you couldn’t even pry his hands off your waist; you tried it, and it was useless.

So, what did you do?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Nothing but placing your hand on his cheek while admiring him close up. His soft jawline, his disheveled hair perfectly framing his face, his soft, inviting lips—anything, really. It was as if he was sculpted by the Goddess of beauty herself.

But then, you felt him shift. You were startled, quickly trying to pull your hand away. Keyword: trying. Because just as quickly, his large hand shot up to hold your smaller one—interwining—keeping it from trying to move. You squirmed; his other arm (from below your waist) trapped you in place. It was all too sudden—your eyes widen a fraction as you feel him nuzzle into your warm palm, a soft sigh escaping him.

“Hi,” Leon mumbled, locking eyes with you. His voice was rough, given that he had just woken up, but his eyes. His eyes held affection. Utterly devastating affection, just for you.

Now that made your insufferable heart ache.

And that, was the start of your situationship with a broody, corny, infuriatingly handsome man named Leon (Ass) Kennedy.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

“Hey, Lee?”

“Yeah? What’s up?”

“Let’s end this—whatever this is.”

“Huh, wha—”

You ended the call, not even bothering to let him finish.

It’s been months of this fuckass cat-and-fish game you didn’t even know you were playing. Months of this on-and-off, months of this disappearing game, and gosh, you’re tired. Tired of him treating whatever you two have as nothing but a mere plaything; tired of your stupid, traitorous heart for always beating faster because of him; tired of yourself for letting him use you just as he pleases.

So yeah, you’re done. You’ve exhausted yourself, and it’s time to get your life back together.

That’s what you would say if you didn’t hear a car pull out in your driveway and the bell ringing incessantly immediately right after.

When you opened the door (because admit it, you were kinda curious—and maybe wanna play round two), all you saw were flowers—a bunch of them. A gorgeous floral arrangement, boxes of chocolates, and a puppy-eyed Leon Kennedy begging you to reconsider.

Safe to say, you were one big dumb down-bad idiot and did something more than just get back together (unofficially).

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The third time was… admittedly kinda different.

He’s in one of his disappearing games again, dodging the topic of whatever it is that he’s doing for a living. You were honestly convinced that he was part of the mafia or something at some point, given the way he acted.

He said no, and you digress. The look of his offended face was something to coo over, blue-boba eyes staring at you like you have five foreheads and an antenna. You would’ve smacked him if he weren’t handsome.

But that’s not the point, no.

The point is that when you inevitably call him (because you missed his clingy ass), a lady with a very pretty voice answers.

“Lee, oh my god, where the fuck have you been?! It’s been what, like five weeks with no—”

“Hi! Sorry, not Leon. He’s kinda busy at the moment, call back later. Bye!”

“…”

“That fucking bastard hung up!” You screamed in frustration, throwing your phone to god-knows-where.

You were livid.

Because of course, a pretty girl (you assume) will come running into his arms the moment you're out of the picture (and babe, girls still swarm him even if you’re in the picture—who are we kidding).

And because you’re kinda fucking crazy and maaaybe a stalker at birth, you checked the location of where the call was connected. Turns out it came from freaking Spain. That fucker was on vacation, in Spain, with a pretty girl (again, you assumed). Forgetting the fact that there was background noise—which seemed eerily familiar with multiple gunshots and a crash, you really contemplated blocking him.

Like, okay, your thingy wasn’t official-official, but c’mon! You fucked, eat together, cuddle while watching sad-sappy dramas you know he hates, but sucks it up because you like it! Hell, he wipes your tears off, is your unpaid therapist, and ties your shoes for you! Both of you had a written agreement that signifies you, and he won’t be hooking up with anyone other than yourselves.

Have you, perhaps, misjudged the situation again?!

You spent five hours retrieving your phone from underneath the cabinet just to send a ‘we’re done, enjoy your next pretty lady’ text. You don’t even know how it got there, and you refuse to talk about how you got it out.

Leon responded with: ‘Hey, pretty lady. I miss your pretty smile. Quit being pissy, yeah? Dinner on me?’ after a week of deadbeat silence.

You’d rather be caught dead wearing a potato sack than admit you sent a ‘when’ text back.

Waiting for a month to pass before you hit send, of course. You weren’t that desperate.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

This time was on Valentine's Day.

Yeah, real sappy.

In each corner you take, it looked like red and pink hearts were thrown up on the streets. And everywhere you looked, all you saw were couples eating each other’s faces off. It’s disgusting, really. Hated it, actually. Totally not thinking of Leon bringing you flowers and letting you decorate him with lipstick and bite marks. Totally.

So you clocked in at work.

As a barista who’s in love with her job, one of your favorite things to do is those rare specials. As a person who’s emotionally constipated and bitter, you hated doing hearts this very specific day.

It wasn’t until you saw a very familiar blond from across the street that you stopped and stared for a few moments. Now, it wasn’t unusual for him to wander around where you worked, but what’s unusual is the fact that he’s talking to a lady with a small, infuriating smile on his face. You saw him—very carefully—receiving a bouquet from her, treating it just as delicately. You saw the lady nudge him, and he chuckled in response before walking away.

Your eye twitched as your smile turned into a grimace, almost scaring the customer who had been trying to get your attention to order.

Your shift ended with you making wonky hearts and fake smiles throughout.

While you were exiting, you saw a familiar car parked along the pavement, and a familiar face half-asleep in the driver's seat. He was cute. That, you’ll admit. You sneakily snapped a photo, forgetting the very cute fact that your flash was on. That woke Leon up, clumsily unlocking the door and stumbling out.

“Nice nap?” you teased, a smile easily making its way to your face.

“Yeah, waiting for you, actually.” He tried to be smooth. He really did. But the slight tremor in his voice revealed that he was nervous. He faked a cough, choosing instead to open his backseat—beckoning you to come closer.

And when you did, the scene almost made your eyes tear up.

Because in his backseat was a huge fox stuffed toy holding a ‘will you let me be your valentine?’ sign propped with a very familiar arrangement of your favorite flowers, snacks, chocolates, and the like.

“So… will you?” whispered Leon from behind you. You turned around and, god, he was so close you practically felt his breath fan your flushed face. You snaked your arms around his neck, pulling him to your height, and stared at his twinkling baby blues with nothing but adoration.

Then, you leaned to close the distance.

Your lips moved in sync, falling into a dance both of you unknowingly memorized as your glassy eyes fluttered shut. You felt him nip your bottom lip, making it part. His warm tongue explored your mouth, as if it were the first time he had the honor of doing so. Your tongues locked, meeting halfway. You felt him suck, swallowing your noises as he backed you to his car.

His hands wander to your waist, pulling you even closer. And the worst part? He was gentle. He was gentle all throughout. As if what you had were real—labels be damned. You didn’t even remember when you parted, just the warmth of his calloused hand that caressed your cheek with hearts in his eyes and a soft smile on his lips. He looked ethereal, with his blown-out pupils and golden hair that swayed with the wind.

“Does that answer your question, Kennedy?” You asked, just as softly, afraid of dampening the surreal mood.

He laughed softly, and god, it was beautiful. You don’t even think there was an ounce of ugliness in that man. Sure, he has his broody act, but god, it just makes him all the more endearing.

“I got you flowers.” Leon started, brushing your hair behind your ear, which felt out of place. “From across the café. You’ve mentioned how much you loved how they arranged their bouquets. Jesus, the lady recognized me from buying there all the time.” He finished with a breathless—shy—laugh, a hint of red slowly blooming through his face.

“Lee, you didn’t have to.” You drawled, your voice fading into a whisper. “Just your presence is enough.”

“I want to. Your smile makes it worth it,” he stated with enough conviction that made your heart bubble with love. Utterly devastating love. All for him. All for the mysterious man you walked up to in the bar that had too much love to give with no one to give it to.

“God, you're sappy.” You shook your head, turning away from him to hide your rapidly blooming cheeks.

“You love it.” Leon chuckled, turning your head back.

“Debatable.”

“What a pretty, pissy girlfriend you are.” He grinned, purposely letting the word linger.

Now that made you freeze, the gears of your head refusing to turn. “Girlfriend..?”

And that made Leon confused, slightly stepping back to give you space, but his hands were still firmly planted around you. “Of course, girlfriend. You don’t think I’ll do this to someone I’m not exclusive to, right?”

“Huh? Since when?!” You exclaimed, gripping the two openings of his jacket.

“Baby, I literally take you out on dates—we’re dating. The fuck you mean ‘when’??” He looked at you, incredulously—as if you were the one making zero sense.

“I—wha—you never asked?!” You tugged, shaking him back and forth.

“We talked about being exclusive!”

“Yeah—exclusively fucking!”

“We literally had thee talk.” He deadpanned, amusement lingering in his eyes.

“That’s not how it works??!”

“Wait, so—the whole time—you don’t think I’m fucking yours?” The bastard had the audacity to laugh at you, making your blood flare up.

“Fuck—yes??”

“Baby, that’s insane. Are you okay?”

“I—you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“So much.” That earned him multiple smacks on the head and a shit ton of kisses that peppered all over his face right after.

Yeah, turns out, in the very deep and concerning mind of Leon S. Kennedy, the two of you were in a very much real, loving, and committed relationship. You just didn’t know it yet.

He thinks it started the very first time you slept together.

He knew you as the pretty lady who works in a cozy café downtown. The cute barista who serves sweet drinks with a matching sweet smile. He was with Claire that time, grabbing a long-overdue lunch. It was the closest café in the vicinity, and like the gentleman that he is, he offered to order and pay for her as well.

He caught a glimpse of you while he was ordering.

And damn, it felt like Cupid’s arrow went straight to his heart and hit the bullseye.

Because from then on, he vowed to visit—at least maybe once a month. Y’know, just to… observe—order, drinks and pastries are good. Totally. Totally not because he was too much of a pussy to talk to you. For sure.

That’s also the reason why he felt as if Cupid came for round 2 when he saw you at the bar.

You were literally talking to him—giving him attention—and he didn’t even notice that it was you, of all people. It’s the whiskey, he swears, that made him undeniably bold. On any normal day, he wouldn’t have the courage to talk to you—more or less, flirt with you! He’s a dangerous man living a dangerous life and working a dangerous job, for godssake! You could be in danger, and fuck, he doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want anything bad to happen to you.

But as hours passed by, he just couldn’t help but indulge in a dangerous drug named you. The way your voice lifts when you talk about something that interests you, the way you unconsciously scrunch your nose when you catch a whiff of something strong, and Christ, the way you sweep your hair back so you can see clearly. It irks him. The way you do shit to him, and you. don’t. even. notice.

He didn’t even know what happened. One second, he’s learning about you in the bar, and the next, you’re in his sheets—reeling from satisfaction: bathing in the afterglow. Leon couldn’t let you go, even if he tried. You got him madly hooked. And he’s right where he wants to be. With you wrapped in his arms. With you tracing his scars, kissing him lovingly as if he deserved only the best in this godforsaken world.

“Hi.” He nuzzled into your soft, inviting palm.

“You’re awake? Sorry, I woke you up.” You were so damn warm. Your voice, a little gruff from sleep, makes his blood run in a different direction.

“It’s fine, knew you couldn’t resist me. Not a bad way to wake up.” He teased, disguising his real, incoherent thoughts.

“Hush, you look like a bad decision.”

“One you’re willing to indulge in, yeah?”

“Debatable.”

He laughed, pecking the tip of your nose and pulling you even closer—his head now resting on the top of yours, wishing for the moment to last forever.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Leon was with Sherry this time, on one of his off days. He wanted to visit his kid— checked to see if everything was alright.

“Leon? Who was that?” Sherry asked, a bit curious. For her, it was weird seeing Leon look lovingly at his phone. It was weird seeing him on his phone in general, more so that he’s smiling as if someone hung the moon for him. As strange as it is, she’s just glad that someone is making Leon act like an otter seeing the water for the very first time.

“My girlfriend. She’s probably bored.” He replied, a small smile involuntarily appearing on his face. He can’t help it; that’s just your effect on him.

“You have a girlfriend? Who? Since when??” She almost squealed, excitement flickering in her bright eyes.

“I know. Shocker, right?”

He picked up the call, expecting a barrage of ‘I miss you, come over?’ or some rant about your ass netflix shows you couldn’t help but watch, or maybe even that annoying regular that picks up fights with literally anyone.

What he didn’t expect was an abrupt breakup call.

“… that was awkward,” Sherry faked a cough. “Are you… okay, though?” She winced, voice gradually becoming more of a whisper.

After a few beats of silence.

“…Yeah, she just—does that—I’m okay. Yup… I’ll just—… I’ll see you later, kid?”

He doesn’t know why or what compelled you to break up with him over a damn twenty-three-second phone call, but he sure as hell won’t be losing the absolute love of his life over some fucking boredom.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Spain was crazy. Insane—criminal, actually.

His mission was to save the President’s daughter, Ashley Graham. Jesus, he’s glad she’s already by his side—he can’t fucking wait for the mission to be over.

The absurd call happened when he was literally fighting for his life. His phone might’ve fallen during whatever the fuck he was doing to survive (he’s kinda reckless, okay—but valid), because all he saw was Ashley picking it up and talking to someone before quickly handing it back to him.

“Someone called you. I guess they were worried.”

“…There’s a reception here..?” He was more confused because how the fuck did a normal call connect easily when the comms with Hunnigan were choppy?

It wasn’t until he felt a chill run down his back that he asked the dreaded, “Who was it?”

“Ah, I didn’t check. But it sounds like a girl—wait, do you have a girlfriend?” Ashley asked, a bit incredulously—and he couldn’t stop the involuntary ‘shit’ that fell out of his mouth.

Oh. Oh fuck. He’s fucked.

Because of course, your call would connect; that’s just your effect.

If you knew he was basically kidnapped, would he be forgiven? Who was he kidding, he knew he wouldn’t be telling you any of this when he got home. Not because it’s confidential as fuck, but because he can’t bring himself to tell you all the ugly parts of his job. He can’t bring you down with him—and if that meant forever keeping you in the dark with the horror he regularly goes through? Then so be it.

He’d rather wait for a month than explain—recall—he almost got killed for the umpteenth amount of time in Spain, and not experience the getaway you thought he had. He’d rather whisper sweet nothings in your ear and have you in his arms than tell the tale that he got infected by a freaking parasite that ought to make him a mindless subordinate.

He’d rather take you to a fancy dinner and be enamored by you once again, grovel at your feet, and give you a good time than to admit that he was forcefully employed by the government to keep his mouth shut about the horrors of bioweapons.

Yeah, he’d rather take the burn of your anger than have you worry if he’ll live the next time he disappears again.

He might be selfish, but Jesus, what can he do if you unknowingly became his only salvation?

If becoming official meant going to court to pledge your undying devotion? Then so be it. Leon’s already got a beautiful ring in mind.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. 　　　.   　　˚　✭　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　　✭　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　 ✦

hey hey hey!! it's been a while, hasn't it? i'm afraid leon ass kennedy got me in a cage rn fighting for my life, apparently getting tagged-team w chris bulkfield as we speak. this was my third wip for this man n it's the first one to be published. i'm actually shocked bcuz this is like the longest anything i've ever fucking written, and it's also, BY FAR, the most suggestive one i've ever published. my mans been rotting my mind for a month now and gosh, i literally can't get out. hope you enjoyed reading this one as much as i've enjoyed writing it! also btw, no ai was used in this self-indulgent fic, i'm just an em dash warrior. as always, rbs are appreciated lmao ily

His vision was horrifically blurry, the walls and furniture bled into each other like wet paint. Even the figure seated beside his bed was nothing more than a vague silhouette.

His face scrunched when a persistent, rhythmic beeping cut through the haze, sharp and annoyingly consistent somewhere to his right.

At least that meant his hearing wasn’t gone.

The blur slowly began to settle. The shapes in the room sharpened, the colors separated into their proper objects. The room comes into focus piece by piece.

Leon is in a hospital room.

That explained the beeping. It was a heart monitor.

And then…there was You.

Each blink brought you into clearer view, until Leon could finally make out your face.

And yep…he didn’t need perfect vision to know one thing.

You were ridiculously good-looking.

You were holding his hand, your expression laced with worry.

Leon furrowed his brows. Who were you?

Why are you holding his hand?

Matter of fact, why is he here?

He tried to push himself up—a mistake.

A sharp, searing pain shot through his side, forcing a strained groan out of him as he dropped back against the bed.

“Don’t move, idiot.”

Leon turned his head toward you, blinking slowly, choosing to ignore the little jab.

“Who…are you?” His voice came out rough, dry, and groggy—like he hadn’t used it in a while.

Your eyebrow arched.

“Oh…right.”You muttered, more to yourself than to him. “They said you might wake up disoriented.”

Leon swallowed, wincing faintly when he felt how rough his throat was. “What happened to me?”

You hesitated for a second before answering, shifting slightly in your seat, your hand still holding his.

“You got shot,” You said, matter-of-factly. “They said your mission went awry. Bullet lodged near your ribs—too close to anything important to leave in, so they had to operate.”

“They put you under.” You gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “You’ve been out for a bit and a half.”

Leon processed that slowly…Shot. Surgery. Anesthesia.

Great.

“First of all,” you continued, lifting your left hand into his line of sight, “I’m your spouse. Congratulations, by the way. Best decision you’ve ever made.”

Leon just…stared at you.

“I…” His mouth fell open slightly, his eyes widened a fraction. “Married you?”

The heart monitor to his right immediately picked up pace, beeping faster for a few moments.

You snorted softly, clearly amused by the situation at hand.

“Yep,”You said, popping the p. “You managed to bag a ten.”

Leon looked at you—really looked this time—and a slow, crooked smile spread across his face.

“Damn, “ he murmured. “I did.”

Your thumb brushed over his knuckles, and the monitor sped up again in response. You glanced at it, then back at him, a teasing grin smeared on your face.

“Well, that’s one way to measure my effect on you.”

Leon grimaced, eyes flicking toward the machine. “Can that thing shut up?”

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head.

“Afraid not. You’re being monitored for a reason, pretty boy.”

“Shit.”

You tried, really—really—tried, to hold it in, but a small snicker slipped out anyway. Leon narrowed his eyes at you, still half-lidded and unfocused.

“Glad my near-death experience is entertaining.” He rasped out.

That did it—the dam broke. You broke into laughter, spilling out before you quickly scrambled to rein it back in.

“Sorry, sorry,” You said, exhaling. “I’ve just been worried sick. That—” you gestured vaguely at him, “—that helped. A little.”

You took a moment, shaking off the lingering want to laugh, before your expression softened again, concern settling right back in.

“How are you feeling?” You asked gently. “What do you remember?”

Leon went quiet. Searching through his man for anything, but everything felt…foggy…slippery even. Like everything was just out of his reach.

He shook his head—another mistake.

The room tilted violently, he hissed under his breath.

“Hey, hey—easy.”You tightened your hold on his hand. “Doc said recovery might be a little rough. Memory gaps…dizziness, all that fun stuff.”

He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to stay still in hopes that everything stopped moving for once.

“Relax, we'll be right here.”

“Thanks.”

There was a pregnant pause.

What do you mean, we?

“We?”

Your eyebrows shot up for half a second before realization dawned on your face.

Ah…right, he really didn’t remember a lot.

“Oh, Leon…” You murmured. “I don’t know how to say this, but.”

You shifted to the side to reveal the couch behind you.

What’s more important than the couch was the little girl currently occupying it. The little bundle was snoozing away, all wrapped in her fluffy blanket.

“I’m pretty sure she’s not actually allowed in here,” You admitted quietly, “but she refused to leave. Said she wanted to be here when her daddy woke up, so…I snuck her in.”

Leon stared, completely, utterly stunned by what was in front of him.

First, a drop-dead gorgeous spouse.

Second, a cute daughter?

What had he done in his past and present life to merit such a combo?

“I…have a daughter?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper, like speaking too loudly might make her disappear.

You smiled, warmth bleeding into every inch of your expression as you watched your husband process the information.

“Our daughter, “You corrected softly.

His eyes widened, flicking between you and the sleeping little princess.

“We have a daughter, “ He repeated, as if testing the words.

The monitor sped up again, betraying the surge of emotion hitting him all at once.

“We do.” You smiled, amused by what was unfolding in front of you.

A slow, almost disbelieving grin tugged at his lips.

“That means I’m a father.”

“I mean…yeah,” You shrugged. “That’s usually how that works.”

He tried to roll his eyes, but his body was still confused; it didn’t pan out the way he had intended.

“That was… unbelievably sad.”

“Go away,” he grumbled.

“I would,” You said sweetly, raising your free hand and wiggling your fingers so the ring caught the hospital light, “but…no. Married, remember?”

Leon huffed, squinting at you.

“I’m starting to regret it.”

You gasped in mock offense, placing your hand over your chest for added flair.

“Wow. I leave you alone for one near-death experience, and this is the thanks I get?”

He lightly shook his head at the display.

You leaned closer, voice dropping into a playful sing-song.

“Too late, darling~. Papers signed, sealed, and filed years ago~."

You could clearly hear your kids fighting now, but you still haven't made any effort to move. They were grown-ass teens after all, you told yourself.

You slowly closed your eyes and gave your back to your husband once more. Leon opened his eyes and looked at your back. It was clear that neither of you wanted to get up and stop them.

But you lived with your husband long enough to know he's awake and he doesn't want to drag his ass out of bed just yet.

When he felt that you were about to turn your face towards his, he quickly gave you his back and faked his snoring sounds to fool you. His little trick obviously didn't work on you.

As the noise continued downstairs, you sighed and poked him in the ribs with your elbow.

“Ouch!” Leon said lazily as he rubbed the spot.

“BRING THE FIRE EXTINGUISHER!”

Leon groaned and pushed the covers aside with a scowling face. He pulled his underwear off the ground and put them back on.

“You better be naked when I get back,” he grumbled, pointing his finger at you.

“Got it.” You murmured into your pillow and watched him leave the room. Practically, you were wearing nothing but a bra. You lazily removed it and threw it aside.

You tossed and turned in bed waiting for your husband to return. About twenty minutes passed. It was around 7:19 by now—why was he taking so long?

You were about to put your feet on the floor when you saw your husband enter the bedroom. His gaze fell on you, covered only with the bed sheets. Leon closed the door and walked towards you, removing his underwear once more.

You wanted to say something, but he hopped onto the bed on you. You protested slightly and wrapped your hands around his neck. Leon kissed your lips desperately.

You muttered against his lips and broke it, looking into his eyes.

“Kitchen situation?”

He sighed and buried his face in your breasts. His trimmed beard scratched your skin a little, not that you complained, right?

“They didn't burn anything, right?” you asked him again, demanding an answer. Leon hummed on your skin on purpose.

“LEON!” You slowly sat, crossing your arms on your bare chest, which brought him out of his bubble.

“Fine, fine! Maybe just the microwave.” Confused, Leon was still eyeing your body. You raised your eyebrows.

“Seriously?”

You got up to grab your robe, but he grabbed your wrist and pulled you back to bed.

He put you on top of him as he lay down with a little smug smirk. His hands started wandering on your thighs to your ass to squeeze it.

“Damn, honey, you became so squeezable,” he teased.

You rolled your eyes. He was teasing you and you knew it. Also, you could feel his dick against your butt. You swatted his hands and pointed a finger towards his smug expression.

“Don't change the topic, Kennedy—my microwave—”

He hushed you with his thumb on your lips.

“I'll buy you a new one,” he said as he placed his other hand on your butt again.

You blinked for a few seconds, then removed his thumb.

“And your kids—”

He interrupted you again and rolled his eyes.

“I punished them.”

You shut your mouth and looked at him—really looked. Despite how handsome he was beneath you, you restrained yourself a little.

“Happy now, Mrs. Kennedy?”

“Think so. Don't get smug about it,” you scolded.

Leon let out a little laugh and flipped you under him instead to catch your lips. You groaned and returned the kiss. You can't stay mad at him forever, not when he promised to buy you a new microwave.

You wrapped your legs around his waist and let him rub his tip against your entrance to drive you wild. You let out a series of miserable moans as he rubbed against you.

You caught his mouth again, desperate to distract yourself.

“Mom, I want to borrow your haird—”

Your daughter just had to storm into your room without warning. She immediately covered her eyes and turned her face towards the door. The last thing she expected was to see her parents having sex.

“Ew, aren't you guys too old for THIS?” she said in an embarrassed tone, her head still facing the door.

Leon rolled his eyes and got off you, lifting the sheets to cover you and him. You raised your eyebrows.

“Didn't we teach you how to knock on the door first?”

“Jesus Christ, MOM!”

She hadn’t even heard him enter.

Slowly, she turned to face her husband, a faint crease forming between her brows. “My love, you spend all day in council, and the first thing you do after not seeing me for hours is talk more about the council?” she teased lightly, though there was a hint of tiredness beneath it. She turned back to the mirror, picking up her hairbrush and dragging it gently through her hair.

“Well, love, this isn’t about the council. Technically,” he replied, stepping further into the room. “It’s about Aang. He needs our help.”

“Our help?” She turned again, confusion softening her features as she rose from the vanity. Her green satin nightgown draped elegantly over her figure, the gold stitching catching the candlelight with every movement. The most prominent change, however, was the gentle, undeniable curve of her stomach.

“You knocked me up, dummy,” she teased, a small smile tugging at her lips as she approached him. Her hands slid to his shoulders, then to the ties of his robes, beginning to loosen them with practiced ease. “Or did you forget already?”

He laughed softly, the sound low and fond, allowing her to help him out of his robes as the fabric slipped from his shoulders.

“How could I forget?” he murmured, turning toward her.

His gaze drifted over her slowly, appreciatively, before settling on the curve of her stomach. His hands followed, almost instinctively, coming to rest there, warm, steady, protective. His thumbs brushed gentle circles over the satin, as if he could feel something deeper beneath it.

“When you carry the future of the Fire Nation inside you?” he said quietly, his voice softening. “A little piece of me…”

His eyes lifted to meet hers, something tender and unguarded flickering there.

“And all of you.”

She hummed softly, rising onto her tiptoes as her arms slipped around his neck, drawing him down to her. Her lips met his in a gentle, fleeting kiss, soft, familiar, almost teasing.

But when she tried to pull away, he didn’t let her.

His hand tightened at her waist, the other still resting protectively against her stomach as he followed her retreat, capturing her lips again before the distance could grow. Even as her heels lowered back to the floor, he bent with her, closing the space she had tried to create.

This time the kiss deepened, slower, warmer, lingering in a way that stole the breath from her lungs. It wasn’t hurried, but it wasn’t soft either; it carried weight, intention, something unspoken between them.

His thumb brushed lightly against her side as he tilted his head, pressing closer, as if memorizing her. The world beyond them seemed to fade, the council, the letter, everything, leaving only the quiet crackle of candlelight and the steady rhythm of shared breath.

When he finally pulled back, it wasn’t far, just enough for their foreheads to rest together, his lips still ghosting over hers, reluctant to let her go.

“I can’t get you pregnant again, can I? Double pregnant,” he teased, a grin tugging at his lips.

She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head at him. “Oh, you’ve certainly tried,” she replied, her voice laced with amusement. Her hand lingered briefly against his chest before she stepped back, just enough to create space between them. “But don’t try again, I need this thing out of me first.” "I don't know if I love you referring to our child as a thing."

She separated from him fully then, turning slightly as if to busy herself, though she didn’t miss the way his shoulders subtly slumped at the loss of contact. The warmth between them lingered in the space she left behind, unspoken but felt.

Her fingers adjusted the sleeve of her gown absentmindedly, her expression softening for just a moment before she glanced back at him over her shoulder. There was still a hint of her earlier smile there, though now tempered with curiosity.

“Now,” she said, more gently this time, “tell me what Aang wants.”

"That can wait for the morning." He mumbled, his eyes never leaving her lips as he pulled her back into another kiss.

“A village?”

Zuko sighed, steadying Appa’s harness as he helped his wife climb aboard. “Why would he possibly want us to go to a random village?” And why would he say pack a coat? We're going to a mountain aren't we?" she huffed, gripping the edge before finally pulling herself over with a bit more effort than she liked. "I hate mountains."

He lingered below for a moment, looking up at her, concern etched into his features. “Are you sure it’s a good idea for you to go? You can stay—I’ll be back in a couple days.”

She leaned over the edge slightly, brows knitting. “Aang needs the second-best earthbender with him, Zuko. I’m not disabled—”

She winced mid-sentence, her hand instinctively going to her stomach before she turned toward Toph. “Sorry.”

Toph shrugged easily. “Hey, I’m just glad you finally admitted I’m the better earthbender.”

“I give you your flowers when they’re due,” she shot back with a small smile.

Toph grinned, but it slowly faltered, her head tilting slightly as if listening to something no one else could hear. "Your heart must be beating really fast." "Is it?" The princess quirked her head confused. "Why else am I hearing two heartbeats coming from you?”

Katara gasped, her hands flying together in delight. “Oh my gosh, you’re pregnant! I thought your coat was just oddly bulky but you're pregnant! Oh my Gosh!" she exclaimed, immediately rushing forward to wrap the Fire Princess in a tight hug. “I thought they were just rumors, because surely you and Zuko would’ve told us!”

The princess blinked, caught off guard, before her gaze slid over to her husband, who was just now hauling himself rather ungracefully into Appa’s saddle.

“Zuko,” she said slowly, one brow arching, “I thought you told them.”

Zuko froze mid-step, staring back at her blankly. “I thought you did.”

There was a beat.

“Oh my gosh.”

“I mean, it was only a matter of time,” Katara chimed in, smiling knowingly. “You two have never exactly been subtle. And Zuko practically insisted on marrying you the moment he could.”

Toph snorted, crossing her arms. “Yeah, honestly? I’m surprised it took this long. Thought for sure you’d have a whole lineup of heirs by now if Zuko could keep his hands to himself for more than, what? two minutes?”

Zuko nearly choked, his face flushing a deep, unmistakable red. “That’s— I—” He cleared his throat, straightening awkwardly as he avoided everyone’s eyes. “That’s not— we’re not—”

The princess, however, looked entirely unbothered.

In fact, she looked amused.

“Well,” she said lightly, smoothing a hand over her stomach as she glanced at him, “he does have a bit of a… lack of restraint.”

Zuko snapped his head toward her. “You’re not helping.”

Katara laughed, covering her mouth. “I mean, you can’t blame them. You’ve both been—” she hesitated, searching for a polite word before giving up, “—like that since the beginning.”

Toph grinned wider. “Please. ‘Like that’ is putting it nicely.”

“Toph,” Katara warned, though she was still smiling.

“What?” Toph shrugged. “I’m just saying—half the time, I didn’t even need my feet to know when they were in the same room. The tension alone was loud enough.”

The princess let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “You’re all incredibly annoying.”

Zuko groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Can we please focus on the actual reason we’re here?”

“Oh, no, no,” Toph continued, clearly enjoying herself. “You deserve this. All those nights you two kept everyone awake—”

“Okay, that’s enough,” the princess cut in quickly, though a smile tugged at her lips. She glanced at Zuko, amused. “He can’t get any redder. He’s about to turn into a tomato.”

Zuko let out a quiet, embarrassed huff, but didn’t argue, instead shifting closer and settling against her side, seeking some sense of refuge.

She softened slightly at that, her expression gentler as she let him.

“Let’s just go get Sokka,” he muttered, still avoiding everyone’s gaze.

The princess had shrugged off her coat minutes into the trip. They weren’t even close to Aang yet, and the extra weight had her uncomfortably warm, a light sheen of sweat clinging to her skin. The shifting air currents around Appa did little to help.

Katara, however, had not left her alone once.

The questions came one after another, gentle but relentless, curiosity shining in her eyes.

“How far along are you?”

“Five months,” she answered, offering a tired but polite smile.

“What’s the gender?”

“No clue.”

“Any baby names lined up?”

“We’re trying for something that blends earth and fire,” she said, glancing briefly at Zuko, “but nothing’s stuck yet.”

Katara brightened. “That’s so sweet—”

“Are you going to have more?”

The princess didn’t even hesitate. “Have you met my husband?”

Katara blinked, then laughed, covering her mouth.

Zuko, meanwhile, coughed into his fist, his ears burning all over again.

Through it all, his hand never left her, resting protectively over her stomach, thumb brushing slow, absent circles as if grounding himself in her presence. Every so often, his grip would tighten slightly whenever Appa shifted, like he could somehow steady both her and the child at once.

“Careful,” he murmured under his breath at one point, guiding her subtly as the saddle dipped.

“I’m fine,” she replied, though she didn’t pull away from him.

By the time the icy waters and familiar structures of the Southern Water Tribe came into view, the air had grown colder, sharper against their skin. Snow dusted the ground below, and the distant figures of Water Tribe members began to gather, pointing up at Appa’s descending form.

They didn’t have to search long.

Sokka was already striding across the snow toward them, boots crunching loudly with each step, his grin widening the second he took them in.

“Well, well,” he called, arms spreading like he was welcoming honored guests. “Look who finally decided to show up. Took you two long enough.”

His gaze flicked between them, lingering, calculating, before it dropped.

Then paused.

“…Whoa.”

Zuko stiffened immediately. “Don’t.”

But Sokka was already circling them, slow and deliberate, like he was inspecting something fascinating. “No way. No way. You’re serious?”

The princess raised a brow, unimpressed. “Very.”

Sokka let out a low whistle, dragging a hand down his face before pointing straight at Zuko. “I mean, I knew you two had issues with personal space, but I didn’t think you’d go and make it this… I don't even know the word for it. You two are freaks."

Zuko groaned, already regretting coming. “Sokka.”

“What?” Sokka shrugged, smirk growing. “You expect me to ignore this? This isn't even groundbreaking it's just expected from you both knowing you. This is, this is what happens when you two get even five minutes alone, isn’t it?”

Toph let out a quiet snort.

Sokka leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough to make it worse. “Actually, scratch that. Five minutes is probably generous.”

Zuko made a strangled noise. “Okay.”

Katara slapped a hand over her face. “Sokka—”

“No, no, I’m just connecting the dots,” he continued, clearly enjoying himself. “All those times you disappeared during meetings, all those ‘private discussions’ yeah, makes a lot more sense now.”

The princess tilted her head, completely unbothered. “You’re being very bold for someone standing this close to me.”

Sokka grinned. “I’m just impressed, honestly. You two had so much tension it was practically a natural disaster, and now—” he gestured vaguely toward her stomach, “—this is the aftermath. Surprised it took you this long."

Toph laughed outright at that.

Zuko looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

Sokka wasn’t done.

“I mean seriously,” he added, folding his arms, “if this is what happens when the Fire Lord gets a little too… distracted, I’m shocked there’s not a second one already on the way.”

Zuko choked. “That’s enough.”

“Hey, I’m congratulating you!” Sokka shot back. “Just saying, next time, maybe let people know before you two go off and—”

“Sokka.”

“—expand the royal family.”

Katara shoved him lightly. “You’re unbelievable.”

“But not wrong,” he corrected smoothly.

The princess let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “Unfortunately, he’s not entirely wrong.”

Zuko turned to her, betrayed. “You’re encouraging him.”

“We've been married for eleven months and I've been pregnant for five of them, you lack restraint Zuko” she stated bluntly, though her smile gave her away. He shook his head leaning close so only he could hear her. "Who suggested riding me in the throne ro-" "Okay hush now."

Sokka clapped his hands together once, satisfied. “Great. Now that we’ve established the Fire Lord has absolutely no self-control—”

“Sokka.”

“—can someone please tell me why Aang is dragging us to some random village?"

The teasing was warranted, deserved, even.

The Fire Nation had taken your father, your brother. Zuko’s redemption didn’t erase that. Not to you. He had hunted you, cornered you, forced you into survival more times than you could count. While the others learned to trust him, to laugh with him, to move on… you hadn’t. Not so easily.

So yeah, there had been tension.

A lot of it.

It just… hadn’t been resolved in a way anyone else approved of.

His lips brushed slowly along the inside of her thigh, unhurried, deliberate, testing, teasing. The touch alone was enough to pull a quiet, unwilling sound from her, her breath catching despite herself.

“Just do it already,” she muttered, more breath than voice, her fingers tightening against the sheets.

Zuko clicked his tongue softly, unfazed. Another kiss followed, closer this time, but still not quite where she wanted, where she needed.

“Not until you say please.”

Her head tipped back in frustration. “Why would I have to say please?” she shot back weakly. “You said you were atoning for everything your nation did. Consider this part of your apology.”

A quiet huff of amusement left him, warm against her skin. “I’ve been atoning for two months now,” he murmured, his voice low, almost thoughtful.

Another slow press of his lips, lingering.

“And yet,” he added, “every morning I wake up and you’ve already taken my portion of breakfast because, apparently, ‘murderers don’t deserve to eat.’”

She exhaled sharply, somewhere between a scoff and something softer. “Well, when the Fire Nation killed my family, I couldn’t afford breakfast—”

“I know.” His tone shifted immediately, the teasing giving way to something heavier, sincere. His hand stilled, grounding. “I know. And I’m sorry.”

There was a pause, the air between them tightening, thick with everything unsaid.

“I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make up for it,” he continued quietly. “For what I did… for what I stood for.”

His placed a long kiss to her core, a soft moan (against her will) escaped her lips.

“Let me try,” he said, voice gentler now. “Even if it’s not enough.”

“I’m glad you all could make it, this village needs our help with—” Aang began, pulling back from Katara mid-sentence.

His eyes flicked across the group.

Paused.

Then widened.

“…Are—did—?”

He leaned toward Katara, lowering his voice into what he clearly thought was a whisper. “Am I allowed to ask people if they’ve gained weight?”

Katara’s eyes widened. “No, Aang. We’ve been over this.”

Aang nodded quickly. “Right, right. No asking.”

“…They’re pregnant,” she added quietly.

Aang blinked.

Then looked back at them.

Then back at Katara.

“…Zuko’s pregnant too?”

Toph snorted.

Sokka immediately burst out laughing. “Yeah, yeah, Fire Lord had a lot to do with it actually.”

Zuko’s face flushed instantly. “That’s not—”

“I’m pregnant, Aang,” the princess cut in, voice flat.

“Oh!” Aang straightened immediately, relief flooding his face. “Oh, that makes way more sense.”

There was a beat.

“…Congratulations!” he added, a little too late but entirely sincere.

Then his expression shifted, concern creeping in.

“Wait, are you sure you should be here?” he asked, glancing between her and Zuko. “I mean, with everything going on… I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Zuko immediately nodded. “Exactly.”

She sighed.

“I’m pregnant, not made of glass,” she said, crossing her arms lightly. “I can still help.”

Toph smirked. “Told you.”

Katara smiled gently. “We’ll keep an eye on you. Just in case.”

Sokka grinned. “Yeah, someone has to make sure Zuko doesn’t give himself an aneurysm trying to watch after the princess.”

Zuko shot him a glare.

Aang hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. I trust you. Just… be careful, alright?”

She gave a small, confident nod.

“Always.”

Aang clapped his hands together once, refocusing. “Right, so. The village has been dealing with a spirit. It’s been acting aggressively, and I think it’s tied to something in the mountain.”

The princess exhaled slowly. “…So you did drag us out here for a mountain.”

Aang winced. “Technically… yes.”

Zuko sighed. “Of course.”

Toph cracked her knuckles. “Good. I was getting bored.”

Sokka looked between them, grin already returning. “Alright, angry spirit, pregnant Fire-Earth Princess, and Zuko on edge. This should go great.”

She leaned slightly into Zuko’s side, her hand brushing his.

“Next time,” she murmured, “we ignore the letter and go to Ember Island."

He huffed softly. “…Agreed.”

You really should be listening because, for one, he was right, and two, it concerned a whole lot about the world’s state right now. But how could you, if Jason Peter Todd sat on the velvety couch, knees spread, jaw clenched tight, and those beautiful emerald eyes narrowed into tiny slits. His black jeans strained against his sturdy thighs and white t-shirt stuck to his torso like a second skin – you could even see his abs pulsing with every word, and boy, was it hypnotising.

Both of you had just returned home after watching the recent adaptation (if you could even call it that), and to say the least, Jason was pissed. He had gone straight to the bookshelf at the corner of the living room, grabbed his paperback copy and started ranting about all the discrepancies between the movie and the book, which were pretty much everything.

It’s not like you didn't try; you really did. But your boyfriend was hot, especially when he was angry. You lick your lips, trying to cool the sudden warmth surging through your body. The deep blue lighting from the paused TV screen highlighted Jason, as if he were the beautiful, deep ocean, and you were the reckless sailor drowning in it. Jason leaned, his head falling back on the couch, palm resting against his forehead in exasperation, but instead, all you saw was his biceps flexing.

Yeah, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“What was that for?” he mumbles when you pluck the book out of his hands and straddle his lap. His face is warm under your hands, eyes a little widened at the sudden movement. You brush against his scars before placing feather-light kisses from the tilt of his jaw, the expanse of his cheeks, and his scars to the column of his throat. His hands are at your waist, firm but gentle, as his eyes flutter, breathy gasps leaving his lips at the sudden rampage.

“Baby, please, " he sighed at the lack of your mouth on the only place he wanted.

Finally, your lips seal his, tasting the cherry ice cream he had earlier. Jason squeezes your hips, finding the silver of skin underneath your shirt, tracing circles on to them – either to calm you or himself. Before long, one of his hands cups your neck, slithering his tongue between your glossy lips, swirling with yours like a melody you both are fluent in. Your hips unconsciously grind onto his, as he gasps.

“You just looked so hot, Jay.” You whisper letting out a breath as you nuzzled into the crook of his neck, placing a small kiss while your fingers threaded through his hair, “I couldn’t help it”. He hums, hands trailing to your butt before squeezing the flesh as he stands – your legs still looped at his waist—causing you to let out a yelp.

“ Well, we can’t just leave this halfway now, can we?” Emerald eyes hold yours, now brimming with desire, flooding all your senses. You whisper back, a sly smile on your face “of course, we can’t”

You giggle, as he leaps (literally) with you to the bedroom.

Bonus Scene:

“It still doesn’t make sense how she could cast a POC actor for Edgar but not for Heathcliff,” you hum, drifting in between sleep as you nuzzle into his naked chest, his fingers twirling your hair. It was early morning now, after hours of being in each other’s arms, and Jason was still stuck on last night’s movie.

“Wuthering Heights by Kate Bush is really the best adaptation to date”

The afternoon sun sneaks through the wooden cracks of the ship before its light washes over the sheaths of the swords. They shimmer in a way you can’t tear your attention away — a call demanding an answer.  

You’ve watched him wield all three many times, awestruck over the rare ability that most could never replicate. It makes you want to try it for yourself; to see if you have what it takes and get a little glimpse inside his world. 

Waves lap against the sides of the ship with a steady sway, ensuring the swordsman gets his rest before another night of shenanigans with the Straw Hat crew. The light catches the blades again and your curiosity grows deeper. You decide it’s time to take action.

Carefully moving from your spot next to him, you reach out to grab one of the swords, steering away from the white one — the Wado Ichimonji. One of the sheaths clink together and your heart pauses at the sound, eyes flitting up to the sleeping swordsman. He doesn’t stir and you rise like the sun with the blade in hand. A piece of him now in your hold. 

You tentatively grip around its middle, letting the weight teeter side to side. It’s foreign, yet familiar. Your fingers enclose around the corded hilt, letting the balanced weapon ground you. 

The elusive shine of steel catches your eye in the slightly foggy mirror as you begin to pull it from its sheath. Once freed, you move towards the reflection with wobbly steps. The tip of the blade is surprisingly light, but it’s clear it takes a lot of discipline to be able to control the weapon, let alone three. 

Face to face with your reflection, you suddenly feel out of your depths as you step into his world. Visions of Zoro fighting float in your mind and you try your best to replicate it by holding the blade up high, victoriously — just like he did at Little Garden.

The reminder almost takes your breath away, swept up with the image of him covered in a lifeless wax that’s forever seared into your memory. Your chest lurches forward but the ship remains steady. 

“If you wanted to learn how to use them then you could’ve just asked.” Zoro's low voice rumbles from his throat, thick with sleep. 

“Oh-!” You try to catch his eye in the mirror but they’re still shut, his face expressionless apart from the faintest smirk that slowly spreads across his lips. 

As soon as he has your attention, he cracks an eye open — playful intentions swirling in the depths of disciplined steel.

Zoro gets up, kicking off his feet and prowling over to you with the gracefulness of a tiger. The lingering scent of sweat dizzies your senses as he stands beside you.

“First, form. It needs some work.” His fingers gently press against your elbow as he moves behind you, adding just enough pressure so you raise the sword a little higher. “Better.”

Your breath hitches at the unexpected lesson. It's amazing how quickly he can jump from teasing to being entirely serious. He assesses you for a moment and suddenly you feel too seen, exposed.

Before you can say anything, he grabs another sword and places it in your other hand. It settles the same way as the first, grounding you further into place until you feel like you can't move — frozen with fascination.

This time it doesn’t feel as foreign, not when the owner of the blades is the one guiding you. Zoro makes sure to raise your arm up, nudging your elbow into place and setting your shoulders so they’re square with the other side.

“Feet shoulder width apart, knees slightly bent.” Zoro's boot nudges the back of your shoe. He circles around to your other side, his palm pressing against your back. “Straighten your spine, stand tall with your shoulders back.”

The ghost of his fingers dance along your upper back, ensuring your posture is in place. It takes everything in you to control your breathing, trying not to focus on how his breath brushes against your skin while he moves you into position.

Zoro grabs the Wado, hesitating for a moment before turning to you. The look in his eyes is one you’ve never seen. It’s vulnerable, yet still guarded around the edges. An oxymoron only Roronoa Zoro could produce.

“This is a special one.” Zoro whispers softly, low enough that it sinks into your bones to a depth you’ve never gone with him. “It represents a promise I made to a friend.”

“We don’t have to-“

You don’t get to finish your sentence, the fabric of the sword's hilt kisses your lips before any more words have a chance to come out. It sits there like a secret he lets you in on, slowly unraveling the layers of the man before you.

Your eyes don’t leave his but his dart away, ignoring the questions that swim in your irises. A blush coats his cheeks and he all but stumbles back, looking at you in the mirror.

“There.” He nods curtly, “that’s not a bad pose.”

You try to speak but your voice is trapped by the blade. Your teeth clench around the hilt as your tongue begs to move — how the hell does he do it?

“Didn’t catch that.” Zoro lets out a cool chuckle. 

“It's harder than it looks.” You try to express once again, using more force to spit your sentence out. There’s a pressure in your jaw you didn’t notice before, an ache that continues to grow.

“You get used to it.” Zoro smirks in a way that tells you he heard it the first time because of course he did. “Let me show you something.”

He guides you through a few motions, watching as you try your best to replicate the basic movements. It's hard to maintain balance while the weight of the weapons threaten to tip the scales. 

You push forward, clumsily, but determined. His rough murmur of guidance invigorates you, wanting to show him that you’re capable, strong.

Maybe he’s rubbing off on you more than you thought.

The ship jostles and you stumble but he’s there to catch you. Quickly, his arm loops around your waist until you’re flush against his heaving chest.

The world stops for a beat and it takes another one to process the position you’re in. All you can hear is your joint heavy breathing, one that has nothing to do with your exercise.

You tilt your head back, surprised when it rests against the slope of his shoulder. You’re far closer than you’ve ever been before. Under the safety of your lashes, your eyes catch his gaze — a simple act that carries the promise of something more, remaining entirely unspoken.

Your lips part to say something but the Wado slips from its spot. Zoro's reflexes strike faster than the wind, his other hand wraps around the hilt to secure it but he still doesn’t let go of you. 

“Sorry.” You whisper sheepishly.

“Don't apologize.” His grip loosens, slowly sliding from where it’s been protectively locked around you. “You did good.”

“You think so?” Your heart stutters as he pulls away, leaving the ghost of his touch that you’re sure will haunt you for days to come. He quietly retrieves his swords, every brush against your skin a reminder of the warmth of his embrace.

“Yeah.” He sheathes them all, securing them back on his hip in a practiced motion. Only one thing was different now, the swords now stained with the sweetness of your touch. Your shared little secret. “You’ll be an expert in no time.”

“I don't know about all that.” You laugh softly, waving your hand playfully. It falls by your side, surrendering to this moment. “But thank you for letting me into your world. It's clear how much work you put into your training to become the best.”

“Yeah well, I still have a way to go.” Zoro swallows, absentmindedly rubbing the scarred tissue of his torso, averting his gaze as the apples of his cheeks tinge pink.

“You have the dedication to see it through.” 

His attention snaps back to you, surprise flickering in his steely irises. For a moment, nothing changes as he assesses you carefully. But then something relents beneath the mask he always wears, the one that keeps his emotions in check.

It’s subtle, a flash of understanding that seeps through the cracks. A faint glimmer of the man underneath, the one who carries the weight of a promise he once made, entrusting it to you.

“I won't stop until I'm the world's strongest swordsman.” Zoro's chest puffs out with pride, jaw clenching into place with a determination many of the crew members hold.

“And I look forward to that day.” It’s hard to hide your smile so you let it shine. The corner of his lip twitches upward, a little softer than before. “Well, I’ll let you get back to it.”

“You gonna stick around?” His shoulders relax, silently seeking the comfort of your company.

“Yeah.” You sit back down in your spot. Here, on this ship with the swordsman of the Straw Hats pirates, you begin to belong. “I think I will.”

The corner of his mouth curls. “A little.” 

A little probably translates to it hurts like hell. 

You rub your hand over the black spiderwebbing over the side of his throat, then the patch of it on the palm of his hand. He doesn’t wince, doesn’t even twitch, but you know he’s in pain. You know him too well, have known him for too long, to think otherwise. It’s evident in the persistent slope of his shoulders, the barely perceptible twitch of his fingers when you prod the pseudo bruising, the spaces around his joints. How ashen his skin looks, gray rather than merely pale. 

“A little,” you echo and absentmindedly push a lock of gray streaked tarnished gold hair back from his eyes, then smooth your thumb down the crease around his still smirking mouth. “You’ve never been a good liar, don’t start now.”

You trace the dark webbing, like spun silk lines, ink dyed veins. There’s a pit in your stomach as you scratch a nail against one raised line, squeezing his wrist. It’ll be fine, you think, it’s always been fine. There, by some miracle, or maybe just sheer luck and effort, has always been a way things turn out fine. 

“Hey.”

You hate when he does that, when he doesn’t say something snappy, and instead his voice is soft and commanding, gentle almost. 

Leon cups your cheek with his other hand, but you refuse to let him tilt your gaze up.

You flip his hand over and trace the discoloration across the back of his hand, the tendrils that wrap up his pinky and ring finger. 

You twist the silver metal band on his ring finger, push your hand flat against his, measuring your hand against his, and finally glance up.

“I guess I don’t have a choice, huh?” You smile. “I can’t keep you here safe.” You would never really try. You knew that when you met him, when you married him, but the sentiment stands. You tug at his collar, look at the veiny, stringy black climbing up the column of his throat. Soon it will snake behind his ear, crosshatch his jaw. 

You’d been the one to notice it, spindly beneath your mouth when you kissed him there. A bruise, you’d thought, applied ointment to. You’d caught it on him after the third survivor of the Raccoon City incident was found dead. Then, a bruise that wouldn’t fade on the side of his ring finger that looked eerily similar to crime scene photos you’d snooped on over his shoulder one evening. 

A bruise that grew, refused to fade. You started to suspect what it might be when it appeared on Sherry, too. And this is different, if it’s what you think it is. 

Maybe that is why this time feels so different. There is always danger in his field of work, that you have accepted and made peace with, but this might be something he couldn’t fight. 

He gathers your wrists in his hands, stops the anxious sweep of them. He pushes you back, pins you against the bed with his hips, body looming over and around yours. 

“What? Worried about me?” 

The intervening years have only made him bigger. Wide shoulders, huge biceps, thick thighs. The weight of him is nice, and you know that’s the point. He’s unnaturally warm, a living furnace, the fire of him seeps beneath your clothes. You can’t help thinking the heat of him is a little less potent lately. 

Either you’re overthinking or you’re right, and both possibilities are equally awful. You don’t panic, but this has you on edge because if you’re right—

There’s a looming sense that he’s running out of time, an invisible clock ticking down minutes.

“Look,” you wriggle one hand out of his grip and push a finger into his chest, “I just don’t want to have to start over with someone else, okay? It would be really annoying if you died. Or whatever—” You stroke your thumb under his ear, “—the hell is happening here.”  

He laughs and you hook your arms around him, pull him fully down against his like you could be absorbed beneath his skin. 

Leon’s arms push beneath your back, crush a tight circle around your body. The pressure eases some of the tension threaded between your ribs. His hair brushes your forehead, a light tickle that touches a nerve in your temple that arcs down your spine. 

“Just—come back.” It’s unlike you to ask, not like you to mention it at all. You got used to this a long time ago. You are unflappable, even before Leon and his career, nothing could ruffle you. It’s what makes you good at your job. “I’ll be waiting.”

He rests his head in the space between your neck and shoulder. He nods, kisses you there, against your pulse. “I promise to try,” he says against your skin. 

“All I ask.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure it’ll be a walk in the park.”

You roll your eyes, duck your head to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Love you.” 

“Love you,” he answers, and then he’s pulling away, taking his warmth and presence with him. You watch him walk to the door and disappear through it, feeling very small and alone. It’s a big, old, elegant house, with sconces and creaky floors and a chandelier and a brick driveway.

The house seems to sigh in despair as the front door opens and closes.

.

.

.

The next night finds you in the staff breakroom, fiddling with the coffee pot with tired, twitchy fingers, trying not to let your thoughts wander or coalesce on one thing. 

Leon always comes home, but something feels different this time. Your worry is a physical thing, perched on your shoulder, lounging in the periphery of your vision. 

You weren’t supposed to be at work, but being in motion and occupied makes you feel better, useful, and distracts you at once. Sitting alone in your home, listening to the floorboards creak in time with your overwrought thoughts, would only make your unusual anxiety worsen, a spike and spiral that is impossible to come down from. It’s ridiculous. Only a little over 24 hours have passed. 

The fluorescent lights flicker, and your overworked eyes ache in the glare, like they’re puffy and too large in your head. You hadn’t been sleeping before he left, and you certainly hadn’t last night. The bed far too empty and big. 

You have a standing policy not to call each other when Leon is out in the field. You don’t call him; he has strict orders from you not to call even if it was safe to. You know what you would think each time, this is it, he's calling to say goodbye. 

Imagining the worst is one thing, knowing is something else altogether. 

This time is different. The worry runnels beneath your skin, like an itch you can’t quite scratch. You had thumbed at the screen of your phone restlessly all evening and the next morning, on and off, light, dark. No messages, not that there would be. No calls. 

You didn’t sleep, hand over his side of the bed, wide awake in the dark. Remembering the kiss to your forehead, that awful black spiderwebbing on the side of his throat threading beneath the cup of your palm. 

Your phone is heavy in the front apron pocket of your scrubs, the urge to reach for it and check it again is overwhelming. The ringer is off, you think, he could have called. As irrational as it is, you feel like he's trying to call, and you're missing it. You pull your phone out and lie it on the counter as the coffee percolates, popping and hissing, and look long at the blank, black screen, twisting your wedding ring around your finger, imagining the same black crawling up your own hand. 

More violently than necessary, you fling out one hand and tap the glass. It flickers to life. 

Nothing. 

A sigh that sounds more like a growl crawls from your throat. You shove your phone back into your pocket, listen to the soft, custodial hum of the building around you. It’s late, the clinic is mostly empty, and peaceful in its silence. 

It’s lonely. 

When you get home, the driveway is empty and the house is dark, the front paving stones rain wet and slick beneath your sneakers. 

The front entryway is dark, the floorboards creak beneath your shoes as you kick them off, the clatter echoing in the foyer and up the stairs, curving like a knife into the dark landing of the second floor. 

When you flip on the living room lights, you half expect to find Leon there, sprawled in a bloody, dirty heap on the couch in the pooling yellow light. 

It wouldn’t be the first time, though it would be the first time you found him there without a phone call telling you all was well, that he would be home soon.

But the couch is as you left it, a wool blanket draped across the back, plush velvet pillows askew, one sagging off the armrest and onto the dark wood parapet floor below. 

You imagine him coming home, still crawling with bruises, death like a phantom over his shoulder. You think of holding his hand, letting him die easily. He deserved that, but you know it’s a pipe dream, a fantasy. If he was going to die, if it had anything to do with Raccoon City, he’d die out there. 

Leon can only promise you so much. 

You drop your bag and flit through the room to the kitchen, hungry but also itching to change out of your scrubs and not knowing what to do first in your anxious haze. 

You feel as though you have been perpetually stuck in fight or flight mode, oozing stress and tension like a shelter dog. 

You won’t settle until he’s back, until you can see for yourself that terrible rot beneath his skin is gone. Rainwater washes down the window panes in the kitchen as you make tea and toast, hands like a pair of nervous sparrows, hopping from one thing to the next, despite the ache in your wrists and fingers. 

The rain is a constant tattoo, a persistent patter that you wish you could think is soothing. But it grates on you like an old wound, reminds you of time passing like the ticking of a clock. While the water boils, you go upstairs to change and wash your face, wrapping yourself in an old jacket of Leon’s over sleep shorts and a t-shirt.

The house always feels too big and empty without him. It seems to sigh and shift under the weight of the rain and your body moving through its guts. 

You choke down the toast and park yourself on the couch with your tea. It’s already cooling between your hands, but the warmth of it is comforting in the blue light on the tv when you flip it on and sink into the cushions. 

You don’t feel tired, but from one slow blink to the next, the cup is being pulled from between your hands and set aside. The TV is flicked off and then the brass lamp on the side table. Fingers brush over your forehead and down the curve of your cheek before disappearing in favor of lifting you. One thick arm slides beneath your knees, the other behind your shoulders. For a moment, you’re lost in the bliss of a normal Friday night. You fell asleep on the couch watching a cheesy action flick, and Leon is carrying you to bed.

The wool blanket slides off of you and back onto the couch, a soft puddle of gray and green. 

For a moment, you think it’s a dream. You close your eyes again, listen to the beat of his heart beneath your ear, happy to pretend it’s a normal night, that you fell asleep on the couch watching movies. 

And then he grunts. 

The sound is so unusual, unlike him, it rouses you from the drowsy way you're sinking into his arms, reminds you of the last few days. You must have slept through the night because a haze of soft pink morning light undulates across the floor through a gap in the curtains. 

“Leon,” you mumble sleepily, struggling awake in his arms as he starts up the stairs. “Hey, Leon, put me down.” You wriggle to no avail. “Let me look at you.” 

He doesn’t and you fumble blindly at his collar instead, searching for the raised skin. Instead you’re met with smooth if grimy skin, littered with the usual scars you could recount in your sleep. “Leon—” 

He shoulders open the bedroom door with another grunt, cream carpet and dark green walls. The room is dim, morning light peeking through the slats of the blinds, highlighting your gold jewelry spilled across the top of the dresser, the stack of books by a bedside table, never re-shelved in the living room, tangled bed sheets. 

He deposits you lightly on the bed. You don’t have a chance to curl your arms around his shoulders and drag him down onto the sheets with you. Leon is already falling against you, lands heavily on top of you with no resistance, arm curling around your body. 

“Hold on,” he says. 

Your legs are scrunched awkwardly beneath him, the bulk of his body heavy and immovable as a fallen tree. “Just give me a minute.” 

His arms are tight around you, tighter than he usually would hold you. “Okay,” you murmur. “Okay.” You slide one hand into his hair, filthy with what you can only guess. He seems very young at that moment, like something has been shaken loose inside him. 

You count the seconds to a minute, and then a minute and a half. 

“Leon?” You ask after you’ve counted your way to three minutes. “Are you okay?” 

“Still breathing,” he answers dryly. 

You push at his shoulder and he lifts himself off you enough for you to see his face, enough to see that his throat is free of the pseudo bruising, that he’s probably, really, okay. You sit up and he rolls to the side and onto his back with a grunt. He takes your hand, keeps it trapped under his against his chest, the warm metal of his wedding band cutting into your index finger, eyes fluttering shut. 

There are purple shadows beneath his eyes, normal bruises along his forearms and along his sides when you lift his shirt. It looks awful, extending to his back in purples so deep they appear as black little rain clouds. You trace a jagged scar just beneath his ribs with the tip of your finger. He looks tired, but that’s all, and you could cry for it. 

“Roll over, shirt off,” you command, more harshly than you mean to. “Let me see your back. It looks bruised.” 

“Yes ma’am,” he says, already moving to follow your demand. 

“Is Sherry alright?” You ask, watching him peel his shirt off, fabric clinging through a film of sweat and blood. His hair stands like duck fluff when he pulls it over his head. 

A bruise extends over his chest, down to the flat plane of his stomach. There’s gauze tapped over a cut on his side and on his bicep, and when you reach forward and pull back the tape gently, you are momentarily overcome with blistering jealousy that someone had tended to him first. The jealousy almost instantly gives way to a feeling of uselessness. 

The cut looks clean, the bandage is fresh, someone had taken good care of him and for that you should be grateful. 

But your hands stall. 

“Good as new.”

You blink, meet his eyes, re-center yourself. He’s not just reassuring you about Sherry. “Good.” 

You carefully push the bandage back into place, then shift onto your knees, watching the twist of muscle beneath his skin as he settles onto his stomach, forearms bunching and straining as he lowers himself to the duvet you’ll have to wash sooner than anticipated. He smells awful, there’s a fine layer of grit and dried sweat over his skin where there are no wounds that had needed cleaned.

Bruises and a couple more lacerations stripe his back, no signs of the infection that had been crawling down his spine the previous evening. You release a shaky breath. 

“I was worried,” you admit, now that you don’t have to look at his face as you say it, carefully peeling the bandages away, then resticking them when you’re satisfied by what you see. But you can feel his quick, perceptive gaze on you, watching you, your unsteady hands and gritted teeth. 

“Not like you.” 

“This was different.” 

There’s a long beat of silence. “Yeah,” he agrees, after a moment. “It was.” 

“Will you tell me about it?” You glance at him. 

Leon frowns, something unreadable caught in his eyes. 

He closes his eyes, but his brow is still wrinkled. “Yeah.” 

“You didn’t call.”

He chuckles. “Trust me, I tired. You were probably already asleep. Sherry tried too.” 

Which meant he probably worried about you in turn. You can hear it in his voice. He was used to doing all he could and still losing, just a little. “Oh, shit, I think I forgot to turn the ringer up after work.” You prod a bruise and he grunts. “I’m sorry.” For not answering his call, for poking him a little too hard. 

“I already got checked out,” he says gently, as though it isn’t obvious. “You don’t have to play nurse.” 

“I’m playing doctor. And I have a medical degree to prove it.” 

He smiles a little, and let’s you have your way. “Whatever you want, doc.” 

You scoot closer, tuck one leg beneath you and rest your chin on the opposite bent knee, and stroke a lock of hair behind his ear. Black webbing once again just delicate blue veins. “How do you feel? Really? Don’t bullshit me.” 

“Like I’m twenty again.” 

“Leon,” you sigh. “Please—”

His mouth twitches. “I’m serious,” he grumbles. “That shit hurt. So it’s probably just comparatively.” 

Your shoulders loosen, and you smooth a hand down his back, careful to avoid his injuries, and rub the base of his spine. “Well, that just means you’ll feel decrepit in a couple days.” 

He huffs. 

You smile, touch the lines under his eyes, the crinkled, unblemished skin of his throat. “Are you sure nothing’s bothering you? I’m dying to baby you.” 

“My shoulder, a little.” 

“Okay. Do you think you’ll sleep?”

“I don’t know.” 

You make an unsatisfied noise, trace a ridge of muscle along his spine. “We’ll see about that.” 

“I sleep better with you.” 

And he’s said that since the beginning, since the first time, so you’ve come to believe it over the years. 

You lean down close to kiss him, bending at the waist even though the angle is awkward. He tastes like salt and iron, like there’s blood caught between his teeth. The bed shifts beneath you as he moves to palm the back of your neck, pull you closer to him. Kissing him feels like getting one more chance to breathe. “I have something that will help with the swelling,” you say against his lips, pink when you pull back. “Take a shower and I’ll get you some pain killers.” 

“Hey,” he says, taking your hand again before you can move off the bed. His thumb runs over your wrist. You go into his arms easily, unfold yourself and stretch out next to him, rooting your body into his, half under him again. He releases your hand to run his thumb beneath one of your eyes, balancing on one elbow. You feel safe, boxed in beneath him. 

“There was—for a second I thought about—” He pauses for a moment, pale eyes sliding over your face, then meeting yours again. “I thought about calling you.” 

That, really, tells you how close of a call it had been, and your breath catches in your chest. “Oh,” you murmur softly, “Why didn’t you?” 

“It was selfish. I just wanted to hear your voice.” 

Your mouth trembles. “I wouldn’t have minded.” But you have no context for the situation, the moment he thought of it, what it would have sounded like, his voice and whatever else was happening around him. Metal creaking, fire raging, screams and pleas. Or, silence. Trapped, waiting, quiet. 

But you would have wanted him to hear your voice, if that was what he wanted at that moment. If it would have comforted him. “You should have.” 

“I promised you that I never would a long time ago, though. And I didn’t want that to be your last. . .memory of me.” He laughs a little. “Which I guess is selfish too.” 

You purse your lips and shake your head, “I really can’t think of a word that describes you less.” 

Leon looks like he wants to argue, but shakes his head and rests his forehead against your collarbone instead. “If you say so.” 

You wrap your arms around his head and stare at the dark paneled ceiling, the elegant lamp with gold folded arms dripping crystal like tiny stars, gleaming even unlit. When he’s gone, and sometimes when he isn’t, you count the white sparkle it throws against the walls to help you sleep. 

You stay there until the sun is fully risen, counting the rise and fall of Leon’s chest instead, imagining what it would have been like if he called. 

In some other reality, he did. He called, and the next morning you answered the door to a suited, anonymous government agent bringing their deepest condolences. For a moment, you feel certain you’re hallucinating him, a ghost in place of a memory. 

You rub the column of his neck, and feel him relax against you, all tension bleeding from his body, and wait for his breathing to slow. 

It doesn’t, his thumbs smoothing circles against your ribs where his hands have anchored. 

“Shower,” you say eventually, when a yellow slash of morning sun falls over your eyes and blinds you. You nudge your knees against Leon’s hips and urge him off you. 

He goes, graceless for once, as he stumbles toward the bathroom, tactical pants unbuttoned somehow and slung low on his hips. 

The first floor is flooded with golden light when you descend the stairs; the clock on the oven reads 8:04 AM. Your hands shake a little. 

You grab a bottle of extra strength ibuprofen, fill a glass with water. You think about taking melatonin to him too, but decide against it. It always gives you nightmares when you take it and you can’t remember if you’ve ever asked him about it, and the prescription bottle of rozerem is empty though you can’t remember the last time either of you had taken it or refilled it.

It’s been a long time since either of you needed it to fall asleep. 

The backyard is full of yellow light, the air misted and humid from the dissipating rain. Puddles of water stand amid the fall foliage and overgrown flowerbeds that are always weed choked because you never seem to have enough time to tend them. 

You need to make more time for everything, sink your roots into everything more deeply. 

When you and Leon first moved in together—before the house, before you were married—you’d had a minor fit a couple months in about how everything he owned was perpetually shoved into a bag by the front door. It made you feel alone, wrecked in a way you couldn’t explain, how you hated that his toothbrush was missing from the bathroom counter in the apartment he paid half the rent for. 

He’d soothed you about it, and, when you were calmer, teased you about it too, bought doubles of everything, and you never had to see him rooting around for shaving cream in a duffel bag in his own home again. 

It’s like that, you think, the flowers that never got enough attention. The yard that needs raked of decomposing fallen leaves. 

You allow yourself a shuddering breath, come to terms quickly with the fact that he’d almost died. From the virus he’d clearly been infected with or something else. Leon isn’t prone to exaggeration when it comes to his own wellbeing, usually the opposite, so knowing he’d wanted to call, lodges a lump in your throat you can’t quite swallow away. 

The pipes creak and shudder, the water goes on. 

The house is elegant but old, and you’d fallen in love with it immediately. 

You take the pills and water upstairs, push open the bathroom door and leave them on the counter with a towel. The air is heavy, thick with the smell of his soap. 

“Leon?” 

“Yeah?” He pulls back the curtain a little to look at you. 

You point to what you left on the counter. “Does melatonin give you nightmares?”

“I don’t know.” He tilts his head, water darkened hair falling across his forehead. “I know you don’t like it.” 

“We’re out of the roz—the sleeping pills. But I don’t want you to—I don’t know. I’m being—” Frustration with yourself boils over. Why are you bothering him with this? You just want him to rest. You worry he won’t, too wired by whatever happened. 

Maybe, you think distantly, you’re projecting and you’re the one wired and antsy. He looks like he might fall asleep standing there as you shift from foot to foot. “I just can’t believe I don’t know if they give you nightmares.” 

“Hard for you to know if I don’t,” he says. “You okay?” 

“I think I’m freaking out a little bit.” 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “When’s the last time you got some sleep? I don’t think you were before I left.”  

“I don’t know.”

He nods, like some puzzle has finally been solved. “We’ll figure it out.” 

You aren’t sure what he means by that, or what it you’ll be figuring out, but you nod and duck out of the bathroom before you can have another emotional outburst about medication he doesn’t even need. 

In the bedroom you change the sheets and throw the dirt streaked ones into the washer. You change too, pressing your nose into the fabric of the shirt that now smells like Leon. Battle soaked and mostly gross. But it’s the scent of him returning home, so you covet the musk of it, breathe it in again and again, until your heart rate slows, before tossing it in the wash too. It’s not until it returns to resting, that you realize how your pulse had been racing. 

You yank the blinds closed in the bedroom, thick, blackout shades that obscure the beautiful morning dawning outside, pitch the room into a velvet darkness so thick you can’t see your hands in front of your face. 

When you turn, he’s there catching you against him, tilting your face up to his, kissing you softly and then harder. You go down together in a tangle when the back of your knees hit the bed. 

In the black dark of the room, he’s only a suggestion of movement. The placement of your limbs instinctual after so many years together. 

You wrench your t-shirt over your head, feel the still damp plains of his body over yours. He smells clean, like soap and sandalwood. His mouth, when you slide your tongue into it, no longer tastes like blood, just mint toothpaste and tap water. 

When he pushes into you with a groan, your hands careful of the wounds on his back, you kiss the junction of his neck and shoulder, feel the judder of his pulse against your mouth. “Leon,” you coo, just to say his name, know he’s there with you. “I trust your judgement, you know.” You slide one hand into his hair, hook your knees against his hips. “Call, if you think you should. I’d want to hear your voice one more time, too.” 

The next thrust of his hips is unforgivingly, accidentally hard, pushing you up the bed a little; a gasp is torn from your mouth. 

His hands are warm and large, cradling your hips and waist, the outside of your breasts. Reverent, as his mouth finds yours again with a tight groan, hand cupping the back of your head. 

He cradles you to him, pulses into you slow and hard, and for a moment you let him, before pushing at his shoulder. He goes easily onto his back, taking you with him. He sinks that much deeper inside you, a stretch you feel everywhere, rolling your hips against his. 

“Baby,” he groans. 

You tilt over him, hold his wrists against the mattress, and kiss him again. 

.

.

.

When you next wake, it’s late afternoon and the bed is empty again. 

But you can smell something cooking, hear the hiss and pop of something greasy frying in a pan downstairs. You climb out of bed with an ache between your hips, shuffling to the bathroom to clean up before searching for something to throw on. 

You check your phone on the way to the kitchen, find it stuck between the couch cushions where it had fallen the night before, and scroll through the endless string of missed calls. Leon and Sherry. One, inexplicably, from Chris. Guilt pools in your stomach, wondering what he’d thought as he traveled home, pushed open the front door to a silent house. Just a  sleeping house, though he couldn’t have known that. 

The kitchen is washed in reddish evening light. Leon is cooking breakfast, despite the hour. Bacon and eggs over easy. He’s better at breakfast than you are, you’ve learned. You have a habit of burning the bacon and popping the yolks on the eggs when you flip them. 

The toast, however, is smoking in the toaster. You pop it up as you pass, pleased to see it’s only dark, crisp brown and not charred. 

Leon is wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants, his hair sticking up in every direction. The sweatpants are a little snug around his thighs but the shirt is loose, too big. When he can, Leon wears oversized shirts, though he doesn’t prefer them even at home, just so you can have them. He knows you like how they smell like him. 

The window over the sink is open; his feet are bare. His back is to you and the fading light gives his hair a pinkish hue. 

You wrap your arms around his waist and rest your cheek against his shoulder, ball your fist in the loose fabric against his stomach. When you squeeze your arms around him, his body is hard and unforgiving. It’s odd, feeling so soft by contrast. 

“The toast was burning.” 

“Thanks for saving it.” 

“Thanks for coming home.” 

You feel his breath hitch a little. “Well, I couldn’t leave you here all alone.” 

You squeeze him again. “No,” you agree. “I’m lost without you.” Then, because you hate being sappy, “We should get a cat.” 

An unexpected laugh wheezes out of him. “Yeah? Who's going to take care of it?” 

“Between the two of us, and, like, an automatic feeder, it’ll probably be fine.” 

“You have to go in tomorrow?” He asks and moves the pan off the burner, flicks off the stove and turns in your grasp. You keep your arms around him, tilting your chin up to meet his eyes. The exhaustion hasn’t been totally wrung from him, but he looks more alert, less like he might pass out at any second. 

“No,” you say, “Not on call either. You?”

You can see the instinct to immediately say yes, but then he shakes his head. “Why do you want a cat?” 

The same reason you’d begged him to stop keeping everything he owned in a go-bag years ago, especially after you bought the house, too large, really, for just the two of you. It makes everything feel more permanent, like he isn’t some ghost you hallucinated. One more thing, in your arsenal, the spell you are trying to cast, to always bring him back. 

You know there’s no quitting, no retiring, so you have to hang onto this. You have to plant the flowers, get a cat, and make a permanent place for him to land. 

“It doesn’t have to be a cat.” 

He tilts his head at you; you reach up to rub a thumb over the lines by the corner of his eye. “Let’s get a cat.” 

You grin and lean in to kiss him, liking the way his eyes close and he sighs, cheeks scratchy against yours. “Okay.” You release him to pull down plates and butter the toast while he allocates eggs and bacon onto each. 

Only when you’re on the couch, so close your legs overlap, shoulders blurred together into one, plates on pillowed laps, that you ask him to tell you. “What was it?” You gesture to your own neck, where the bruising on his was. He frowns, eyes hardening, like the image it conjures is abhorrent. “Start from the beginning. I want to know everything.” 

He won’t tell you everything, there are details you will always be spared, things he doesn’t want in your imagination. There’s a desire too, you know, for those things not to touch you in his mind. 

You lean your head against his shoulder, the vibration of his voice throaty and deep against your ear as you eat lazily. 

1. SPAIN, 2004

you entered your office in a hurry, heels clacking loudly against tiled floors. you sat in your chair, spinning it to set the files in your arms down with a huff before placing the headset on your head. you took in a deep breath, steadying yourself. this was your first big mission and you were desperate to make sure it went well, not just for you, but for the agent that you were supposed to be directing through it.

“roost, this is condor one.” agent kennedy’s crackled through your headset. you swung your chair to face the main monitor.

“l/n, here. what’s your sitrep?” you kept your voice steady, hands resting on the keyboard as you readied yourself.

“the president’s daughter — baby eagle. it’s likely she’s in this village.” you pulled up the map of the village, reading through the intel you had been given.

“our intel was correct, then. well done.” 

“need a location on a nearby lake. she may have been taken there.” you adjusted yourself in your chair before beginning to rapidly type.

“copy that. i’ll see what i can find.” you heard the sound of slight shuffling as if he was looking through something. 

“hurry up. something’s happened to the people here. my escorts are —” agent kennedy stopped talking as the sound of heavy footsteps came close, close enough for you to hear. “gotta go. talk later.”

the line went dead, leaving you to wait for the agent to contact you.

your training had taught you that for agents, concentration was key and any sort of distraction could cost them dearly, so you didn’t try contacting agent kennedy. you didn’t want to distract him from the mission at hand. he knew that if he needed something he could easily get a hold of you. still, you were nervous. he hung up so quickly and the noises you heard gave you cause for great concern. 

you brushed your nerves off, instead beginning to look for a route to the nearby lake. you waited until you found it, finally making contact. “roost to condor one. i’ve identified a route to the lake. look for a large windmill. there’s a path on the far side of it.”

“windmill. copy that.” agent kennedy acknowledged.

“be careful. roost out.” you disconnected, taking in a deep breath. to keep yourself occupied while you waited, you pulled the files you had hazardously set down closer to you. your job recently was to digitize old case files. it wasn’t fun but it needed to be done. anything to keep in your boss’ good graces. 

you had only been working at the FOS for about six months, your main job being more that of a receptionist than a communications expert. you had done a few small missions for other branches of government, but working with members from the DSO was your goal. so when your boss came to you with the mission file, you jumped at the opportunity to prove yourself. 

normally missions of high stakes such as this one would’ve gone to someone like ingrid hunnigan or any other high ranking member, but she was on leave and the other experts were already preoccupied with other missions. it had been a busy month for the FOS. but, now this was your chance to prove yourself.

it took a while before your headset began to beep again, agent kennedy’s voice crackling in shortly after. “condor one to roost. i’ve located baby eagle. it sounds like she’s being kept in some church.”

“great! that’s good news.” you smiled, happy that this was going smoothly so far.

“i heard it from this guy i met. said his name is luis serra. there was something fishy about him. i need you to run a background check.” you wrote down the name agent kennedy gave you.

“wilco, condor one. i’ll see what i can find. in the mean time though, make your way to that church.” 

“right. i’m probably due for a confession anyway. condor one out.” you withheld your small laugh at his confession comment. you had heard of his sense of humor. 

you turned toward the main monitor once more, fingers crossing the keyboard rapidly as you began your research into luis. as you found out information, you began to write it down on your notepad. any detail could be important so you wanted to make sure you didn’t forget anything.

you gathered your notes when you came across a detail that seemed vitally important. “roost to condor one, i’ve got the intel you requested on luis serra. it seems he used to be a researcher for umbrella.” you informed agent kennedy.

“umbrella?” agent kennedy’s voice was loud, his shock clear. “i should’ve left him to rot.” 

“i’m sending you the details. take a look. but baby eagle is your priority.” you reminded him before sending your research to his device.

“copy that. making my way to the church. condor one out.” the line went dead, leaving you to the silence of your office as you waited for the agent to need you again.

you looked around your messy office, looking for a way to fill your time without fully taking you away from the mission at hand. you began to clean up some of the trinkets and decor that littered your desk. you had made the choice when you started to make your workspace as happy and bright as possible, to help with the rough things you would likely deal with. they stood as a reminder that there is always light even in the darkest of places.

“condor one to roost. the church is sealed up.” agent kennedy came through on your headset once more, pulling you from reorganizing your desktop. 

“and baby eagle?” you moved back to your monitor, ready to help him out.

“negative. nothing yet. but they sure do have this place locked up tight.” agent kennedy explained, the sound of footsteps could be heard as he presumably walked around.

“i see, i can think of one reason they’d want to do so.” your lips curled into a smirk. he was getting closer to the target which was good.

“oh, she’s here. that’s for sure. i’ll find a way in. condor one out.” the call dropped once more. you weren’t sure what to do with yourself. you had reorganized your desk, digitalized the files you had been assigned, and all the research that was needed so far was complete. you spun slightly in your chair, standing up to get yourself some coffee. you were going to need it if the mission kept going like this.

you walked to the break room, a pit of nervousness opening in your stomach. you were worried the longer you stayed away from your office, the more likely you could ruin the mission. you began to pour the coffee into your mug, which was pink and sparkly. you poured a concerning amount of creamer into the black coffee, ignoring the odd looks from the other staff members that were in the room.

once the coffee was sweet enough to your liking, you made your way back to your office, you footsteps hurried. you shut the door closed behind you, taking a seat back in your chair as you patiently waited for agent kennedy to contact you again.

“condor one to roost, do you read me?” you jolted up, half asleep. you had been fighting sleep for so long you were worried you had missed something. you looked to the time on your computer, shocked to see how much time had passed. 

“condor one? you’ve been radio silent for three hours! are you alright?” you questioned, a slight tremble in your voice. what if he had gotten hurt? what if baby eagle was dead? what if—

“yeah, i’m fine. won’t let it happen again. though i do have to say, i think i’m growing on you.” you broke from your anxieties, missing the last part.

“and the church?” you asked, your heart still pounding in your chest.

“still looking for whatever key i need.” 

“copy that. i’m glad you’re okay. roost out.” you quickly dropped the call, trying to even out your unsteady breathing. 

thankfully the next time agent kennedy contacted you he had made contact with baby eagle and had her with him. you let out a sigh of relief, a weight lifted off your shoulders. 

you should’ve known better than to think the mission was practically over. the weather had worsened as the mission progressed leaving you worried that the chopper might not make it to the extraction point. what started as a worse case scenario quickly became the reality.

“this is roost. i have bad news, condor one. due to the weather, the chopper can’t make it to the extraction point. can you standby until it passes?” your fingers tapped nervously against your desk as you broke the news.

“negative, it’s too dangerous. we will find a safe spot until then.” 

“i’m so sorry. i wish there was more i could do.” you apologized even though it was out of your control.

“don’t worry about it. hell, we will swim back if we have to.” you laughed slightly.

“roost out.” and the waiting begins again. you found yourself quietly hoping and praying that the rest of this would go smoothly.

oh, how you were wrong. “condor one to roost. everything went to shit.” the connection began to break. “got… from… eagle.” your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to make out what agent kennedy was saying.

“repeat that, condor one. what happened?” the static was louder than kennedy, “condor one, do you read me?” the static was so loud until the call suddenly dropped. you began to try to contact agent kennedy but nothing was going through. 

you knew something was wrong, very wrong. against your better judgement, you called in a combat chopper. the weather wasn’t perfect but the conditions had gotten much better than they had been. as you waited for confirmation that the chopper had arrived, you continued to try to make contact to no avail.

“condor one, this is roost, do you read me?” your voice was filled with worry, hoarse from the excessive use. “is this thing even on?” you felt frustrated and upset. you were beginning to wonder if you were meant to do this, that you could do this job. “agent kennedy, are you and ashley alright?”

the louder the static got, the more you began to lose hope. just as you went to find your boss, a cackling noise broke through the static that had overtaken the headset. “condor one to roost, can you hear me?” your eyes widened as you sat back down.

“agent kennedy, thank god!” you didn’t bother to hide your panic. “are you two alright? what do you need?”

“we’re okay. the island has been destroyed. we are on our way to the nearest island.” you let out a sigh of relief. 

“i will dispatch a chopper, do you have your coordinates?” agent kennedy read off his coordinates as you called for a chopper.

“thank you, roost. say, when i get back, how about you and i get dinner? as a thank you.” your face heated up, your breath hitching slightly.

“a verbal thank you works just fine, i’m just doing my job.” agent kennedy chuckled at your response. 

“fair enough, condor one out.”

2. FOS HEADQUATERS, 2005

in the near year you had been working with leon kennedy as his communications expert, you hadn’t actually met him in person. 

after spain, leon had requested you to be his permanent FOS agent. your boss had protested it at first, but an agent with as good as a reputation that leon kennedy had meant his request would be approved. he had said that you had remained calm, which wasn’t entirely true but he didn’t need to know that, and you were a quick thinker. you were the right fit for him as he had explained to your boss. begrudgingly, your boss agreed, probably so he wouldn’t piss off the guy who saved the president’s daughter.

so, you began to help him on his missions. before long, you two had created a dynamic, a mix of both jokes and seriousness. being stuck behind a computer screen could get boring, but not with leon. the man had an insane amount of luck, which evened out his bad luck. more times than not, his mission would go sideways but you were to guide him through.

while you had learned a lot about leon, he had come to know a thing or two about you as well. how you wore bright colors and collected silly trinkets to remind you that the world isn’t always so dark. that you had an immensely large sweet tooth, especially when it comes to chocolate. you always tried to brighten his day, occasionally throwing out silly fun facts that somehow correlated with the mission. you would send the cheesy motivational quotes that always got a small smile out of him, even if they were horrid. 

you appreciated not only leon’s humor and willingness to survive, but his compassion. how he’d try to save everyone before he’d save himself. he knew how hard missions could be for you sometimes, especially with your research. your screen always seemed to be flooded with images of bodies and destruction. as a token of his gratitude, after every mission leon would send you a bouquet of flowers.

it had started after you mentioned how much you loved the smell of fresh flowers but you hadn’t had time to go get new ones. after his mission had been completed, he ordered you a bouquet. and as much as you told him that he didn’t need to do that for you, you couldn’t help but look forward to them. 

he knew so much about you and he trusted you with his life, yet he hadn’t even seen you in person and it was driving him crazy.

leon knew it was wrong to fall for a fellow agent, the DSO made it clear that it was highly frowned upon. the last thing they needed was a messy breakup between partners. and he hadn’t meant to fall for you. it started out as a joke, he knew you wouldn’t say yes to his dinner offer. but, his flirtatious jokes and offers became more serious over time, not that you seemed to notice.

leon walked into FOS headquarters under the guise of talking to your boss about a recent report you had sent in. it wasn’t necessarily unusual for agents to come in, especially not for someone like leon who wasn’t the biggest fan of email. however, he came in early for his meeting with the intention of finding you.

he had come in previously but each time he stopped in, you were out. still, leon was determined to officially meet the woman who had saved his ass more than once. he walked down a lowly lit hallway, his eyes finding your office. your name plate next to your door stood out against the others. you had decorated it with pastel colors, which popped in contrast against the neutral walls. 

your door was shut and for a moment leon thought you were gone again. he almost decided to turn back, to forget that he had made a meeting in hopes he might run into you. his mind, however, changed when he heard muffled sounds of footsteps coming from inside your office.

he tapped his knuckles against the wooden door, hoping it wasn’t loud enough to spook you. “come in!” your voice was familiar, comforting in a way. he had heard it a million times and his body had grown to associate it with that of safety, if that makes sense. 

leon turned the doorknob, slowly pushing the door open. you had sat down in your chair, nails gliding against the keyboard with ease. you weren’t looking at him, too focused on writing up a report. leon looked around your office, taking note of all the color that drowned out the depressing neutral colors. you had a pink lamp turned on, which helped slightly with the terrible lighting.

you had heard the door opening, finally pulling your attention from your computer as you turned to see who had entered your office. you recognized him immediately, his face having graced your monitor on many occasions. he looked even better than he did on the screen, his face less bloody and bruised. he wore a gray suit that looked awkward on him. you could tell he preferred anything but that suit. “leon?”

“hey.” he straightened up, quirking his lips up into a smile. “sorry to barge in.”

“no, no it’s all good! i just wasn’t expecting to see you.” leon took in your appearance. much like your office, you were covered in bright colors. you had on pink jeans and a white shirt, your neck and fingers covered in beautiful jewelry. you looked like everything he thought you would.

“sorry, yeah. i just had a meeting about our recent mission and i thought i’d stop by and say hi. i wanted to finally meet my guardian angel.” you laughed, your face heating up his words. he looked to the flowers that sat on your desk, a pink vase holding the most recent bouquet. “i see you got my flowers.”

you looked over, a smile gracing your lips. “yeah, they are beautiful like always. not that you need to send me any.” you shot leon a look, “but thank you.”

“of course, sweetheart.” he went to leave before he stopped, turning to face you once more. “i’m going to go get some lunch, care to join me?” you went to nod almost instantly before you remembered what you were doing before leon interrupted. 

your smile dropped slightly. you had so much work to finish before the end of day. “i’m sorry, leon, i wish i could but i’m drowning in work.” leon’s grin faltered ever so slightly, which you barely missed. 

“don’t sweat it, maybe another time.”

“yeah, raincheck.” you waved goodbye as leon left, shutting the door behind him. you wished more than anything you could get lunch with him, to get to know the man you were directing through missions but your boss was on your ass about finishing those damn reports. with a sigh, you continued with your work.

3. PRESIDENTIAL GALA, 2005

you entered the large, beautifully decorated ballroom, a pit forming in your stomach. this was out of your comfort zone, you were used to being behind a computer screen not attending fancy parties. 

after the spain mission, president graham had invited you and leon to the next annual presidential gala where he was set to honor leon for his heroic actions. you had tried to decline, not that you weren’t honored, but you felt like you didn’t deserve it. you had been handed the mission because everyone else was swamped with work. plus, leon did almost all the work, you just provided some information and a chopper. you were no hero.

still, the president insisted and finally, you caved. you told yourself it was to support leon but really, you just wanted an excuse to see him in person again. 

now, you felt like you stuck out like a sore thumb compared to everyone who was dressed to the nines in expensive outfits. you had bought a dress for the occasion, a purchase that was more expensive than you wanted to admit, but you felt pretty in the dress. however seeing all the beautiful women wearing designer dresses made you self-conscious.

you made your way further into the loud ballroom, looking around with uncertainty. you walked toward the bar, desperate to ease your nerves. you looked at some of the cocktail options, unsure about what most of the drinks were. they were far too fancy for you. 

“i see you found the bar.” you jumped, turning to face the person who had snuck up behind you.

“leon! don’t do that!” you placed a hand over your heart, feeling its rapid beating. “you scared the shit out of me.” you whisper-shouted at him. 

leon smirked, withholding a laugh. “sorry, sweetheart.” you had grown used to his use of sweetheart but hearing it from him in person still had your cheeks warm. “old fashioned, please, and whatever she wants.” 

the bartender looked to you expectantly. you quickly looked at the menu again, landing on a drink that was familiar, “a long island iced tea, please.” you went to pull out some cash but leon beat you to, swiftly setting his card down. the bartender swiped it before handing it back, leaving you two to make your drinks. “i could’ve paid for my drink.”

“don’t worry about it.” as smooth as leon spoke, his body said something different. he looked good in his black suit but you could tell from his posture alone that he too felt out of place. 

a silence blanketed both of you, not really awkward but not the most comfortable either. the bartender set down your drinks before moving on to the other patrons. leon handed you the long island iced tea, his grip tight on his old fashioned. he seemed almost, nervous.

“are you okay?” you asked, following leon to a quieter area, away from the large crowds of people. he looked back, his mind seemingly somewhere else.

“hm?” you looked at him with concern which broke his mind from whatever he was thinking, “oh yeah. this isn’t really my scene.” you hummed in agreement, sipping the alcoholic drink absentmindedly. “wanna ditch this and go get something to eat?” you looked at him with shock.

“leon! we can’t just leave!” you looked around to make sure no one heard you. “it would be incredibly rude.” you tsked, although you would’ve said yes had this not been a super important event.

leon opened his mouth, probably to argue, when a official looking lady stepped in. “mr. kennedy?” he nodded begrudgingly, annoyed at the interruption. “we are about to start, follow me.” he couldn’t even get a word in before the lady was leading him away from you.

you found a seat at a table in the back, sitting there long enough to see leon recognized for his heroism before you slipped out. by the time leon had gotten back to where he had left you, you were long gone.

4. FOS HEADQUARTERS, 2005

you shift was finally over. you thanked the gods above as you hurried to grab the last of your things. you needed to move quick before your boss found another reason to keep you there.

you locked the door to your office, the sound of your heels clicking against the floor echoed around you. the office was quiet, which was rare. raindrops tapped against glass as you hurried toward the front door. 

you pushed the door open, hurrying to the parking lot. you hadn’t checked the weather, leaving you unprepared but you weren’t about to let that ruin your mood. you were excited to get home, cuddle on the couch with your cat as you watched a movie.

opening your car door, you throw your stuff into the backseat before clambering into the front seat. you placed the key in the ignition, turning it. the car stuttered, and stuttered, and stuttered before dying fully. you tried to turn the key again but it was no use. there goes your relaxing night at home.

the rain came down harder, pelting against your car as you rested your head against the top of the steering wheel. it had been a long day and you had managed to maintain a good mood until now. a car pulled into the spot beside yours, someone getting out as they opened an umbrella. you didnt seem to notice the person approaching your car, too distracted as you decided your next options.

you jumped when knuckles tapped against your window, surprised to see leon standing there with an umbrella in hand. “leon?” you asked, opening the door slightly as thunder rumbled above.

“car troubles?” he asked. you nodded, accepting the hand he offered, “come on, i’ll give you a ride.”

“you don’t have to do that. i can call-” you began to decline, but leon simply opened the passenger door.

“nope. i’m here, i’ll just take you home.” you knew it was no use arguing with someone as stubborn as leon kennedy. you slide into the car, noting the new car smell. it was nice and sleek, much nicer than your piece of shit car. leon shut the door, walking to the drivers side. he closed the umbrella, shaking off the water, which was useless with how hard it was raining. he placed the umbrella in the back seat before sitting behind the wheel. “you got everything you need?” 

you remembered your stuff you had hazardously thrown into your backseat. none of it was super important, not worth stealing at least. you nodded, “yeah, i think so. you can just take me to my apartment.” leon shifted the car into reverse. he looked back, making sure he was clear before backing out quickly. you gave him your address, as leon pulled out into the main road.

“how’d you know i was having car problems?” you asked, a thought dawning on you. “oh my god, you fucked with my car!”

“what? no.” leon looked at you incredulously, shocked by your accusation. “no, i was leaving a meeting and saw you trying to start your car. jesus, what’s wrong with you?” he laughed, clearly not hurt by your baseless accusation. you shrugged, looking out the window at the passing cars. the car fell silent, the only sound being the rain plummeting against the car and your stomach growling. “hungry?”

“oh, yeah. i skipped lunch so i could get out at the end of my shift. i’ll eat when i get home.” you explained, keeping your eyes trained on the window. you were nervous. leon made you nervous.

“want to stop and get a bite?” leon asked after a pause, his eyes still trained on the road. you almost said no. it had been a long day and after your car breaking down and being given a ride home from leon kennedy, you wanted nothing more than to go home and crash. 

“sure. why not?” you smiled at him, leon’s mouth twitching up into a grin.

“you can pay me back for giving you a ride.” leon said, still grinning.

“more like you can pay me back for all the times i saved your ass.” you joked, your smile widening.

“well, that would require more than one dinner.” he smirked, eyes flickering between you and the road.

“ah, shucks.” you giggled, “guess i’ll need your number then.” leon shook his head, his grin never leaving his face.

He met you through Claire. He liked to talk to her from time to time and see how she was doing. Although, their conversations weren’t very consistent. It never took long for her to bring up the same name each time. Yours. You worked at TerraSave with her. She always spoke so highly of you.

Maybe he felt a little envious that she found friendships easier than he did. Yet, it did leave him curious as to who you were. He eventually met you one day. There you were, attached to Claire’s hip. It was nice to put a face to a name.

He couldn’t deny the sudden attraction. He reached out to you in secret after everything was said and done.

Claire would forgive him for stealing her friend away, wouldn’t she? Now, instead of him hearing about you, Claire was hearing about him through you. You knew she probably found you very insufferable when that engagement ring appeared on your finger.

He slowly circled the parking lot of TerraSave, scanning the remaining vehicles. There weren’t many. Just the usual workers who stayed after hours to finish their assignments. You and him had that bad habit of overworking. He eventually spotted your car. He should know it. He bought it for you after all.

Leon held back his smirk when he saw the empty parking spots surrounding your car.

Perfect. Everything was going according to plan.

He parked beside you and turned off the engine. He took in a deep breath and exhaled. He pocketed his keys, unbuckled his seatbelt, and grabbed the bouquet. He checked over it. Still in good condition. He opened the car door, his boots stepping on gravel.

He knew very well what he was doing. He intentionally wore his usual attire that you always had your gaze wandering over to him. His leather jacket, his dark jeans, a tight fitting shirt underneath. Though, he did feel a little ridiculous because it reminded him of being in school and trying to get your crush’s attention.

Leon closed his car door and held the bouquet in both hands. His eyes went from your car to his. What would be better? For you to find him on yours or his? He decided on yours, and when he was practicing which pose he should go with, he got caught by some young male employee walking by. The two of them stared at each other and had an unspoken agreement to pretend that didn’t happen.

He laid the bouquet on the hood of your car and leaned against it. He closed his eyes briefly, taking another moment to inhale and exhale. He would fully admit that he was nervous.

He began to think back to the moments that led him here. Working under the DSO and the horrors that he’d seen had affected him deeply. He knew it, and instead of relying on you or others for help, he turned to his vices. Leon allowed his drinking habits to get out of order. The arguments ensued. You told him to stop, he did for a few months, and he’d come home drunk after a grueling mission.

He never knew when your breaking moment occurred. He only remembered that when you said the word, divorce, he snapped out of his drunken haze. Only then did he start begging for you to reconsider. He’d even fallen to his knees, arms wrapped around your legs, telling you how he’d get the help he needed. Anything to get you to stay. But you were firm.

It hurt so badly to see you sign your name followed by “Kennedy” on those divorce papers.

More than all those times he got launched into oblivion by some bio weapon.

You separated. He moved out to some apartment. Now he drank because his life was shitty and you were gone.

You two were very cordial with each other. There weren’t any hard feelings and Leon never blamed you for the decision you took. He pushed you to it. So, in this new arrangement, he felt like he owed you something. He paid his and your bills, he sent you money, he took care of any problems you might have, and he bought you any necessities. And at least, in this way, he was still taking care of you like he promised you in his vows.

He got better after he helped Chris take down Arias. He focused on himself. And really, he wanted to fix things with you in the following months of his mission in Alcatraz.

But when his thumb hovered over your contact in his phone, he stopped. Something held him back. The doubt crawled. What if he found himself falling into that dark space again? The thoughts continued to fester. He wasn’t good enough, and you deserved better.

2016. 2017. 2018. 2019. 2020.

The years started to fly by. Every single damn time he went to call you, he held himself back. When he finally decided, no more, he found out he was infected. Despair filled his heart. Why now? He couldn’t go back to you like this. So he put it on hold.

He would fix things with you once he found a cure for this. Helping himself and the others infected with the same thing was part of his motivation. The other part? The absolute refusal of dying before repairing your relationship.

The mission was brutal. But like all the others, he pushed through. There were times his infection got the better of him and he did lose a little bit of hope. He was on edge wondering if his time was finally up.

Whenever he fell unconscious, he saw you. Your bright and glossy eyes when he got on one knee. You, in your beautiful white dress, approaching where he waited at the altar. Leon remembered shedding tears at how gorgeous you looked on your shared special day.

No, he couldn’t die here. Not yet. Not when he still wanted you.

He pushed through, and succeeded. You were his motivation.

And once he settled back to normal, he made his plan. Now, in the parking lot of TerraSave, he’d wait here as long as he needed to for you to come out. He opened his eyes again, filled with determination as the sky changed colors.

The parking lot began to empty as more employees clocked out.

Until—

Click. Click. Click. The sound your heels made on the pavement made his head snap in your direction. You were searching for your keys in your purse. You let out an annoyed huff. Why didn’t you get them before you left your office? Same problem at the end of every day. The lanyard around your neck was also fueling your annoyance. You jerked it back into place, finally finding your car keys.

You snatched them out of your purse and hooked the straps in the crook of your elbow. You lifted your head and came to a sudden stop.

Your brows knitted together. Were you… Were you seeing things?

Leon Kennedy was leaning comfortably against your car, his arms crossed over his chest. You spotted the bouquet behind him. The corners of his lips quirked upwards at the way you reacted to seeing him. He pushed himself off the hood of your car, reaching for the bouquet.

“Long day?” His voice cut the silence.

Yes, it was. You wanted to go home and throw yourself on your couch. What was your ex husband doing here? He looked better.

You took cautious steps closer. The bouquet he bought for you was beautiful, and he got your favorite flowers too.

“What are you doing?” You asked, the suspicion in your tone very much clear. His smile grew a little wider and he chuckled.

“I can’t come see my ex wife and give her some flowers after a stressful day?” He asked. You were standing closer to him now. He briefly checked out your ID attached to your lanyard. Oh, the giddiness he felt seeing “Kennedy” in bold print on the simple piece of plastic. He knew you never changed your last name after the divorce. “Are we on bad terms and I wasn’t informed?”

Leon watched your eyes slowly narrow. Damn. You were getting suspicious of him. How dare you still be quick to catch on to his schemes.

He held out the bouquet, “These are for you.”

“Yeah, you said that.” You waited a couple seconds before finally taking the bouquet from his grasp. Your fingers grazed his rough palm briefly. Although you thought nothing of it, Leon felt his heart pound harder against his chest.

Just like the first time he met you, he was instantly drawn into you. He noticed your features. He could still see the younger you in there. It reminded him how you were both much older now and all the time spent apart. He should have been there the last decade. To see you and him slowly age together.

He found you so much more attractive. A part of him wanted to sit and stare at you for hours on end.

You snapped your fingers in front of his face which brought him out of his trace. His eyebrows quirked upwards for a moment.

“Did you hear what I said?” Leon blinked. He gave you a sheepish look and shook his head. You huffed and frowned. You were cradling the bouquet in your arms now, “I asked why are you here.” You weren’t mad or hostile, just curious to see him appear where you worked. He hasn’t done this since the divorce.

He didn’t respond right away. He tilted his head back slightly. He was contemplating on what to say. Or how to explain the way he’d felt since the first time he wanted to reach out to you.

Meanwhile, you kept staring at him with that look of curiosity. But on the inside? You were just as affected by his presence as he was by yours.

“I’m sorry.”

Your shoulders became tense at his apology. It was sincere, you knew it. Not like the one he gave you from his knees when you told him you wanted a divorce. Those were desperate attempts to keep you. Even he was aware he didn’t mean them.

“I’m sorry,” Leon repeated, his eyes meeting yours. “For everything. For being the reason why our marriage failed. For not being the husband I told you I was going to be… You didn’t deserve any of that. I don’t blame you for leaving me because you tried to help me, and I didn’t want any help.”

An unknown feeling in your body slowly began to disappear. Your throat tighten. This closure you were getting with Leon was something you didn’t realize you needed. For a brief moment, you were sent back to those early days when you were dating. He was still the same rookie cop from Raccoon City, slowly being shaped into an elite agent for the government.

“And I don’t blame you for no longer loving me.” He muttered, his expression becoming rather grim. It had been a while since he was this open with you. “I just need you to know that I’m still in love with you, and that I’m truly sorry.”

“Leon… I didn’t… I didn’t leave you because I stopped loving you. I never did.” You admitted. Your admission of how you truly felt made a flicker of surprise appear in his eyes. “I left you because if that’s how you were going to spend the rest of our lives together? … I wasn’t going to be able to live like that and watch you keep turning yourself into someone you weren’t.”

Did he really think because he became an alcoholic for a moment in his life that you’d stopped loving him? He couldn’t be more wrong. Yes, you hated that vice. It had destroyed him and taken control of him. But during the time he drowned his sorrows in heavy liquor, you never stopped seeing him as your Leon. He was just your misguided Leon.

He spent all these years believing you’d stopped loving him because of his addiction. This moment caused something to shift inside him. You’d given him all the confirmation and confidence he needed.

Leon slipped a hand into the front pocket of his jeans. His gaze went to the bouquet and then to you again.

“Do you want to go out sometime?” He asked. Leon watched you press your lips together, clearly not trying to smile. He chuckled softly, “You know you want to.”

You rolled your eyes at his cocky attitude, “I’ll send you my schedule.” In all honesty, if you didn’t send it to him, he’d be okay with that. It would give him all the more reason to start pestering you since you wanted to play hard to get this time around. He did, however, feel a sharp pain in his chest when you mentioned a schedule.

It was a reminder how he no longer knew exactly what time you’d come home, whether you’d be flying out of state on a random Tuesday morning, or leaving the country.

Leon plucked your car keys from between your fingers. You gave another confused look as he pressed the unlock button on the remote. He walked over to the driver’s side and opened it. He held it open, nodding his head and motioning you to get inside.

Great, he’s starting already.

You made your way and stood in the middle. You shifted your purse, setting it on the passenger seat. You slipped into the driver’s seat, moving the bouquet from your lap and beside your purse.

He dipped his head down, planting an unexpected kiss on your cheek. You would have thought it was sweet… If he didn’t go and mess it all up by sinking his teeth softly into your flesh and giving it a pull. You hissed. He always did that in the early mornings when he was rushing off to the DSO because he chose to stay in bed with you a little longer.

“Stop it!” You covered your cheek with one hand and swatted him repeatedly with the other. He snickered, shielding himself behind his arms from your soft blows. You wiped away the saliva that wet your palm on the plastic wrap surrounding the flowers.

“What?” He laughed one more time. He rested his forearm against the top part of the car. “How do you expect me to act after my ex wife admits she still has a crush on me?”

“Leon, please do not call it a crush.” You rubbed your forehead with your fingertips. Here came the headache, “We’re 49 years old.”

“I’ve missed you.” He said. A smirk appeared on his face when you glared up at him through your lashes. He patted the roof of your car and dangled your keys in front of you. He quickly moved them out of the way when you tried to grab them, “C’mon. Are you going to make me work for it? ‘Cause you know I will.”

“I guess… I’ve missed you too.” You finally relented.

“Oh, you guess?” Leon mocked. You grabbed the keys in one swift movement from him.

“Get out of here before I call the security guard on you for trespassing.” You scoffed, putting your seatbelt on. He let out a loud gasp.

“I’m scared.” Leon sarcastically exclaimed. He clutched the front of his shirt, going on with his act of being terrified, “You’re threatening my clean record and my background as a cop.” You clenched your jaw tightly, turning your head the other way. He knew you were trying to control your smile and keep yourself from laughing at his jokes. But you broke. He heard the soft chuckle and you shook your head.

“You’re still annoying.” You looked over at him again. A silence settled. Just you and him staring at each other.

He decided to let you go. Leon closed your door, and walked around the front of the car. He heard the engine turn on. He nearly stopped to open the passenger side door and pretend like he was getting in. Let’s not push your buttons too much.

The two of you drove home on separate roads, miles apart like you had been the last 13 years. The only difference today? The two of you wore the same, identical smile and thought about each other.

Leon is in the familiar room you two once used to share. He’s in the same king sized bed with you wrapped up in his embrace. The feel of your bare skin pressed against his after all these years is so surreal. You’re fast asleep with your head tucked under his chin. You’re exhaling softly, your breath hitting his neck.

His fingertips are running up and down your spine in a slow manner. He’s awake, enjoying this feeling of being content. When was he the happiest, he wonders. Was it the day you exchanged vows on the altar or was it now when he finally had you again?

It had to be this very moment.

He kissed the top of your head, letting his lips linger. A mischievous smile appeared. He quickly rolled you two over, the sheets rustling as he moved your bodies. His weight on top of you pinned you to the mattress. You felt the disturbance in your peaceful slumber.

“Ugh… Leon,” You groaned in a drowsy manner. He grinned, noticing the twitch in your brows. He leaned up until his lips were by your ear.

“It’s your turn to hold me.” He mumbled. Leon began kissing your jawline, slowly moving down and down, until he came to the crook of your neck. Your arms wrapped weakly around his shoulders. He felt your nails lightly scratching his nape. He hummed and closed his eyes. His face buried into your neck, taking in your scent.

He treats you so delicately as if you’re made of something so tender and fragile, but he doesn't treat you as if you're completely incapacitated.

He's made aware by your doctor that pregnancy can be very stressful for a woman, but with the right care and support, it can be a wonderful journey that all expecting parents can come to enjoy and appreciate. So far, you haven’t been struggling at all, except for the occasional morning sickness or two.

Your pregnancy journey’s been smooth, and the doctor often mentions that you’re practically glowing with life.

With every doctor’s appointment you’ve had, Leon does his best to be present given the nature of his work, always away in the field, working at headquarters—it does hinder him from being present all the time at every appointment.

But by the third appointment he’s missed during your second month, you’re extremely surprised by the big decision Leon’s made to accommodate this new adjustment in your lives.

Leon decided to retire early from the DSO.

He returned from work one evening, carrying a box filled with papers and items from his office, and when he set it down, he told you those words you didn’t think would materialize from your husband’s mouth.

“I’m retiring, love.”

You almost forgot how to breathe.

There were so many things to consider with Leon’s decision, and you almost feel very disappointed he hadn’t consulted you or told you about this. But even then, he already opened the idea to you, even before you were pregnant. He had told you he wanted to focus on the life you were building with him, without the constant worry of being away for work, or taking a lot of time in the office instead of being at home with you.

Leon had also been planning this for a while. He explained to you that because of his years of service rendered to the government, along with the numerous hazard pay and bonuses he’s accumulated over the years, you’re basically set for life, and that doesn’t even include his monthly federal pension and health insurance, which includes you and your future kids as dependents.

Should Leon want to return to the DSO, there will always be an opening for him, not as an agent, but maybe something less dangerous like a consultant, an advisor, or a training officer—teaching anti-bioterror units, survival tactics, or just even on field operations.

But for the most part, he had traded the chaos of field missions for a quieter life at home with you and your unborn baby.

It was a well-calculated plan. Because Leon considered you and your baby for most of his decision, you knew that this was perhaps the right call for the situation which would allow Leon to be present for you during your pregnancy, and even after that. Even more when you’ve already given birth to your child. Especially then.

You didn’t want to doubt him, but you half-believed, half-expected that Leon would want to return as an agent, will crave the missions again, but by the time your seventh month rolled around, you were completely, utterly wrong.

You were grateful for his patience and love for the past six months, because he’s been more present in everything, whether it be appointments or simple late-night cravings. But he’s become more dedicated towards you and your baby when he found the joy of creating do-it-yourself projects at home.

“What are you doing?” You ask as you open the door to the nursery, finding Leon sitting cross-legged on the wooden floor, a screwdriver in one hand and a shaft of wood on the other. “You’re already working on the crib?”

You’ve only bought it a while ago.

“Hm?” Leon looked up, his hands stilling. “You said it’ll take a while to build, honey. The model we picked out… it’s secure, yes, but I want to make sure it’s all properly assembled. I’ll start on the rocking chair afterwards, and maybe you could try it out, what do you say?”

“Sounds great,” you answer him, your hand falling over your belly, feeling a soft kick from your little one. “Can I do anything to help?”

Leon instantly shakes his head. He drops the tools first on the floor, before standing up and making his way towards you. Once he reaches you, he places a gentle palm on top of your belly above your sweater.

“I just want you to rest,” Leon says in earnest. “We walked around a lot at the store today, plus you’ve worn out your feet checking one shelf after another for baby clothes.” He chuckles softly.

You playfully roll your eyes. “You’re the one who indulges me, Leon. We basically brought home at least fifteen bags from earlier.”

“Hey, I just want to be prepared for our little girl.” he rubs delicate circles over the top of your belly. “Plus, remember that pinterest board you showed me with a ton of do-it-yourself-ers? That’s basically my entire to-do list right now.”

You can’t help but laugh softly. “Well you don’t have to make all of them, you know. I just have a few I want to have for our baby.” You explain.

“Well tell me all of them, and you’ll have them as soon as possible.” Leon promises, planning a soft kiss at the top of your head. “But for now, get some rest, okay? I’ll call you when the rocking chair’s done so you can try it.”

“Okay.”

You watch as he returns to his earlier spot, this time with more focus than you’ve ever seen, and he’s just attaching pieces of wood together. It endeared your heart to see him this dedicated. You love him more for it.

—

One evening, you wake up with the urge to pee. You open your eyes, adjusting to the dim light in your bedroom. When you turn to the side, you’re quite surprised to see that Leon’s awake at this hour, holding his tablet while he scrolls with his finger. He’s wearing his glasses, and when you stir, he looks at you immediately.

“Hey… do you need anything?” He sets the tablet down, turning towards you. “Water? A snack? A back rub?”

You shake your head, pushing yourself up to sit down. “No, I’m okay… I just need to pee. Why are you still up?”

“I’m on these parenting forums. Just reading a couple stuff, nothing too fancy. I’ve been looking at DIY projects too… I saw this portable diaper caddy and also a playpen, but I’m thinking I should start installing baby monitors first.”

You blinked, too sleepy to comprehend much of what he’s telling you right now. But you know he’s excitedly (although subtly) rambling on about the baby projects he’s been planning on making, and you know he’s got a list somewhere that includes all the things he wants to prepare before the baby arrives.

He continues, his voice focused but also intrigued. “I also read somewhere about how to install baby monitors the right way so their signal doesn’t get jammed. I’ll work on it later.”

You lean down to kiss his cheek. “Mmm… you’re such a handyman.” You murmur. “But don’t lose sleep over it, ‘kay? I’ll be down to help you later in the morning if—”

“No, baby… you just need to rest, yeah? Let me handle the woodwork and the heavy lifting. I want to do this, so please, let me?” He looks at your eyes, almost insisting, if not subtly pleading for you to let him be with his creative ambitions.

You chuckle sleepily, before nodding. “Hmm… okay, if you’re sure. But if I want something done, you better make sure you’re doing it,” you tease him.

Leon nods, smiling at you before pecking your lips. “What my wife wants, she will get. And that goes for our baby too.”

With that thought in mind, he returns to scrolling through online parenting and baby forums and even pinterest, even as he struggles to navigate it. You, on the other hand, waddle to the bathroom so you could use the toilet.

When you return and climb onto the bed, you merely kiss his cheek before you lie down again, this time, snuggling close to him, even as he stays awake, his mind alert and working more than ever.

He’s already bookmarked a couple websites, and later, he’s set to work on the baby monitors and he’s going to double check the hinges on the crib.

He’s not an overexcited dad-to-be, isn’t he?

He doesn’t think so.

—

After he installs the baby monitor, he tests it multiple times, going in every room inside the house because he wants to make sure that the signal works everywhere, even in the basement or outside in the backyard.

He’s also mounted blackout curtains in the nursery for the baby, since he read somewhere that babies sleep better in darker rooms. He used thicker curtain rods to make sure they’re locked into place.

The crib has been successfully assembled, and even the rocking chair you bought a few days ago sits still by the window of the nursery. Slowly but surely, the room is starting to come alive with the preparations you’ve been making, especially Leon, who insists on assembling everything so you don’t have to lift a finger.

The next time you find your husband working on a project, you see him in the backyard, smoothing and polishing off pieces of wood. You bring him a glass of iced tea, setting it on a nearby table before walking towards him.

Leon is shirtless, only wearing his jeans and boots, and you can see the veins in his arms and the muscles of his chest and abdomen in broad daylight. The sight makes your tummy flutter. He’s always been this attractive to you, but right now, it’s just messing with your hormones just a bit.

“Hey there handsome,” you greet, bringing him the glass of iced tea. “You’re working pretty hard… what are you making?”

Leon smiles as soon as he sees you approaching, and he sets down his tools before wiping his hands with a rag. “Hey yourself, beautiful. I’m just working on the dresser you showed me the other day. Figured you’d need some place to put baby clothes in. I’m just makin’ sure it won’t splinter or anything.”

“You know you don’t actually have to build everything I show you,” you say to him with a smile.

Leon polished another piece before tossing it slightly onto the table.

“Too late.”

You chuckle at him. “Well here’s something for you since you’ve been out all day here,” you hand him the glass, your eyes ogling his shoulders, his arms, his happy trail… but you catch yourself. “I made you iced tea.”

“Mhmm… thank you, angel. You’re so sweet to me.” Leon takes the beverage from you, sipping from it before he groans. “Now that’s nice.”

“You deserve it, after the hard work you’ve been putting into the nursery, the dresser, even the crib and the rocking chair and so much more,” you answer him, standing on your tip toes to plant a soft kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, honey.”

“Don’t mention it, baby. For you and our little girl, I would build anything.”

“Just don’t overdo it okay?” You remind him gently. “I don’t want you straining yourself.”

You know he isn’t straining himself. You know this is what he needs after he retired from the DSO. You know Leon’s changed his purpose in life, from saving those around him from evil, to making sure your baby has the best life possible, and that you’re comfortable and safe at every stage of your pregnancy, and even after that.

“The only strain I’ll be doing around here is when my neck hurts from looking at you all day.”

—

By your eighth month into your pregnancy journey, Leon has successfully babyproofed your entire house.

He has installed outlet covers, cabinet locks, furniture anchors, and even corner guards on tables, which are all essential in making sure your home is safe and sound for a baby coming soon.

You watch him pour hours into every project, and he’s been rather thorough in reading safety guidelines for the furniture you bought, and even the other electronic devices that you will be using for the baby’s arrival. The nursery was ready—and Leon checked it everyday to see if he had missed something, which he hadn’t. He had basically memorized the layout of the nursery, of where you placed the items and all that whatnot.

He was attaching a few shelves to the walls which he made himself without breaking a sweat. You showed him a tiktok video of it the other day, something with a cream color with hooks to where you can hang the baby’s outfit for the day, and other items.

Pushing the door gently, you lean against the doorframe, you and that belly of yours that protrudes every shirt you have. A sliver of skin peeks from underneath the fabric of one of Leon’s old, smaller shirts that you love wearing because it smells like him, and it’s so much comfier.

You fold your arms across your chest, waiting for Leon to finish adjusting the shelves and decorating them with a small, pink stuffed animal and some baby books you bought last week, something about baby ducks and baby bears and the stars that twinkle high in the sky.

“Looks good in here,” you muse at him, your lips curling into a delicate smile. “Are you almost done there, honey?”

Your eyes scan the room, taking in the shelves, the dresser he’s made, the changing table he assembled along with a bunch of other small furniture. There’s the rocking chair and the crib, and the rug that he insisted he wash thoroughly to make sure it didn’t bring any outside bacteria in the nursery.

The milk bottles are ready, along with diapers and baby wipes that you have stashed underneath the changing table, inside its compartment. Baby clothes are folded neatly inside the dresser, and even your breast pump has been tinkered around with by Leon, making sure it won’t make you feel uncomfortable.

The only thing missing is your baby, who will arrive soon in just a couple of weeks.

Your eyes fall onto Leon once more. His brows are furrowed in concentration, hands adjusting the shelves until they are at least zero degrees flat. Then, he turns towards you, his expression softening as he sees you, especially in his shirt.

“Hey angel,” he cooed, dusting his hands off his jeans before walking towards you. Leon embraces you then, burying his face into your neck, inhaling deeply. “How are my favorite girls doin’, hm?”

“We’re okay, we just miss daddy,” you answer softly, taking one of his hands and leading them to your tummy. Your baby is clearly kicking. “We’ve been waiting for you since a while ago.”

Leon pulls away, lightly apologetic. “Sorry baby, I got distracted, just wanted to put up these shelves and then I’m all yours.” He murmurs against your neck, the stubble of his jaw tickling your skin. “But I’m done now.”

You melt into his embrace before pulling away after a couple of seconds. Leon straightens up, before he looks around, and you can see something unreadable in his expression. Something akin to longing, but filled with so much more love.

He’s thinking about your daughter.

The baby growing inside your tummy.

“I’ve double-checked everything. The baby monitor, the mobile hanging over the crib, the bassinet, even the car seat’s already installed… I think we’re all set, angel. I don’t think we’ve missed something,” he says, his voice oddly wistful.

You recognize it immediately. You reach up and squeeze his arm reassuringly. “We’ll have so much more to work with once the baby’s here. You don’t have to worry about running out of things to do.” You laugh quietly.

Leon gives you a wry smile. “I know that… but these projects, it’s okay for me to make a mistake because I can just start over or see where it went wrong. But not with our baby. Not with our little girl. I can’t afford to make a mistake. What if I gave her the wrong formula? Or what if I ended up hurting her—”

“Hey, none of that,” you cut him off gently, reaching out to cup his cheek, turning his gaze towards yours. “We’re first-time parents, Leon. We’re bound to make mistakes, but at least we’re in this together, right?”

When he nods at you, you continue, thumb circling his cheek. “I know you’re anxious, love. I’ve seen you read a lot of those online parenting forums, but you don’t have to worry much because each parents’ experiences are unique. We’ll be alright, hon. I know we will be. Because you’re here for me and I’m here for you. We’re in this together. All three of us.”

Leon exhales a sigh before he pulls you into an embrace once more. He pecks your temple, his breath ghosting over your ear after. “I don’t say this much, but I’m scared shitless of screwing this up… I don’t always make the best decisions, but I married you, and now we’re having a baby together, and I’d like to think that you’re singlehandedly the best decision of my entire life.”

You almost tear up at his words.

“I love you so much, Y/N. I will do my best to become the best father to our little girl, and the best husband to you. You have my word for it.”

You bury your face into his chest and hold onto him like he’s your safe anchor. “I love you too, Leon… always.”

The past couple of weeks have been a whirlwind of emotions for Leon as he prepared for your baby’s arrival. He’s gone through a series of feelings, from feeling focused, to determined, then to anxious and worried. He knows he’s gone through a lot worse, but nothing ever prepared him for when your daughter will finally be in the outside world with you.

Leon has made many mistakes in the past. Mistakes that cost him more than he can explain. Mistakes that still keep him up at night.

But with all the wrongs he made in his life, you are the one right thing that counters all of it.

You, and the miracle he calls your soon-to-be daughter.

this is for the anonymous person who requested for retired-from-the-dso leon to be a complete handyman husband at home with his wife 😁 i hope you like it!

also, thank you for all the positive notes on all my other fics so far, i can't wait to share more of my fics with you guys! expect more to come in the following weeks ♡

if you have any requests or would like to stop by and chat, feel free to send them! i love reading your requests and messages 🫶

thank you so much again for reading, have a wonderful day, wherever you are! 🤍

— aali 𑣲