Beau followed your gaze toward the three burning wicks. He had positioned the jar in the center of the dresser, the label facing outward, which made his attempt at looking indifferent considerably less convincing.

“You made me smell it every time we passed that store,” he said, moving around you to place his phone beside the speaker. “At some point, remembering became a survival instinct.”

You stepped farther into the room and lifted the candle, warmth gathering beneath the glass. The price sticker had been scraped from the bottom badly enough that part of it remained attached.

The thought of Beau standing inside Bath & Body Works, surrounded by walls of perfume and lotion while trying to remember the name of your favorite scent, made something tender settle beneath your ribs.

“You went in there alone?”

His attention became absorbed in adjusting the volume of the music. “I’m not discussing what happened in that store.”

A soft song drifted from the speaker, one you had sent him months ago after discovering it during a late-night study session. You set the candle down and glanced toward his phone. Spotify remained open, displaying a playlist titled just music in lowercase letters.

You picked it up before Beau could stop you.

His hand reached toward yours, but one look at your face made him reconsider whatever wrestling match he had been about to begin.

The playlist was nearly two hours long. There were songs you loved, slower ones you had heard playing from his car, and a few romantic tracks that you never would have guessed Beau knew existed. The order was too deliberate to be accidental. Each song flowed naturally into the next, the tempo shifting so gradually that he must have listened through the entire thing while arranging it.

“You planned transitions.”

Beau rubbed the back of his neck, already turning pink near the collar of his shirt. “I didn’t want some awful locker room song coming on and ruining everything.”

A laugh caught in your throat. “Beau, you made a sex playlist.”

“I made a playlist for tonight.”

The distinction seemed important to him, though you suspected it existed mostly because he could not bring himself to name a playlist after the reason you were in his bedroom.

You looked around again. Fresh sheets. Your favorite candle. Two bottles of water waiting on the nightstand. Even the lamp had been dimmed low enough to soften the room without leaving you in darkness.

All afternoon, you had been imagining Beau completely at ease while you struggled not to overthink every part of the night. It had never occurred to you that he might spend hours cleaning his room and rearranging songs because he was nervous too.

The realization loosened something inside you.

“You didn’t have to do all this.”

His expression changed when he looked at you. The embarrassment remained, but something more earnest moved beneath it.

“I know.” Beau took the phone from your hand and set it down without turning off the music. “I wanted to.”

He said it simply, without turning the moment into something so serious that you would lose your nerve. That was one of the things you loved most about him. Beau could make something matter without making it feel heavy.

You moved toward him, slipping your hands beneath his open jacket. “The candle is a lot.”

“It was the biggest one they had.”

Your smile brushed his mouth before you kissed him.

Beau’s hands settled on your hips, drawing you closer until the front of your body met his. The kiss began softly, familiar enough to quiet the nervous flutter in your stomach. You knew the shape of his mouth and the warmth of his hands. You knew the small sound he made when you caught his bottom lip between yours and the way his fingers tightened whenever you pressed against him.

There was nothing unfamiliar about wanting him.

It was everything that came next that had occupied your thoughts since you told him you were ready.

Beau seemed to sense the moment your mind began racing. He pulled back only far enough to look at you, one hand rising to smooth your hair away from your face.

“You’re thinking too much.”

“I haven’t even said anything.”

“You get this little crease right here.” His thumb passed between your eyebrows, flattening the expression he had apparently learned to recognize. “It’s like your brain is trying to go into overtime.”

You laughed, lowering your forehead against his chest. “I’m nervous.”

“I know.”

He did not tell you there was no reason to be. There were reasons, even if none of them meant you had changed your mind. You had spent years hearing that your first time would be painful or awkward or disappointing. People spoke about virginity as something to lose, something another person took from you, and no matter how much you trusted Beau, part of you had started treating tonight like a test you had forgotten to study for.

His hand moved slowly along your back.

“We can keep kissing,” he said. “We can watch a movie and let the world’s most embarrassing playlist run in the background. You didn’t sign a contract when you came over.”

The offer did not come with disappointment hidden beneath it. Beau would genuinely let you change your mind, blow out the candle, and spend the rest of the evening arguing over what to watch.

That certainty was exactly why you had chosen tonight.

You lifted your head and kissed him again.

This time, you let your hands wander beneath his shirt. The muscles of his stomach tightened under your fingertips, and Beau exhaled against your mouth before helping you pull the fabric over his head. He tossed it somewhere behind him, apparently deciding that his clean floor no longer mattered.

Your jacket followed, then your shoes. Each piece of clothing made the room feel warmer, though you knew some of that heat came from the way Beau looked at you.

He had seen you in your underwear before. You had spent enough nights tangled together for him to know how your body reacted beneath his hands, but tonight made every touch feel newly charged. When he reached for the hem of your sweater, he paused long enough for you to lift your arms.

The fabric disappeared over your head.

Beau’s gaze moved over you without rushing, lingering where the cups of your bra held your breasts. There was no exaggerated praise or dramatic speech. His hand simply settled against your waist while he kissed the curve of your shoulder, and the warmth of his mouth told you everything he had not said.

You reached behind yourself to unfasten your bra, but Beau caught your wrist.

“Let me.”

The clasp opened beneath his fingers. He eased the straps down your arms, watching the fabric fall before bringing both hands to your breasts. His palms were warm, his thumbs brushing over your nipples until they tightened beneath his touch.

Your breath caught when his mouth closed around one.

Beau backed you toward the bed without lifting his head, his arm circling your waist when the backs of your knees met the mattress. You sat down, and he followed, settling between your thighs while his tongue moved slowly over your nipple.

Your fingers slid into his hair. The nerves had not vanished, but they were being replaced by something stronger. Every pull of his mouth and every stroke of his hand reminded your body that this was Beau. He already knew what made your back arch and what made your thighs squeeze around him. He had never rushed you before, and he was not about to begin now.

He kissed down your stomach, pausing at the waistband of your skirt.

His eyes lifted to yours as his fingers found the zipper.

You nodded, and Beau drew it down.

The skirt slipped over your hips with your help, leaving you in the underwear you had spent far too long choosing. They were prettier than anything you normally wore, a soft scrap of lace that had made you feel bold while standing in front of your mirror and extremely exposed now that Beau could see them.

The look on his face made the effort worthwhile.

“Those are new.”

You tried not to smile. “Maybe.”

His fingertips skimmed the lace along your hip. “You bought special underwear, but I’m the one getting judged for a candle?”

Beau leaned over you, pressing a kiss to your stomach before you could continue dismantling his defense. His laughter warmed your skin.

“You’re distracting yourself again.”

The words were softened by another kiss, then another, his mouth moving lower until it hovered above the waistband of your underwear.

Your teasing faded.

Beau curled his fingers beneath the lace and drew it down your legs. You lifted your hips, watching him remove the final piece of clothing before his hands moved along your thighs.

Being completely naked beneath him should have made you feel more nervous. Instead, Beau lowered himself between your legs with such familiar hunger that embarrassment barely had time to form.

He kissed the inside of your knee, then followed the path upward.

Your fingers tightened around the comforter when his mouth reached the crease of your thigh. His breath passed over your center, warm enough to make your hips shift toward him.

Beau glanced up at you.

There was affection in his expression, but there was desire too. He did not look at you as though tonight had turned you into something delicate. He looked at you the same way he always did when he wanted you, only more intensely, as though the trust you had placed in him had deepened every part of it.

His arm hooked beneath your thigh, opening you wider before his tongue slid through you.

Your head sank into the pillows.

The first stroke was broad and slow, gathering the wetness already beginning to collect before his tongue returned to your clit. Beau had eaten you out before, enough times to know exactly how much pressure made your breath catch and how quickly your body became sensitive.

Tonight, he took even more time.

He licked you until your thighs relaxed around his shoulders, alternating soft circles with slow passes that made warmth gather low in your stomach. Each time your hips began moving against his mouth, his hand pressed gently over your abdomen, not holding you still so much as grounding you against the bed.

The music continued somewhere beyond the rush of blood in your ears.

Beau’s fingers moved over the inside of your thigh, giving you enough time to register what he was doing before one pressed slowly into you.

The sensation was familiar. He had touched you this way before, but the purpose behind it made you more aware of every inch. His finger entered gradually while his tongue stayed against your clit, and your body opened around him with less resistance than you had feared.

He worked it deeper, curling it against the spot that made your legs tighten.

“Beau.”

He answered with a low sound against you, the vibration making your stomach clench.

Your fingers threaded through his hair as he began moving his hand. The pace remained unhurried, each stroke paired with the steady movement of his mouth. Pleasure built gradually until you stopped wondering whether you were relaxed enough or doing anything correctly.

There was only his tongue, his finger, and the tightening pressure that made you lift your hips from the mattress.

Beau waited until you were slick around him before easing a second finger alongside the first.

The stretch was noticeable. Your body tightened instinctively, and his hand stilled while his mouth softened against you. He did not retreat or force you to adjust faster. He kept licking slowly, letting pleasure work through the unfamiliar fullness until your grip loosened in his hair.

His fingers pressed deeper.

You exhaled shakily, the initial pressure fading as he began curling them inside you. The sensation was fuller than what you were accustomed to, but Beau’s tongue remained focused on your clit, keeping discomfort from becoming the center of your attention.

Soon, the stretch became part of the pleasure.

Your thighs trembled around his head. Beau moved his fingers with a steady rhythm, spreading them slightly each time he drew them back before pressing them into you again. He watched your face from between your legs, adjusting whenever your breathing changed.

The orgasm gathered faster than you expected.

You felt it in the tightening of your stomach and the way your body began chasing both his hand and his mouth. Beau knew it too. His fingers curled more firmly while his tongue flicked over your clit, refusing to let the pressure fade.

Your back arched.

The climax broke through you in a rush, your fingers gripping his hair as your thighs closed around his shoulders. Beau kept his mouth against you while you came, drawing out every pulse with slow movements of his fingers until the pleasure sharpened into sensitivity.

You tugged lightly at his hair.

He lifted his head, his mouth wet and his eyes dark.

The sight of him between your thighs sent another weak contraction through you.

Beau withdrew his fingers slowly, then kissed the inside of your leg before moving back up your body. He braced himself over you, and you barely had time to notice the shine on his mouth before he kissed you.

You tasted yourself on his tongue.

The kiss was deeper than the ones before, your hands moving over his bare back while his hips settled between your thighs. His jeans were still on, the hard length of him pressing against you through the denim.

You reached down and fumbled with his belt.

Beau’s mouth curved against yours. “Still nervous?”

“Yes,” you admitted, opening the buckle. “I also want you.”

The humor left his expression, replaced by something so warm and intent that you had to kiss him before you became overwhelmed by it.

He helped you with the button, then stood long enough to remove his jeans and boxers. Your gaze dropped despite yourself.

You had felt him through his clothes before. You had touched him with your hand, had even wrapped your lips around him once, but seeing him completely naked while knowing he was about to be inside you made the reality settle differently.

Beau was thick enough to make your stomach flutter.

He noticed where you were looking and climbed back onto the bed, positioning himself beside you rather than immediately settling between your legs.

“We’re not in a hurry.”

You nodded.

He opened the nightstand and removed a condom and a small bottle of lubricant. Of course he had both waiting. Beau had apparently planned the evening down to every possible detail, though you decided not to tease him when he squeezed some lubricant onto his fingers and touched you again.

The coolness made you flinch before his fingers warmed it against your entrance.

He worked one into you, followed by the second, moving them slowly while kissing you. Your body remained loose from the orgasm, taking him more easily now. Beau stretched you with patient strokes, his thumb brushing over your clit whenever your breath caught.

When he removed his hand, the emptiness left you aching.

Beau opened the condom and rolled it down his length. His movements were steady, but you saw the tension in his jaw and realized he was holding himself together more tightly than he wanted you to know.

He settled between your legs.

The head of his cock brushed against you, slick with lubricant. Your breath stopped as he dragged it slowly through your wetness before positioning himself at your entrance.

Beau leaned down, supporting himself on one arm while his other hand rested against your hip.

“Look at me.”

You met his gaze.

“If you want me to stop, I stop. It doesn’t matter how far we get.”

You nodded again, but Beau waited.

“I’ll tell you.”

He kissed you, slow and lingering, before beginning to press inside.

The first stretch was more intense than his fingers. Your body tightened around the broad head, and Beau stopped immediately, barely inside you.

Your hands gripped his shoulders.

He stayed close, kissing the corner of your mouth while his thumb moved along your hip. The pressure burned slightly, not unbearable but sharp enough that your instincts told you to tense against it.

“Breathe for me,” Beau murmured against your cheek.

You took a slow breath. Then another.

He did not move until your thighs loosened around him. When you shifted your hips experimentally, the pressure changed, becoming fuller rather than painful.

You pulled him closer.

Beau pushed forward another inch.

The stretch returned, but this time you were ready for it. He moved slowly, pausing whenever your expression tightened, letting your body adjust around each part of him before going deeper.

His arms trembled faintly from the effort of holding himself still.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yes.” You slid your hands from his shoulders to the back of his neck. “Keep going.”

Beau pressed his forehead against yours as he eased farther inside.

The fullness seemed endless at first. Your body resisted, then gradually yielded, opening around him until his hips finally met yours. A quiet sound escaped him when he was fully seated, his eyes closing briefly as your walls tightened around his cock.

He stayed motionless.

You felt every part of him, the thick stretch and the weight of his body held above yours. The initial sting remained, but it was fading beneath the warmth of his skin and the slow circles his thumb traced against your hip.

“You’re shaking,” you whispered.

Beau opened his eyes. “I’m trying very hard not to ruin all my excellent preparation by losing my mind.”

The laugh that left you loosened the last of the tension in your body.

His expression shifted when he felt it.

“Can I move?”

You drew him down for a kiss. “Please.”

Beau pulled back slowly, leaving only the head inside you before pressing forward again.

The first thrust made you inhale sharply. It was not painful, but the drag of him against your walls was unfamiliar enough to overwhelm every other sensation. He repeated the movement with the same measured pace, giving you time to understand the fullness rather than bracing against it.

Your hands moved along his back.

Each thrust became easier. The stretch remained, but warmth began curling around it, pleasure gathering as your body adjusted to the rhythm. Beau watched you closely, his gaze moving between your face and the place where you were joined.

He changed the angle slightly.

The next stroke brushed something deeper inside you, making your hips lift to meet his.

Beau exhaled roughly. “There?”

You nodded, pulling him closer.

His thrusts grew more confident, still controlled but no longer hesitant. He pushed deeper each time, his pelvis pressing against your clit at the bottom of the movement. The room filled with the soft sounds of your breathing, the slide of his body against yours, and the playlist Beau had spent far too long arranging.

You wrapped one leg around his waist.

The change drew him deeper, and a moan slipped from you before you could soften it. Beau’s head lowered to your neck, his mouth opening against your skin as his composure began to fray.

He had been so focused on you that you almost forgot what this must feel like for him. The reminder came in the tension of his shoulders and the low sound he made each time you tightened around him.

Your nails dragged lightly down his back.

His hips snapped forward harder.

The sharper thrust sent pleasure through you, and Beau immediately slowed, lifting his head to read your expression.

“Again,” you whispered.

Something in his eyes darkened.

He gave you another deeper stroke, then another, finding a rhythm that pushed the discomfort entirely from your mind. Your body moved beneath his now, meeting each thrust instead of waiting for it.

The sweetness of the evening did not disappear. It changed shape.

Beau kissed you harder, his hand sliding beneath your thigh to hold it higher against his side. The new angle allowed him deeper, each thrust drawing a broken sound from your mouth. His restraint slipped piece by piece as you pulled him into you, until his breathing became rough and his hips moved with a desperation that made heat coil through your stomach again.

You were not sure you could come from the feeling of him alone, but Beau did not expect you to.

His hand moved between your bodies.

His thumb found your clit, rubbing slow circles while he continued thrusting into you. The combination made your walls tighten around him, and Beau’s pace faltered.

“Fuck,” he breathed against your mouth.

Your second orgasm began building almost immediately, your body still sensitive from his tongue. Beau kept his thumb moving, matching the pressure to the rhythm of his hips until you could no longer separate one sensation from another.

The candlelight flickered behind him. Your favorite scent filled the room, sweet and warm, mixing with the heat of Beau’s body and the faint clean smell of his sheets.

You clung to him as the pressure tightened.

Beau felt it approaching. His mouth moved along your jaw, his voice low and strained near your ear.

“Let go.”

The orgasm broke through you with his next thrust.

Your body tightened around him in pulsing waves, your back lifting from the mattress as pleasure swept through you. Beau kept moving, his thumb circling your clit while you came around his cock, though the rhythm of his thrusts quickly became uneven.

He buried his face against your neck, a rough groan leaving him as your walls continued clenching around him.

His hips drove forward once, twice, then held deep inside you as he came in the condom, his entire body shuddering over yours.

Beau remained above you until his breathing steadied, his forehead resting against yours while the last tremors passed through both of you.

When he finally pulled out, he did it slowly. The movement left you tender enough to wince, and his hand immediately settled against your thigh.

“I know,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your knee before taking care of the condom.

You expected him to return to bed, but Beau disappeared into the bathroom instead. He came back moments later with a warm washcloth and sat beside you, one hand gently parting your thighs.

The first pass made you tense. His gaze lifted to your face, but he did not turn it into a worried interrogation. He simply slowed down, cleaning the dampness from your skin with soft strokes.

A faint trace of pink marked the cloth.

Beau noticed it, though his expression never changed. His thumb moved soothingly over your knee as he finished, treating you with the same tenderness as before without making you feel embarrassed by it.

Once the washcloth was gone, he handed you one of the water bottles waiting on the nightstand and climbed beneath the covers. You barely managed a sip before he drew you against his chest.

His fingers drifted lazily along your back. The playlist continued softly, and your favorite candle still warmed the room with its familiar scent.

You tucked your face beneath his chin, suddenly too tired and full of emotion to overthink the words.

“I love you,” you mumbled against his chest.

Beau’s arms tightened around you. He kissed your hair, lingering there as he whispered, “I love you too.”

he would be the kind of guy who brings roses to a date, run across the car to open the door before you get there and bend down to fix your shoelaces for you.

jason todd is the type of guy to teach you how to do things, especially practical things like changing a tire or oil from your car. he would probably make excuses to see you at first, coming over to fix something and getting himself a little extra dirty just to feel you wipe the scuff off his cheek. he’ll drag his hand over his face purposefully because he wants that excuse to touch you without having to initiate it.

jason todd would finally admit his feelings for you after a long day with you because he just couldn’t help it. he’s rubbing at his temples from the sheer amount of energy it takes from him to be away from you. acting like it didn’t make him want to rip out his skin and scream that he’s in love with you. it would probably slip out in conversation. your complaining about guys in your city and he’s telling you how it shouldn’t be a problem, forgetting about the implication of his words.

“none of them are good enough for you anyways. you deserve a protector,”

you roll your eyes, “i’m not some damsel jason.”

he’ll smile, give you those pretty teeth that he swears never got braces to achieve their straightness with, “nah you’re not. but you’re someone worth dying for.”

you’ll pretend to be unfazed and not like your heart isn’t swelling because he’s the one you wanted all along.

jason todd is never rough or mean in any regard. not with you at least. he would absentmindedly stare at your lips, mind wandering off on how the supple skin would feel against his. faintly wishing he had permission to touch you. shaking his head when you say his name and snap him from his thoughts, smiling up at you.

when you date him, he wouldn’t touch you unnecessarily at first, dragging his hands on the couch next to you. restraining himself for god knows why. he doesn’t initiate touching until you do, until you put his hands where you want them. until you have to straddle him to show him that you need him to touch you more.

jason todd is not half the dominant sexual force people say he is. sure, he’ll kiss you passionately, letting you melt into him before deepening it at all completely. mouthing at you til your breathless, like he wanted his very soul to be fused to yours. he’s hungry, but he’s not rough with it.

he matches your pace, he lets you build it.

he doesn’t just crave reciprocation—he needs it.

jason todd wouldn’t have sex with you immediately either. nor would he be rough in bed like some sex craved demon, even if you wanted him to. one night when you step out of the shower, he’s got dinner cooking and ready for you, and you couldn’t help but appreciate him for his efforts. palming at him through his shorts, whispering that you need him now. he stops your wrists immediately, grabbing them just to tell you he doesn’t need you to, even though he really wants it. jason settles for laying you back on the couch and showing you what a real man does.

when you blink at him, he’s already on his knees.

“let me worship you. please?”

he doesn’t need to touch you yet, he doesn’t even need to be inside you to lose his mind.

jason todd is the type of guy to create his own category of good men. the kind that you would have never labeled before, but knowing him, there was no one else quite like him.

he eats you out like he’s actually starving but he savours at the same time. going back for seconds when you think he’s done, when you think he’s not breathing enough. he acts like he’s got all the time in the world, lapping and not even inside yet, to get you whining and falling apart.

jason todd is a gentle lover, through and through. intimacy was no exception. he cried the first time you had sex, not because it hurt or anything, but because he couldn’t believe he could have you. inching himself slowly until he’s buried in the heat. he kisses you through it, making promises you knew he would never break. the words that slip past his lips, those were what got you. his gentle love that felt like a bed of feathers.

jason todd would carry you to a bath afterwards, even when you were exhausted. even when you told him you just wanted to nap. he’d wash your back anyways, run his fingers through your hair and lather up soap. he would be knowledgeable about it too, putting leave in conditioner in your hair and moisturizer on your face, even though you’re half asleep. you’ll wake up happy, clean and moisturized, with the slightest ache between your legs.

jason todd would already be up, the smell of something sweet and coffee mixing in the air like he lived in a bakery. beckoning you to find out what was creating such a delicious scent. you’ll find him in the kitchen, in a ridiculous apron that says to kiss the chef and no shirt underneath. when he sees you he smiles and strides over, spatula in hand. and when he kisses you, it’s like a thousand butterflies emerge from their cocoons and the warmth of the sun is shining directly on you, all at once.

jason todd would be the first to tell you he loves you when he’s comfortable. he just wouldn’t be able to hide it from you, and he’d probably say it in passing at first, saying bye to you before you leave the house, waving his hand up while he’s busy with something.

“have a good day, love you.”

he wouldn’t even realize until you tell him later that night, after beating yourself up for not saying it then. his cheeks will pinken and his jaw will unclench—like the realization dawned on him in that moment. then he smiles and doubles down.

“well even if you ever decide you hated me, it’s too late. i love you too much to let you go without a fight.”

even jason todds threats linger with sugary sweetness because jason todd is a sweet man, through and through.

Heeseung notices immediately. He slows, then stills completely, buried to the hilt. His dark eyes search your face, brows furrowed with concern. “Baby… what’s wrong?” His voice is gentle, low, a little breathless from holding back.You blink up at him, eyes clearer now that the motion has stopped. For a moment you just look at him, really look at him, and the weight in your chest makes your throat tighten.

“I… I don’t know,” you whisper. “Something isn’t right. I’m not… I’m not feeling my best.” Heeseung’s expression softens instantly. He brushes a few strands of hair from your forehead, thumb tracing your temple with aching tenderness.

“I could tell,” he murmurs, voice thick with empathy. “I didn’t want to push you if you weren’t in it. I’m sorry, love.” The moment the words leave his lips, something in you cracks open. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down until his chest presses fully against yours. Hee doesn’t hesitate, he wraps you up in his strong arms, hugging you close, one hand sliding up and down your back in soothing strokes while the other cradles the back of your head.

“It’s okay,” he whispers against your hair, pressing soft kisses to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your eye. “You’re safe. I’ve got you. Whatever’s weighing on you, you don’t have to carry it alone right now.” You cling tighter, face buried in the warm curve of his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of his skin. A shaky breath escapes you, and then another. His cock is still nestled deep inside you, hot and throbbing, but neither of you moves. It feels grounding. Full. Real.

Heeseung keeps murmuring softly, lips brushing your ear. “My sweet girl… you’re doing so well just by being here with me. I’m so proud of you for telling me. You don’t have to be strong every second, okay? Let me take care of you.”

When he shifts slightly as if to pull out, your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, locking him in place. “No,” you whisper, voice cracking. “Don’t pull out. Please… stay like this. I need you close. As close as possible.”

Heeseung stills, then lets out a soft, understanding hum. “Okay, baby. I’m not going anywhere.” He settles deeper, hips pressing flush against yours so there’s not a single inch of space between you. “I’m right here. Inside you. Holding you.”

His arms tighten around you, one hand continuing those slow, comforting strokes along your spine. He kisses your shoulder, your neck, the shell of your ear, gentle, reverent presses of his lips that make your eyes sting.

“You feel so good around me,” he breathes, voice warm and sincere. “So warm… so perfect. Even when you’re sad, your body still holds me like it was made for me.”

A quiet sob slips from your throat. You bury your face harder into his shoulder, tears finally spilling over. Heeseung doesn’t flinch. He just keeps rocking in tiny, shallow movements, barely thrusts, more like a gentle sway that keeps him pressed right where you need him while his cock stays buried deep.

“That’s it, let it out,” he murmurs, lips against your hair. “Cry if you need to. I’ve got you. You’re my girl… my beautiful, strong, sensitive girl. And I love every single part of you, the happy parts, the heavy parts, all of it.”

He shifts just enough to angle his hips, pressing against that sensitive spot inside you with each small roll. Not hard. Not fast. Just steady, intimate pressure that makes warmth bloom low in your belly even through the tears. “Feel me?” he whispers. “Feel how deep I am? That’s me loving you from the inside out. You don’t have to think about anything else right now. Just feel me holding you… filling you… taking care of you.”

Your walls flutter around him involuntarily, and he groans softly, the sound vibrating against your chest. “There you go… that’s my girl. Let your body feel good. You deserve it. You deserve to feel loved and safe and pleasured, even when your heart feels heavy.”

He keeps that slow, intimate rhythm; deep, rolling grinds that rub perfectly against your clit with every movement. One hand slides between your bodies, fingers finding your swollen clit and circling it with feather-light pressure, never rushing.

“Look at me for a second, baby,” he coos when your sobs quiet into shaky breaths. You lift your tear-streaked face just enough. His eyes are soft, dark, full of nothing but adoration. “You’re so loved,” he says, voice steady and sure. “I love you when you’re smiling. I love you when you’re crying. I love you when you need me rough and when you need me gentle. Right now, I’m giving you everything you need, my cock deep inside you, my arms around you, my heart right here with yours.”

He kisses your wet cheeks, then your lips, slow, deep, pouring every bit of tenderness into it. His hips never stop their gentle rocking, the head of his cock kissing that sweet spot over and over while his fingers keep their soft, slick circles on your clit. The pleasure builds slowly, warmly, mixing with the ache in your chest until the two feelings tangle together. Your legs tighten around him, pulling him impossibly closer.

“That’s it… just feel,” he whispers against your mouth. “Let me make you feel good. Let me fuck all the sadness out of you nice and slow… or let me love you until you forget everything but how full and safe you feel. Whatever you need tonight, I’m giving it to you.”

You whimper, nodding against his shoulder, fresh tears slipping down your temples. Heeseung kisses them away, then presses his forehead to yours, breathing with you.

“I’m so deep, baby… can you feel every inch of me? I’m not pulling out until you tell me to. I’m staying right here, making love to you until your body melts and your heart feels lighter. You’re mine to take care of.” His pace stays intimate deep, and unhurried grinds that make your toes curl and your breath hitch between sobs. Every thrust is paired with soft affirmations whispered right against your skin.

“You’re so beautiful when you let yourself feel everything.”

“You’re safe with me. Always.”

“Let go, love. I’ve got you… I’ve got all of you.”

The coil in your belly tightens gradually, pleasure weaving through the sadness until it becomes something softer, warmer, almost healing. Heeseung keeps you wrapped in his arms the entire time, never once letting you feel alone, his cock never leaving the tight heat of your body. When you finally start trembling, thighs quivering around his waist, he presses his lips to your ear and murmurs the words that tip you over the edge: “Come for me, baby. Let me feel you fall apart while I’m still inside you. I love you so much… let me make you feel good.”

Your orgasm washes over you in slow, rolling waves, intense but gentle, pulling soft, broken cries from your throat as you cling to him, sobbing and moaning into his shoulder. Heeseung groans deeply, holding you through every pulse, hips still rocking you through it until you’re boneless and trembling in his arms. Only then does he let himself follow, spilling deep inside you with a quiet, shuddering moan, arms wrapped so tightly around you it feels like he’s trying to fuse your bodies together.

Afterward, he stays buried inside you, softening but refusing to pull out. He rolls you both onto your sides, keeping you pressed chest-to-chest, legs tangled, his hand stroking your hair while you hide your face in his neck. “Still here,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Not going anywhere. You can cry, you can sleep, you can stay just like this as long as you need. I’ve got you, my love. Always.”

You let out one last shaky breath, the heaviness in your chest a little lighter, his warmth and his words and his presence wrapped around you like the safest blanket in the world. And for the first time tonight, the fog feels just a little farther away.

Maybe it’s how long it’s been since you’ve been touched the way you really need to be. Maybe it’s the way Bucky isn’t paying attention to anything but the screen, all heavy warmth and steady breathing, broad thighs spread the way they always are.

You’re not trying to do anything. You’re not even thinking about it. You’re just shifting, adjusting the blanket, trying to get comfortable. He’s warm. He’s solid. Your hips naturally angle toward him.

And then there’s pressure.

Right between your legs. Firm. Reliable. Too good.

You freeze. But he doesn’t notice — his eyes are still on the TV, jaw ticking as he chews a piece of popcorn. He’s so relaxed you melt a little, letting your body lean in, leaning over his thigh just enough to—

Oh.

Oh god.

You should stop. You should. Because your clit is throbbing, and the seam of your shorts is dragging perfectly, painfully over the muscle of his thigh. Because your breath is catching and your lips are parting and you are very, very obviously using him.

But he hasn’t said a word. Hasn’t looked over. Hasn’t moved. And something about that — about the fact that he’s just there, big and quiet and easy to hide against — loosens every bit of sense in your body.

You shift again.

Your core pulses.

Your thighs tremble.

You keep watching the movie like nothing’s happening, like you’re not grinding yourself stupid against your best friend’s leg, like the heat isn’t building with every tiny unconscious roll of your hips.

Your breathing gets shallow. You try to hide it. Try to keep your movements small, subtle, something that could be mistaken for fidgeting. But every drag of friction lights you up a little more, makes your nerves spark, makes your vision blur around the edges.

Bucky clears his throat.

You nearly jump off him.

But he just shifts his weight, settling deeper into the couch. And in the process… his thigh flexes.

Sweet. Fucking. Relief.

The contact sends a shock through your whole body. Your hand flies to your mouth before you can swallow the sound, a pathetic little whine muffled against your palm.

You can’t stop now. It’s not even a choice anymore. Your body is already chasing, already trembling, already dripping through the thin cotton between you and him.

You rock a little harder.

His thigh is huge. Solid. Perfect. Heat rolls off him, straight into you, straight into the place you need it.

Your pussy clenches hard enough to make you dizzy.

Bucky shifts again.

His thigh tenses again.

You’re so close you can barely breathe.

“Just— just a second,” you whisper, not even sure who you’re talking to, pressing your forehead to the blanket, letting your hips find the exact angle you need to fall apart.

The movie keeps playing.

Bucky keeps breathing.

And you come.

Hard. Silently at first, then with a strangled gasp you try —and fail— to smother. Pleasure rips through you, your legs shaking, your whole body bowing over his thigh as heat floods your panties, your core spasms uncontrollably, your breath breaking on every exhale.

You ride out the wave helplessly, your fingers digging into the couch cushions, your thighs clenching around his, your cunt pulsing in the aftermath as wetness spreads warm and humiliating through your shorts.

You’re still catching your breath when the room goes quiet.

Too quiet.

You blink. Look up.

And Bucky is staring at you.

Not shocked.

Not confused.

Just… dark. Focused. A little wild around the edges.

“Sweetheart,” he says, voice low enough to vibrate through the couch cushions.

Your heart drops into your stomach.

You open your mouth, to apologize, to explain, to beg the earth to swallow you, but he tilts his head.

“You just came.”

Heat rushes up your neck, choking you. “Bucky, I—I didn’t realize I was—”

He lifts one finger.

You go silent immediately.

“Sweetheart,” he says again, more like a warning this time. “I didn’t even touch you.”

You swallow hard. Your thighs are still trembling around him.

His eyes drop to the mess between your legs — the damp patch you can’t hide, the way you’re still pressed against him like your body doesn’t want to let go.

Then he looks back up at you.

And you know you’re in trouble.

“Up,” he murmurs.

You barely process the word before he’s guiding you off his lap, his hands surprisingly gentle, helping you stand on shaky legs. He rises too, towering, close, heat radiating from him like a second skin, and he doesn’t break eye contact for a single second.

“Bucky—”

“Shh.”

He takes your hand.

Not roughly. Not sweetly.

Purposefully.

And then he’s walking you backward down the hall, slow enough to let your panic and your arousal twist together, fast enough to make your breath stutter.

When your back hits his bedroom door, he cages you in with one arm above your head, leaning in close enough that you can feel his breath against your ear.

“You’re gonna tell me exactly what you were thinking,” he murmurs, “when you were grinding that pretty little pussy all over my thigh.”

You shiver violently. “I wasn’t— I didn’t mean— I just—”

He smiles. Slow. Dangerous.

“So desperate you didn’t even know you were doing it?” he asks softly.

Your face burns. “Bucky…”

He hooks a finger under your chin and lifts until you have no choice but to meet his eyes.

“You came,” he repeats, “without me. Without my mouth. Without my hands. Without my cock.”

Your knees nearly buckle.

“And now,” he whispers, brushing his lips over your jaw, “you’re going to come with me.”

The door clicks shut behind you.

He backs you toward the bed, one step at a time, his voice the only thing anchoring you.

“You’re gonna ride my thigh again,” he murmurs, “but this time you’re going to look at me while you do it.”

Your breath hitches.

“And after that?” He smirks, hands finding your hips, dragging you flush against him so you feel exactly how hard he is. “I’m going to make you come so many times you forget how you managed without me.”

You let out a broken sound — a plea, a surrender, something in between.

Bucky kisses you.

Hungry. Claiming. Like he’s been waiting for this just as long as you have.

And when he finally pulls back, he whispers against your lips,

“Sweetheart, movie night’s over.”

He lowers you onto the bed.