#soft bf

The music cuts off, but Chan barely registers it at first. His body is still moving as muscle memory carries him through the last counts of the choreography.

The practice room is warm and heavy with the kind of heat that clings to your skin after hours of repetition. Chan’s shirt sticks slightly to his back as he exhales, running a hand through his damp hair. It’s late, later than he thought, and for a moment he just stands there, catching his breath, trying to push past the exhaustion settling into his limbs.

Hoshi is saying something, probably about running it again, and normally Chan would already be nodding and resetting into position without thinking.

But tonight, something feels off.

He reaches for his water bottle, taking a long sip, when the door opens and Jun steps in, holding something out.

“Chan, your phone kept ringing in your bag.”

There’s nothing unusual about that. Not really. But something in the way Jun says it makes Chan’s chest tighten slightly before he even takes the phone.

Then he sees it.

Missed calls.

From you.

More than one.

And a message.

“I’m sick… left work early.”

His grip tightens around the phone as something sharp and immediate settles in his chest, cutting straight through the fatigue.

You’re sick and you called him.

More than once.

“Hyung, I—” he starts, already grabbing his hoodie without finishing the sentence. “I have to go.”

He doesn’t wait for a response. Doesn’t think about practice, or timing, or anything else. He’s out the door before it can matter, the only thing left in his mind the image of you alone, not feeling well, and the way you always try to downplay it when it’s bad.

The walk feels too long. The elevator too slow, he checks his phone again like something might have changed in the last minute.

It hasn’t.

By the time he reaches your place, he’s already pushing the door open, breath slightly uneven.

And then he sees you.

Curled up in bed, smaller than usual somehow, surrounded by the quiet mess of a day spent feeling awful. Tissues, a mug, the blanket pulled tight around you.

He stops in the doorway, hands settling on his hips more out of habit than anything else, tilting his head as he looks at you, letting a faint frown settle on his face like he’s annoyed.

He’s not.

Not really, but you should’ve told him sooner.

You smile anyway.

And he melts instantly.

The frown disappears before he can hold onto it, his expression softening as he walks over, sitting on the edge of the bed like there’s nowhere else he could be. His hand finds yours naturally, fingers curling around it as his thumb brushes lightly over your skin.

“Baby, how are you feeling?” he asks quietly, his voice gentler now, all the edge gone. “I knew it was a bad idea to go to work this morning.”

You let out a weak laugh, your voice rough around the edges. “You only said that because you wanted to stay in bed cuddling.”

A small chuckle escapes him. “Maybe,” he admits, not even trying to argue, because it’s not entirely untrue.

He reaches down beside him then, grabbing the white plastic bag he brought and placing it carefully in your lap. He didn’t think much while picking things up, just whatever might help, whatever you might need.

“Here.”

“Thank you, baby… you’re the best.”

He leans in to kiss you without thinking, drawn in by habit, by the simple need to take care of you—but you stop him, your fingers catching lightly on his collar before he can press the kiss onto your lips.

“I don’t want you to get sick too.”

He pauses, just for a second because he understands.

But it doesn’t change anything.

His gaze lingers on your face.

“I’m not going to get sick, you silly,” he says softly, like it’s already decided. Like there’s no point arguing it.

And before you can say anything-

“Just let me hold you.”

He shifts onto the bed beside you, pulling the blanket over himself as his arm wraps around your shoulders and the other settling at your waist.

You give in almost immediately. You always do.

Your head rests against his chest, your body relaxing into his like it belongs there, and he adjusts slightly to make you more comfortable.

“…you’re warm,” you mumble.

He lets out a quiet breath of a laugh, the sound low and steady against you.

“Good,” he murmurs, tightening his hold just slightly. “That’s the point.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

helloooo, i came back from a long pause lol (struggled to find inspiration and time). Anyways I love Dino so much that I want to write something about him. I really like the fact that he is the responsible one but still a bit childish :3

“No.” You barely hear your own voice– just a breath, a tremor. “No, no, no. Fuck– this isn’t– this can’t be real.”

Your hands tangle in your hair as you stare down at the tiny screen. Two pink lines glare back at you, sharp and unforgiving.

It has to be a mistake.

You snatch the second test from the counter and hurry back to the bathroom, tearing the wrapper open with shaking fingers. Your shorts hit the floor again, your breathing ragged and shallow as you settle the test between your thighs.

You go through the motions, pretending it’s nothing as you set the plastic stick on the counter. You pretend you’re not listening for every second that ticks by. You pretend humming might calm you, even though it doesn’t.

Shorts back up. Toilet flushed. Hands washed.

You stare at yourself in the mirror– flushed cheeks, wide eyes, panic written in every feature. The clock on the wall ticks on, slow and merciless.

Your gaze drops to the test.

Two lines. Clear as day.

Your breath catches. Tears gather.

What would Jake say? How would he look at you?

A part of you knows he’d probably be thrilled– he’s always dreamed of being a dad, right after dreaming of a life in music.

But what if he didn’t want this now? What if he didn’t want this with you?

A shaky sigh escapes as you grab your phone. Your fingers tremble while you dial the doctor’s office. You need certainty before you tell him– before you open that door. The receptionist’s warm voice feels almost surreal as she schedules you in for tomorrow.

Tomorrow. Right. You can deal with it tomorrow.

You end the call and stare at the tests again, heart thudding painfully.

A soft click sounds from the front door.

Jake’s voice drifts in.

Panic spikes. You grab everything– the box, the tests, the wrappers– shoving it all into the bottom drawer and burying it under the clutter you know he never touches. You shut it and straighten just in time to step into the bedroom as he walks in.

“Hi, honey!” you chirp, forcing a bright smile.

“Hi, baby,” he says, smiling back– and the endearment hits differently now.

“How was your day?” You cross to him, lift onto your toes, kiss his cheek.

“It was good,” he murmurs. “How was yours?”

“Good,” you lie lightly, touching his face. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” His eyes soften, sweeping over you. “God, you look pretty today.”

You snort a laugh. “I’m still in my pajamas.”

“Still as pretty as ever.”

You shake your head. “I’m about to start dinner. Save the lies for later.”

His jaw drops in mock offense as he follows you out. “Lies? I won’t stand for this slander.”

You laugh, warmth bubbling up despite everything.

Almost enough to forget what’s sitting in the drawer.

Almost.

—

By bedtime, you've convinced yourself it's a false positive.

Two false positives, but false nonetheless.

It happened sometimes. It wasn't uncommon for false positives. You weren't going to worry about it until you knew for certain. And you knew Jake was well aware of you not being you, per se.

He didn't know what, he just knew there was something bothering you. You played it off as an off day, your brain throwing you through the loop.

He seemed reluctant when you told your lie, but he didn't push it too much. You were thankful– You knew you would end up telling him the truth if he pushed for it.

“Baby, where's the toothpaste?” Jake calls from the bathroom, annoyed as he mutters something about having just bought a new tube.

“Bottom drawer, on the right,” you respond, settling into the blankets, eager to try to sleep.

“Did I tell you what the producer said today?” He says conversationally, shuffling through the drawer.

“No, what'd he say, honey?” You ask, eyes falling shut.

“Said this new album might be the best thing we've–”

You frown as he cuts himself off, the house immediately going eerily silent.

You freeze as it hits you.

The pregnancy test is in that drawer.

You throw the blankets back, all but running to the bathroom door. You pause when you find him in front of the cabinet, face hidden from you, on his knees– as if he'd sunk to them, unable to get up. You step further in, your eyes landing on the open box on the counter. You take another unsure step, finding the test in his hand.

He stares at it blankly, his hand trembling just the slightest.

“Jake…”

“Do you have something to tell me?” He asks, a weak laugh falling from his lips.

“I–”

“Were you gonna tell me?” He asks, finally dragging his eyes away, looking up at you.

Your mouth falls open, and you can't manage to make a single sentence come out.

His eyebrows furrow just the slightest as a heavy breath escapes him, “Y/n–”

“I didn't know how to tell you,” you say, voice just above a whisper.

His eyes fall to your stomach, his face falling into a grimace. Your heart stops. He looks back up at you, and you can see the tears shining in his eyes.

“I'm gonna be a dad?”

You nod slowly, tears welling in your own eyes as he lets out a broken sound, caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob. He moves quickly, to his feet, wrapping you in his arms before you can process it.

You hold him tightly, the tears now freely falling from your eyes. He pulls back to cup your face in his hands, a shaking smile pulling at his lips, “Are you sure?”

Your hands land on his wrists, holding on like he's your anchor, “I have an appointment tomorrow,” you say, “I was gonna tell you then if–”

“I'm going too,” he interrupts, a light in his eyes, as he grins, “I wanna go.”

“Okay,” you say, breathing a laugh, “Come with me. Please.”

He nods, pulling you to him, pressing his lips to your forehead as his arms settle around your shoulders.

He stiffens slightly, “We gotta get ready for this– We don't have a room ready, we don't have clothes, diapers, what is she gonna eat?”

You grin, “She?” You ask softly, pulling back to look at him once more.

He looks slightly panicked, eyes wild as he thinks, “We have to get her room ready– I can move my guitars to the office, we can make that a–”

“Jake,” you interrupt gently, “Slow down, baby.”

He lets out a slow, shaky breath. “Can I– can I call my mom?”

You nod immediately, a smile curling at the corners of your mouth as relief washes over him. “Yeah. Go ahead. You can tell her.”

His grin is instant, boyish. “Now?”

You glance at the clock. “It’s a little late, Jake–”

“She’ll be awake,” he says with quiet certainty, already brushing past you, too excited to wait.

You laugh under your breath, your gaze drifting to the test still sitting on the counter. A soft, disbelieving smile spreads across your face. You exhale, finally letting the tension leave you. You don’t know why you’d been so nervous.

It was Jake. Your Jake. The last person in the world who’d ever be upset with you.

And it was his doing just as much as yours.

When you step into the bedroom, he’s already perched on the edge of the mattress, phone pressed to his ear, his free hand anxiously picking at his fingers. You catch the faint sound of her voice through the speaker– and he doesn’t even say hello before blurting, “Mom, Y/n’s gonna have a baby.”

No greeting. No preamble.

You freeze in the doorway. One long, silent beat. Your stomach flips.

Then, from the phone, a burst of joy– bright, loud, thrilled– and the sound makes your eyes sting with relief. Jake’s gaze lifts, finds you, softens instantly. He’s wearing the proudest smile you’ve ever seen on him, eyes warm and glowing like he’s holding the whole world in his hands.

You bite your lip and slip back toward the bathroom as he starts telling her about the appointment. You stand before the mirror, hands braced on the counter, breathing slow, trying to settle nerves that have already shown up once today.

He appears in the doorway, leaning against the frame like he doesn’t want to startle you. You give him a wobbly smile.

“You okay?” he asks, voice soft.

You nod, though your throat is tight. “Just… nervous.”

He steps behind you, sliding his arms around your waist, his chest fitting to your back like he was made for it. His hands settle over your stomach, gentle but sure. He presses his cheek to your temple, watching his own hands like he’s marveling at what they’re touching.

“You don’t have to worry,” he murmurs.

“There’s a lot to worry about,” you whisper back. “The pregnancy… the birth… and what if I’m not a good mom?”

He doesn’t even hesitate. “You’re going to be an incredible mom. The kind every kid dreams of.” His voice is quiet, reverent. “Our baby hit the jackpot.”

You swallow hard, leaning back into him. “You really think it’s a girl?”

“I know so,” he says, kissing your hair. “And stop calling our baby an ‘it.’”

You huff out a soft laugh. “What if he’s a boy?”

“She’s not,” he repeats, like it's a fact carved into stone. He kisses your temple again. “Come on. We’ve got a big day tomorrow. Let’s get you to bed.”

He leads you back to the bedroom, turning off lights with one hand, guiding you with the other like he’s afraid you’ll drift away if he lets go. You laugh as he fusses, ushering you under the blankets as if you’re suddenly fragile.

“Jake,” you tease gently, “I can get in bed by myself.”

“Hush,” he says, dead serious, tucking the blanket around you. “I’m making sure you don’t hurt yourself.”

“I’m not going to injure myself by getting into bed.”

“You injure yourself walking in a straight line,” he says matter-of-factly. “I’m not taking chances with my girls.”

You roll onto your side to face him, your smile softening as you trace your finger along his jaw. “Are you gonna be like this the whole time?”

He just pulls you close, tucking you against him. “I’m gonna take care of you. Both of you.”

Your teasing dies in your throat. There’s too much tenderness in his eyes to joke about. He eases you onto your back, lifting your shirt carefully like he’s unwrapping something precious. Tears fill your eyes again when he presses his lips to your stomach– slow, cherishing kisses that linger long after he lifts his mouth.

Normally, kisses there would send heat curling low in your belly. Tonight, they only melt your heart. Your fingers slip into his hair, stroking softly.

“I’m so happy,” he whispers against your skin, his palm smoothing warm circles over your stomach.

“Yeah?” you breathe, smiling through your own tears.

“Mhm.” He wraps his arms around your middle and presses his face to your skin like he’s listening for something only he can hear. “So, so happy.”

Your eyes drift shut as you run your fingers lazily through his hair. “M’happy too, Jakey…”

Eventually he climbs back up beside you, turning you onto your side and fitting himself around you. His chest warms your back, his arm drapes over your waist, and his hand settles protectively over your stomach like it belongs there.

“I love you,” he whispers, kissing your cheek.

“I love you,” you murmur, already sliding into sleep.

He stays awake for a long time after you’re gone soft in his arms. His hand never leaves your stomach– steady, warm, guarding you both from dangers that only exist in his imagination.

Only when he’s convinced you’re safe, truly safe, does he finally let himself close his eyes.

—

You’ve always hated doctor’s offices.

They’re cold– stiff, sterile, and uncomfortable– as if being examined at your most vulnerable isn’t bad enough on its own.

The nurse is kind, though, and she leads you to the bathroom with gentle instructions. Jake stays behind in the waiting room, irritated and sulking like a storm cloud.

You hurry through the process, cheeks warm with embarrassment as you hand the nurse your cup. She makes it feel less awful than it is, and soon she’s guiding you to an exam room with a bright smile.

Relief washes over you when you step inside and find Jake already there. The nurse leaves with a warm grin, closing the door behind her.

Jake looks up at you, still a little grumpy but smiling. “I told them they had to let me back here,” he says. “Or I was gonna make a scene.”

You giggle as you walk over and kiss the top of his head. “Jacob Thomas, you cannot be acting a fool in here.”

He scowls playfully. “They wouldn’t let me go with you.”

“That’s because I had to pee in a cup, baby. You’re not missing out on anything.”

He leans back with a dramatic sigh. “I dunno. I think that’d be fun to watch.”

You wrinkle your nose, laughing. “You’re disgusting.”

He grins, finally loosening up. “I just didn’t want to miss anything. I thought they weren’t gonna let me back here at all.”

Your expression softens as you take his hand. “If they hadn’t, trust me, I would’ve caused a scene too.”

Jake snorts. “Alright, fine– I overreacted.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I did,” he murmurs. “I just… wanna be here. For all of it.”

“I know.” You squeeze his hand. “I love you.”

“Love you,” he says back, voice warm. “So fucking much.”

Time passes slowly before the door finally opens. A short, round, older man with a ridiculously kind smile walks in wearing a white coat.

“Hello there! I’m Dr. Hensley,” he says brightly, settling onto a rolling stool with a clipboard. “How are we doing today?”

You exhale and lie through your teeth. “Doing okay.”

He nods and flips through his papers. “Let’s see… you’re here for a pregnancy test?”

Your hand tightens around Jake’s. You nod.

Jake’s leg bounces nonstop, his jaw working as he chews his lip. “Is she pregnant?” he blurts.

Dr. Hensley looks up at him with amusement. “Ah, you must be the young man who threatened to make a scene in my lobby.”

Jake flushes pink as you hide a smile, “…Yeah,” he mutters. “Sorry. I just didn’t wanna miss anything.”

“I understand completely,” the doctor says with a wink. “I did the same thing with my wife.”

Jake gives a quiet, embarrassed laugh.

The doctor asks a few routine questions, then stands abruptly with a frown.

“They forgot to give me the results,” he says kindly. “I’ll be right back.”

The moment he leaves, Jake slumps back in his chair.“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“Stop,” you laugh, nudging him.

“I’m just– ugh.” He drags a hand through his hair.

Before he can spiral again, the door opens. Dr. Hensley comes back in, holding a single sheet of paper– and wearing a smile that instantly steals your breath.

“Well,” he says lightly, “congratulations to you both.”

He hands you the paper. Your fingers tremble as you take it, vision blurring as you try to read the words. Jake leans in, eyes scanning the page before a bright, disbelieving grin breaks across his face.

“Oh my God,” you whisper, tears burning your eyes.

“Congratulations,” the doctor repeats warmly. “You’re going to be parents.”

—

“I already moved the music equipment into the office,” Jake says, pacing at the foot of the bed like he’s trying to wear a hole through the floor. “I figured we could go shopping this week for the crib. And clothes. Toys. Then we’ll need a car seat– oh, and something for her to wear when we bring her home–”

He’s rambling.

His hand drags along his jaw, his voice soft but frantic, thoughts spilling out faster than he can catch them. You watch him for a moment– your sweet, nervous, overexcited Jake– before he suddenly stops and looks at you.

“Should we pick a name for her?”

You let out a breathy laugh. “Jake,” you murmur, warm and coaxing, “come here, baby.”

His shoulders fall a little, the tension slipping. He walks to you slowly, almost sheepish, stopping right in front of your knees. “I’m doing too much,” he whispers. “Aren’t I?”

“Maybe just a little,” you whisper back, tugging gently at his fingers. “We’ve got time. Just breathe.”

He shakes his head helplessly. “I can’t.” His voice cracks with honesty. “I just… I wanna be a good dad.”

“Oh, honey.” You pull him closer by the waistband of his jeans. “You’re gonna be the best dad in the whole world. But right now? I need you to breathe. Stay here with me, in this moment. You already made a whole spreadsheet for the college fund, Jake, that’s–”

“That’s good planning,” he cuts in quickly, sliding his arms around your waist and burying his face in your neck. “And if she doesn’t wanna go to college, that’s fine. Then she’ll have money to start something she loves.”

You give him a smile, lifting one brow at him. He presses his lips together, sheepish, and nods. “Okay,” he sighs. “Okay, I know. I’m sorry. I’m just… scared.”

“I know,” you say softly, brushing your fingers through his hair. “I’m scared too. But we’re doing this together. One step at a time, okay?”

He nods– small, shaky.

“Actually,” he says quietly, “the nursery. I wanna start on that soon. I… I have a vision for it.”

“Alright,” you whisper, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “Come to bed. Hold me. Tell me about your vision.”

He exhales, long and soft, letting his forehead lean into your temple. Then he turns off the lamp and crawls into bed, pulling you into his chest. His hand immediately finds its place on your stomach, thumb sweeping idle patterns there, like he’s trying to soothe both you and himself.

He talks in a low, warm murmur– about colors, curtains, the little rocking chair he wants, the books he wants to read every night. You hum, offering a thought here and there, adjusting the picture in both your minds.

After a while he says, “She’s gonna sleep in here for the first few months anyway. So maybe… maybe we should pick a name for her now.”

You tilt your head up. “What if we have a boy?”

He shakes his head immediately. “We’re having a girl. She’s gonna have your smile. And your pretty little nose.”

You snort softly. “I want a boy.”

His hand stills on your stomach.

“I want him to have your eyes,” you whisper. “I want him to be just like you.”

His arms tighten around you in a way that’s barely noticeable– except you feel it everywhere.

“I wouldn’t wish being like me on anybody,” he says lightly, trying to play it off, but his voice is thick.

“I would,” you whisper. You turn in his arms to face him. “I want him to have your humor. Your heart. Your gentleness. I want him to be just like you, Jakey.”

A shaky breath leaves him, “I want a girl,” he mutters, deflecting before emotion can sweep him under.

“We’ll find out in a few weeks,” you remind him softly. “My ultrasound’s coming up.”

He hums against your forehead. “Fine. We wait. But she’s a girl.”

“A boy,” you tease.

He lets out a quiet growl, fingertips tracing slow lines down your spine. “She’s gonna be just as stubborn as her mama.”

“He’ll be as hardheaded as his daddy.”

He releases a sound– half laugh, half something rawer. His hand slides up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing away the stray strand of hair on your face.

“I love you,” he whispers. “God, I fucking love you. My pretty girl. My beautiful mama.”

His voice is soft enough to break you.

It shouldn't turn you on.

It shouldn't, you know that. But his voice is low, rasping perfectly into your ear, and his hands are warm and sure.

“Jake,” you say quietly, earning a distracted hum, “I asked the doctor today,” you start quietly, “About if we could still… Y'know,” you swallow, and he goes still, “He said we can.”

“Absolutely not,” he says firmly.

“Jake–”

“I'm not doing that,” he argues, frowning, "What if it hurts you? What if it hurts the baby?”

“It won't,” you argue, a smile forming across your lips, “It's perfectly safe, honey–”

“No.”

“So I'm supposed to just suffer for the next year because you won't even touch me?!”

He glares lightly, “Y/n, that's not fair.”

“I've asked the doctor, Jake, I've done the research,” you stress, “It won't hurt me, it won't hurt the baby. I wouldn't ask if it would hurt him–”

“Her,” he interrupts gently, before he sighs, “Alright, fine. But we're going slow, and you'd better fucking listen to me.”

“Okay,” you say eagerly, nodding quickly. You waste no time as he moves to get between your legs, you slip your pajama bottoms down your thighs, earning a quiet click of his tongue.

“Weren't you just telling me to live in the moment, sweetheart?” He murmurs, raising an eyebrow as he settles.

You huff a laugh, “Shut up, Jake.”

He responds with a nip of his teeth into your inner thigh. “How ‘bout,” he starts softly, pressing a kiss over the place his teeth had just sunken into, “I just get you off with my mouth, hm? Make you come all nice and sweet on my tongue.”

“That's fine,” you agree breathily, allowing him to tug your panties down your thighs, “But you're still gonna fuck me.”

He hums, the sound disapproving, “I dunno.”

You roll your eyes, endeared, “Don't make me tie you up and have my way with you,” you tease, letting your thighs fall open further.

He grins, kissing over the crease of your thigh, “Yeah, good luck with that,” he mutters.

You grin, giggling softly. It's cut off by a moan when he buries his face into you, his hands gentle as he holds your lower half still. He licks over you, soft, cautious, and it makes your heart ache in the best way.

“Can I have your fingers?” You ask sweetly, rocking up against him just once. You meet his eyes, the displeased light in them is clear, and you whisper a tiny plea, softening yourself further.

You hope if you beg, if you make yourself sweet and pliant, he'll let go of that doubt and worry inhibiting him.

He growls quietly against you, his hand moving down regardless. You let out a soft moan when he eases a single finger into you. You let your head fall back, senses heightened as he works you over.

It's nice, it's soft and sweet. But you need just a little more, you need him to really work it out of you, to have you in shambles and falling apart for him until you cry.

“More,” you whisper. “Please, baby.”

He pauses only for a second, before he adds another finger, and his lips wrap around your clit.

You let out a soft sound, rocking your hips in time with his movements, a weak smile on your lips. You can feel it building, centralizing in your lower half, teasing at your entire body as it grows.

“Fuck,” you breathe. “I'm close, please–” He hums against you, keeping the same speed, the same rhythm, “Help me,” you plead.

He speeds up just a fraction, fingers curling up, tongue working faster.

Its warmth hits you gently. Like the soft glow of a porch light welcoming you in the dark night. You gasp, your hand falling to his on your hip, the pleasure surging more intensely when he tangles your fingers together.

You ride it out, slow and tranquil, your body trembling as you come down. He eases you down, soft kisses and featherlight touches, full of devotion and love.

He finally pulls away, careful as he climbs over you. His hand pets at your hair as he stares at you, his eyes impossibly soft, “Fuck, I love you,” he whispers.

You hum, slightly shaky, “I love you, Jake,” you say, your chest still heaving slightly, “Make love to me.”

He purses his lips, “I don't wanna hurt you,” he says, looking torn, “Are you sure it won't–”

“I'm sure,” you respond, your hand reaching up to thread your fingers through his hair, “You won't hurt me, you won't hurt the baby. We can go slow–”

“Okay,” he nods, “Slow.”

You nod, your tongue darting out to lick over your bottom lip as he reaches between the two of you, freeing himself from his underwear. You watch eagerly as he lines up with you, a shaky breath escaping him as he paints the head up and down your slick center.

“Jake,” you say softly, “Trust me baby.”

He nods without looking at you as he eases inside of you, “I do, honey.” He pushes in with a quiet groan, “Fuck– I do, I'm just worried–”

“I know,” you say, your voice pitchy as he bottoms out, “I won't lie to you about this, I promise.”

He nods again, “I know– I know, I'm sorry.”

You shake your head, “Don't apologize to me,” your hand cups his cheek, forcing his eyes up to yours finally, “Get out of that head of yours.”

The tension leaves him at that, his face falling into a look of pure love as he smiles, “You can't use my own lines on me,” he mutters, a smile tugging at his lips.

You grin, “Just be here. With me.”

He leans in, his lips slotting against yours as he eases back. You moan into his mouth, your hands grabbing him wherever you could as he moves inside of you.

He cradles your head in his hand, his eyes watching you closely as he fucks into you. You hold nothing back, letting him see exactly how he was making you feel.

You could almost come again like this, his hips flush to yours, rolling and grinding against you rather than the usual slam of his hips into you.

He groans, his head falling to your collarbone, “You feel so fucking good,” he breathes, his lips attaching to your skin, pushing the collar of your shirt down to kiss your chest.

“You feel incredible,” you whisper, “So fuckin’ good to me, honey.”

He lets out a soft sound at that, his hips moving just a little harder, a little faster, “I can't believe you're real,” he says quietly, “I can't– can't believe you're mine. You're all mine and you're gonna have my baby,” his hands grabbing your waist, tight, still mindful as you whimper as his words, “Fuck, I love you so much.”

“I love you– I love you, Jake,” you can barely manage to respond as your eyes flutter, “I'm so close–”

His fingers find your clit before you in finish your sentence, “Come on,” he encourages softly, lifting his head again to watch your face, “Let go for me, let me have it. Please, baby. Please come for me.”

It hits you a little harder than the first one. Sends you careening over the edge, like you'd been dipped in a warm bath, the heat spreading through your body from your head to your toes.

You arch up against him, tugging him impossibly closer to you as you practically claw into the muscles of his back.

He chokes out soft praise, his free hand brushing your hair away from your face as he watches you ride out your high.

His eyes fall shut for a moment, his hips stutter, before he lets out a quiet curse. You feel his body tremble against yours as his own orgasm crashes into him. He works you both through it expertly, the sounds of your whines and his groans filling the quiet night air.

He almost collapses against you, careful to keep off of your stomach as he settles. You let out a soft sigh when he pulls out, moving to settle beside you.

“Fuck,” you breathe a laugh, your eyes falling shut as you recover. Your body melts into the mattress, still shaking from the aftershocks.

“Are you okay?” He asks softly, concern painting his voice as he rests hand on your lower stomach.

You nod, turning your head to give him a smile, well aware it's completely fucked out, “I'm so okay,” you grin. “I fucking love you, Jake.”

“I love you,” he says, pulling you close to him, his hands petting and caressing at you as he kisses your cheek, your temple, your hair, wherever he can. “So much, Y/n.”

You let your eyes fall shut, “I think we should name him Oliver.”

Your lips tug up into a grin as he pulls back, and you can only imagine the offended look on his face as he says, “Absolutely not.”

your morning started out the same as it always does on the weekend. woken early to san pulling you in against his chest for his five more minutes of cuddles before he got up, arm snug around your waist as his nose nuzzles against the back of your neck. groggy i love you's murmured between butterfly kisses pressed over your face before he left for the gym and you slipped back into sleep again.

usually on saturdays you'd wake up sometime around 10, while he was mid-session, and take your time running through your weekly routine. hot shower and full body shave, styling your hair before you change into your favourite cozy pyjama set and cook you both up a homemade breakfast.

today your boyfriend had other ideas. he'd left for the gym earlier than usual, and by the time you climbed out of the warm duvet burrito san had tucked you into with a forehead kiss before he went he was sweeping back into the bedroom dropping his gym bag by the door and pulling you in by the waist to steal a flurry of kisses, leaving you giggling.

"san."

"y/n."

"you're all sweaty."

"you usually like that."

his cute smile should be at odds with the flushed face and wide shoulders on display under the black tank top. the dimples got you every time but it was unfair for a man, or anyone really, to look so pretty after an hour of weight lifting. you reached up to cup his face, thumb brushing lightly over one sharp cheekbone as his eyes crinkled into crescents to match the wide smile on his face.

"sannie."

"shower with me?" his expression was hopeful as his arms slid around your waist to hold you against him. "I know you usually like to take your time on the weekend but I'd like to take you to brunch today."

his touch was gentle and you found yourself smiling as you leaned up, hand on one thick bicep to brace yourself, to kiss him softly. "you just want to keep cuddling."

"i always want to keep cuddling."

you laughed as he squished his cheek against yours, squeezing you and stepping back to throw his gym clothes in the hamper. you watched as he stepped out of the sweatpants and muscle tee, just admiring how graceful he was as his muscles flexed.

he caught your gaze, eyebrows quirking as he smiled proudly. you laughed and shook your head, making your way over to grab the hamper as he sauntered off to the bathroom to get the shower started.

the interruption of your usual routine was welcome and still fairly soft, as san often was, until it came time for brunch. he shouldn't look so good in a simple oversized t-shirt and track pants. or at least, you should be used to it by now. when he slips on the backwards baseball cap you don't even blink. when he slides on his bracelets and rings, maybe you're paying a little more attention than usual but you brush it off. you can think about his hands later.

until you get into the car, and you glance over from buckling yourself in to catch the way he grips the wheel. you can hold back until after brunch, you tell yourself, as he pulls out of the parking lot and one hand comes to rest on his thigh. you manage to fall back into the normal flow of conversation until the hand on your thigh comes up to brace you when he makes a sudden stop, apologizing and peeking over to check that you're okay.

"I'm good sannie, it's okay. It wasn't your fault."

you take his hand in yours, lacing your fingers and squeezing lightly as he navigates through the next set of lights. you're already distracted by the softness of his skin and the cool metal of his rings. he hums softly and you lean forward to flick the radio on, hoping maybe some music will help wash the thoughts you're having about the veins in his arm and the way his watch bounces on his wrist as he untangles your fingers to shift gears. he doesn't always drive a manual but you like how easy he makes it look to switch between the gear shift and the grip he usually likes to keep on your thigh.

way his hand brushes against your nape as he rests his arm over the passenger seat while parallel parking is the final straw. his fingers are warm as they touch the side of your neck and he's too busy checking for cars as his head turns to see the way you swallow. he shifts the car into park and you lean over to pull up the emergency brake, wasting no time unbuckling yourself.

san chuckles softly at your haste and as he leans over to push his door open you grip his tshirt to pull him back to you. "what is it honey? i thought you were in a hurry to get to the restaurant."

you shake your head, glancing around. he's pulled into a vacant semi-hidden part of the block, full of box stores and parking lot with some greenery interspersed here and there. you're glad he likes this place rather than somewhere more crowded downtown because while there are some people out shopping it's still a little early for most of the crowd and it's always quieter out here to begin with.

san blinks and you lean over to pull the lever that lets his seat slide back. "lock the doors baby."

he lets you manhandle him, clicking the button on the keys still hanging from the ignition without a word. you can see the confusion in his eyes but it quickly bleeds away in favour of a pleased smile when you shuffle your way over to fold yourself onto his lap.

"what about breakfast?"

"it can wait."

your hands settle against the sides of his neck as his head tilts back to watch you. the way his eyes sparkle at you is your undoing. he looks so soft you can’t help the kiss you lean in to press to his lips and the way he licks them when you lean back has your head reeling. you're so in love with this man. it should be illegal for everything he does to affect you this deeply.

he frowns when you pull back but it falls away quickly when you kiss down his neck. his soft sigh and the hand that comes to rest on your waist only encourage you to keep going. before you know it your lower back is pressed against the steering wheel, which digs uncomfortably into your tailbone every time san's hips roll, while you choke back a moan as his hands tangle in your hair. you love the weight of him on your tongue, the way he moans as you hollow your cheeks around him and his head falls back against the headrest where you've reclined the seat so no one (from a distance at least) can see you in the window.

you love the way he whines and squirms as you press his hips back down against the seat. the way praises spill from his lips between curses and the way he chokes your name out like a prayer as you work him, gagging a little as he ruts up instinctively when you finally manage to take all of him into your mouth until your nose presses against his pelvic bone. you love the way he tears up, hand tugging at your hair, as you stroke him through a second release lips sucking purple marks onto the gorgeous tanned thighs and along his hip while he babbles about the overstimulation.

mostly you like the way he looks at you as he comes down, eyes a little glazed over and so full of awe, and his mouth hangs open while he pants out i love yous while your pace slows. the way he smiles oh so lovingly and leans up to pull you into a kiss, tasting himself on your lips, before leaning over to grab the box of tissues from the glovebox and fixing your makeup before adjusting himself.

so maybe, just maybe, as you hold his hand and walk into the fairly empty seating area of your favourite café you can’t blame him for the stupid smile stuck on his face or the way he greets the hostess a little too excitedly today. You definitely can't blame him when his hand snakes up your thigh under the table and he whisks you away halfway through your meal to press you into the wall of the small bathroom and make you come apart twice on his fingers before he's satisfied.

if the rest of your meals are a bit cold you're, frankly, too keyed up to notice. too caught up in the promise he made about when he gets you back home to your shared apartment after this. and oh does he ever make good the words he whispered in your ear the whole ride home.