#AND! THE RAMEN IS JUST MID

[micamicster]

Literally just left most annoying long ass day at work got home power to the whole block is out con Ed down a manhole out front… say ok fuck this walk across the street to get dinner sit down and the ramen place is having a special ok so I get the special with a beer which I don’t usually do but it’s been SUCH AN ANNOYING DAY AND IVE BEEN SO POSITIVE! ALL DAY! WHICH ISNT IN MY NATURE! Take that first sip of beer have a sinking evil feeling… check my schedule… sure enough im on backup for another 12 hours :|

[shesmore-shoebill]

Simply needed to capture Arasha's sincerely horrified "COURT!" as they enthusiastically go back in for another heaping mouthful of lime gatorade hot dog ramen.

Court's muffled "I like it! :(" and Angela's supportive "Its sweet, its good!"

[whoslaurapalmer]

best friend and I got to hang out today!!!!! 💖💖 we went to the convenience store (best friend wanted a fun seasonal mint drink and then I saw the cheese filled pretzels I literally have not had in like 10 years so. I had to.) and then the mall and the bookstore and then dropped some pretzels off for my brother ("I know you wanted me to get a mall pretzel, but, I ate a different pretzel, earlier. so I got you the mall pretzel. ....and one for me so I could eat it later." "OH, I absolutely wanted you to get me a pretzel. I wasn't even subtly hinting. But I did want you to get yourself a pretzel too, so it was a win-win." "It was!!!!!!!!!!") and then we went to the ramen place we used to go to for dinner!! I got the most incredible chicken rice bowl of my life oh my godddddddddddddd. such a nice afternoon and evening!!!!!

[mahowaga]

it started innocently—really, it did.

you had no idea the chaos you were about to unleash when, that first time, you pulled your phone out at dinner to capture the gorgeous table spread.

you aren't some influencer, you don't have an aesthetic food page or anything. you just like saving the memories. you like looking back at the colors of the dishes, the way the warm lights catch the steam rising from a bowl of ramen, or the glistening sheen of freshly grilled corn. it makes you happy.

but nanami kento—who sits across from you at that table, handsome in his pressed white button-up and tie still a little too tight against his throat even though the workday has ended—mistakes your angle.

his gaze flicks up from his plate, catching you just as you are angling your phone. and for a brief moment, his face freezes.

then—composed, but stiff—he straightens his spine and fixes his tie.

you blink. "what... what are you doing?"

"you could've warned me if you were going to take a photo of me," he murmurs, eyes dropping to his food. "i must look ridiculous while eating."

the words catch you so off guard that you barely manage a confused laugh, and the words i wasn't taking a photo of you! i was taking a photo of the table, of the food don't come. instead, you stutter, "oh, well, i—"

kento nods, but his eyes don't meet yours. he simply spears a piece of potato and says, "of course."

you meant to correct him properly. you meant to explain. but watching the slight pink creep up the tips of his ears—the usually unflappable nanami kento, embarrassed at the thought of you taking his picture—you hesitate.

and then you just never said anything.

the next time it happens, it's sushi.

a fancy little place you pick because you know kento likes it—quiet, clean, no frills but top-tier quality. you're practically bouncing in your seat by the time the chef slides the first omakase platter in front of you, every piece glistening, delicate, artful.

you pull out your phone.

kento, mid-reach for his cup of tea, freezes again. just like last time.

then slowly—almost robotically—he sets the cup down, places his hands neatly on his lap, and gives you the most stilted half-smile you've ever seen.

you pause, staring at him. "kento—"

"it's alright," he says quickly. "i understand. people like documenting memories. i just. i just wasn't prepared. that's all."

you really should clear the misunderstanding right now.

but instead, a laugh bubbles out of you. "alright. then—hold still."

and you snap a photo. of him. not the food. him.

the photo is terrible—he's as stiff as a board, his jaw locked, and he looks like he's posing for a passport photo at gunpoint.

but it's cute. in the way kento always is, without ever meaning to be.

it becomes a thing after that. you don't even know how.

every time you take your phone out, kento will assume the position. stiff shoulders, straight spine, polite smile.

and every time, you can't bring yourself to tell him that no—really—you're just trying to take a photo of the food.

but by the fourth or fifth outing, something shifts.

kento starts asking, carefully neutral, "do you want me to sit differently? or is this alright?"

and that? that cracks something in you.

"no," you laugh, breathless. "you're perfect."

the words slip out before you can stop them.

kento blinks once, then twice. then he looks down quickly, ears flushing crimson. "i see."

after that, it's like he's resigned himself. if you pull your phone out, he waits. patient, polite, quietly ready.

so you start taking photos. of him. on purpose.

at the cafe, with the tiny cappuccino cup too delicate in his large hands—snap.

at the bakery, applying jam to the slice of freshly baked bread—snap.

at the park, sitting stiffly on the bench while you both have ice cream—snap.

"you're building a collection, aren't you?" kento asks one evening, watching you put your phone down with a barely-contained smile.

you start. "what?"

"photos. of me." his voice is flat, but his eyes—his eyes are soft, just the slightest glint of amusement there. "i'm assuming you have a folder by now."

you flush. "i—no—maybe."

kento lets out a low sigh, running a hand through his hair. "you could just ask, you know."

you blink. "ask?"

"if you want a picture," he says, clearing his throat. "i don't mind. but maybe then—maybe i could try not to look like a stiff idiot."

you laugh, loud and bright, and kento flinches like he's just startled a bird.

"you don't look like an idiot," you say, wiping your eyes. "you look like you. that's perfect to me."

kento stares at you for a long, quiet moment. and then—unexpected, a tiny miracle—he smiles. a real one. the kind that softens all the lines of his face, that crinkles his eyes just enough.

"that might be the nicest thing anyone's said to me," he murmurs.

you open your mouth, close it, then grin. "well, get used to it. you're stuck with me, nanami kento. my photo album's already proof."

kento gives a long-suffering sigh, but his hand—warm, steady—reaches out across the table, brushing yours.

"i suppose," he says, almost fond, "i can live with that."

seven months later, you've built a whole gallery. and when kento catches you looking through it one night—tired from work, tie loosened, his shirt sleeves rolled up—he doesn't say a word.

he just kisses the top of your head, quietly, and murmurs, "just let me know next time, hm? i want to look good for you."

and that is how your silly little secret turns into the softest thing you've ever shared with him.

[itendtothinkalot]

certified hater

summary: jake sim’s got a new roommate. and he hates it. he hates you. until one random wednesday afternoon, you look at him with those eyes, and suddenly he’s noticing things he definitely shouldn’t. now jake’s stuck trying to ignore the fact that his least favorite person is somehow making his heart beat faster. he didn’t sign up for this. but hey, neither did you.

genre: fluff | enemies to lovers

characters: jake x f!reader

words: 15.3k

warnings: curse words, kissing i guess

a/n: based on in this economy's jake! our fav hater is back!

“Well,” he sighed dramatically, hand over his heart. “There she goes. The only decent roommate I’ve ever had. The only one who cleaned the hair out of the drain without me having to beg. Who made late-night ramen taste like a Michelin-star meal. Who laughed at my jokes, told me when my shirt was inside out, and didn’t steal my shampoo.”

His best friend rolled her eyes, already halfway up the porch steps with her bag. “Jake, we’re literally 30 minutes away. You’re going to see me every other day.”

Jake turned to Heeseung with a sunny smile. “Well…take good care of her, yeah?”

“I do take care of her,” Heeseung said, voice flat, eyes sharp.

She snorted. “I’m not being shipped off to war, Jake.”

Jungwon—boba in hand, sunglasses on, posture far too relaxed for someone witnessing emotional carnage—finally spoke.

“Alright, drama club,” he called. “Wrap it up. People are starting to stare. Mostly me. And I’m starting to lose interest.”

Jake turned to him with a deep sigh. “What’s even the point of going home? The apartment is going to feel empty.”

Jungwon raised an eyebrow. “You do realize I still live there, right?”

Jake waved a dismissive hand. “Yeah, but you don’t count. You don’t talk to me. You just throw protein bars at my head and call it a meal.”

“And yet somehow, you’ve survived,” Jungwon deadpanned, like Jake was some tragic survivor of mild inconvenience. “Anyway. You got to live with your best friend. Now I get to live with mine.”

Jake froze mid-chew, narrowing his eyes. “…Wait. Wasn’t that hypothetical?”

Jungwon didn’t even look up from his phone. “No? I meant what I said. She’s moving in today.”

“She? You mean to tell me… I’m coming home to a stranger? A female stranger?”

“She’s not a stranger to me,” Jungwon said with an infuriating shrug. “Anyway. She’s chill. You’ll love her. I think.”

Jake pointed accusingly at Jungwon. “I swear if she does something annoying, I’ll—”

“You’ll do what?” Jungwon said, already walking away. “Write her a strongly worded Post-It? Sue her?”

“Ugh. First, I lose my best friend to my annoying boss now…now this? I’m going home!” he yelled, heading for his Uber. “But before I do…Heeseung,” Jake called out.

Heeseung took a slow sip of his coffee. “That’s Mr. Lee to you.”

“Yeah, I’m not calling you that when we’re off the clock and you look like a walking beige napkin.”

“This is Gucci,” Heeseung said flatly, glancing down at his designer shirt—then at Jake’s outfit. “And whatever you’re wearing is…”

Jake sneered. “Is a gift. From your girlfriend.”

“Oh. Then I love them,” Heeseung said sweetly, turning to kiss her on the lips without breaking eye contact.

Jake recoiled. “Tell your boyfriend to back off.”

“Tell your ex-roommate to get a grip.”

Jake narrowed his eyes. “I hope your new place has ants.”

And then... standing there on Heeseung’s stupidly spotless porch, watching them disappear into their stupid new house (because of course Heeseung could just casually buy a house like he was adding a new hoodie to cart), Jake squinted thoughtfully at the disgustingly perfect front yard.

Jake’s eye twitched. God, he hated rich people. To be specific, he hated Heeseung. Stealing his roommate and his best friend, just like that. Selfish bastard.

But then — just by the edge of the driveway — movement.

Tiny. Crawling. Full of untapped petty potential. Jake’s lips slowly curled into a grin.

“Well, well, well,” he murmured to absolutely no one, crouching down like a villain in sweatpants.

“Nature provides.”

Cut to twenty minutes later:

Jake crouched like a criminal in Heeseung’s yard with a plastic cup. Scooping ants off the sidewalk like he was foraging for revenge. Whispering to himself like a lunatic.

“This is what betrayal gets you, Heeseung. You bitch.”

By the time he had an entire squad of confused ants swirling around in the cup like unwilling accomplices, Jake stood up, dusted his hands off, and jogged across the lawn.

He rang the doorbell.

Once.

Twice.

Three times — annoying, spaced out, just to be a menace.

Finally — the door yanked open.

Heeseung stood there, deadpan, already exhausted. In socks. Mug of tea in hand. 

“What.”

Jake grinned, wide, sweet, feral. “Miss me?”

Heeseung blinked at him like he regretted every life choice that led to knowing Jake Sim.

“Didn’t you leave with Jungwon?”

“I was going to but…”

And then — without missing a beat — Jake yeeted the entire cup of ants straight through the doorway.

Heeseung’s eyes tracked it mid-air.

The cup landed with a hollow little plunk on the entryway floor — ants scattering like their Uber just arrived.

Heeseung stared.

“What—” Heeseung’s eye twitched. “Did you just—”

“Nature says hi.” Jake whispered.

And then?

Jake ran. Full sprint.

Cackling like an absolute child as Heeseung’s voice exploded behind him —

“WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!”

Jake was already halfway down the street, gleefully texting Jungwon like a war general reporting a win.

jake: bro i did smth

jungwon: what did you do

jake: nothing much. Had fun w nature tho…lol

jungwon: wait a min…did u throw ants in their fucking house

jake: yea lol i can still hear heeseung yelling

jungwon: take a vid?

jake: i’ll snap u LOOOL

—-

It wasn’t that Jake hated new people. Well—okay. Maybe he did. A little. Just a bit.

Sure, he looked friendly — floppy hair, easy grin, that dangerously smooth voice that could charm strangers and confuse baristas into giving him extra whipped cream without asking. But deep down?

Jake Sim was a man powered entirely by routine, caffeine, and emotional damage.

At work? Immaculate. Precise. Heeseung’s best guy on every project. The guy you could trust to fix your mess without asking questions.

At home? At home, Jake Sim was powered by rage, Doritos, and spite-fuelled midnight snacking.

And nothing — nothing — disrupted that fragile ecosystem quite like a stranger invading his living space.

Jake sighed and glanced at Jungwon, who sat curled on the couch, no emotion on his face.

“You’re sure she’ll like me?” Jake asked, leaning back like he genuinely needed reassurance.

Jungwon didn’t even glance up from his phone. “Maybe she will. Maybe she won’t. I’m betting my money on the latter.”

Jake grinned, ego inflating instantly. “But I’m charming. I’m handsome. I ooze sex appeal.”

Jungwon finally looked up. Blinked. Paused.

“You’re… okay.”

Jake stared. “Okay?”

Jungwon shrugged, unbothered. “You’re like store-brand charming.”

Jake squinted. “The hell does that even mean?”

“Looks the same. Works okay. Nobody’s writing home about it.” Jungwon deadpanned. “But yeah, sure. Reliable in a pinch.”

Jake clutched his chest like he’d just been stabbed with a plastic spoon. “I am premium charming.”

Jungwon sipped his drink. “You’re aisle seven, bottom shelf, on sale for $2.99.”

Jake looked genuinely offended. “Wow.”

“Look,” he said flatly, “she’s moving in tomorrow whether you like it or not. So dust yourself off… and for the love of God, take down that thing you call art.”

He pointed lazily at The Painting. The painting that Jake did during his “I’m unemployed and spiraling” era. His “maybe I’m just like Van Gogh” phase. A little stressed, a little depressed, and unfortunately — very creative.

Except he wasn’t.

Because if Jungwon was being brutally honest (and he always was), Jake’s 36 by 36 inch masterpiece was…

A giant, aggressively well-shaded dick.

Like, museum-level shading. Art school tragedy. Anatomically correct in ways that made Jungwon genuinely concerned for Jake’s mental health.

“It’s abstract,” Jake had insisted once, dead serious.

“It’s a dick,” Jungwon had replied, dead inside.

“To you,” Jake had said, like he was Picasso defending himself in court. “To me it represents manhood. The transition from child to man.”

Jungwon stared at him. Stared at the cursed, hauntingly well-shaded disaster on the wall. Stared back at him.

"Just take it down by tonight, you moron." he muttered, already walking back to his room. "Because I am not explaining to a grown ass woman why there’s a three-foot dick staring her dead in the eyes while she’s just trying to eat her cereal."

—-

You balanced a box against your hip, car keys jingling in one hand, your phone wedged between your shoulder and ear as you stepped into the apartment for the very first time.

“You couldn’t skip one class?” you muttered into the phone, nudging the door closed behind you with your foot. “Just one? I am literally dragging my entire life through this hallway alone right now.”

Jungwon’s voice crackled on the other end. “And I am literally about to ace my quiz on post-colonial literature. We all have battles we can’t pick.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t fall out. “I hope your professor forgets your name and ends up giving you the biggest F in history.”

“Trait—”

Jungwon cut you off with a yawn. “Anyway, key’s under the mat. Room in the back is yours. Make yourself at home. Don’t fight Jake. Love you.”

You paused mid-step. “Who?”

“Bye!” he said, then hung up like a man with no conscience.

You stared at your phone. “What do you mean ‘don’t fight Jake’?! Who’s Jake?!”

No answer. Just the echo of betrayal.

You let out a long sigh and took in your surroundings. The apartment was… livable. Clean-ish. A little too beige. Smelled like something between cologne and aggressively microwaved noodles. Classic boy territory.

Still balancing your box, you headed toward the back, where you assumed your room would be. The hallway split into two doors. One was cracked open slightly, revealing a glimpse of a desk.

You knocked once, half-hearted and awkward, and pushed the door open.

And then everything happened at once.

Music. Blasting.

Eyes. Wide.

Box. Dropped.

You screamed.

Because standing dead center in the room was a guy in nothing but boxers, aggressively dancing to Bruno Mars like he was auditioning for a boyband. 

He jumped like he'd been tasered, yanked an earbud out, and yelped, “WHAT THE HELL?! WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?!”

“WHY ARE YOU NAKED?!” you echoed back, slapping a hand over your eyes. 

“I’M NOT NAKED!”

“YOU’RE LIKE 80% NAKED!”

He grabbed a throw pillow off his bed and held it over himself like it could protect either of you from this moment. “What are you even doing in my room?!”

“Jungwon said the room in the back is mine!”

“This is my room!”

“Then label your damn doors next time!”

“You’re supposed to knock!”

“I did knock!”

“Then you wait for a response, smartass!”

“Are you serious right now?! How was I supposed to know you’d be air-humping the universe like a deranged psycho?!”

“That was choreography!”

You both stared at each other, panting like you’d just come out of battle. You took a long breath, picked up your box again, and hissed, “You must be Jake.”

His eyes narrowed. “And you must be the replacement.”

“Well,” he said, tossing the pillow onto the bed and grabbing a pair of sweats, “we’re off to a great start.”

If first impressions were anything to go by, this was going to be war.

And unfortunately, the battlefield was your new living room.

—-

You wiped your palms on your jeans, jaw still tight as you grabbed another box from the small pile by the front door. This one was heavier—textbooks, probably. Just as you turned around to haul it outside, you slammed straight into a very firm, very warm, very fully clothed chest.

You looked up. Jake.

Now dressed in a hoodie and joggers, hair slightly damp like he’d just showered the shame off. Unfortunately, he still looked obnoxiously good. Annoyingly taller than you. And, somehow, smug—which should be illegal after whatever happened earlier.

He blinked down at you. “Need help?”

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but he held up a hand.

“Unless…” He squinted dramatically. “You’re about to peep on me again, then I—”

“Peep at you?!” you hissed. “I walked into what I thought was my room and got assaulted by a hip thrust.”

He shrugged. “I was in the moment.”

“Are you always this delusional?”

Jake leaned against the doorframe like this wasn’t already a disaster. “You really can’t admit it, huh?”

“Admit what?”

“That you enjoyed the view.”

Your jaw dropped. “Oh my God.”

“Don’t worry,” he added, all faux-gentle. “Not everyone can handle the Full Jake Sim Experience.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You know, Jungwon warned me about you.”

Jake’s grin kicked up, cocky. “Let me guess — ‘Jake’s a little dramatic, but give it time and you’ll fall for the charm.’”

“Actually,” you said dryly, “it was ‘don’t engage, it only encourages him.’”

“That’s slander,” he declared.

“That’s advice,” you corrected. “Good advice.”

—

Jungwon slid his bag off his shoulder, grinning from ear to ear. “I’m home!” he called out, voice echoing through the apartment as he kicked the door shut behind him.

Finally. After years of joking about it, he was officially living with his best friend.

Jungwon knew the odds were low that you and Jake would hit it off immediately.

You were... you. Stubborn. Easily irritated. Quietly unhinged. But also — annoyingly kind. Thoughtful in that backhanded, "made you ramen but insulted you while doing it" kind of way.

You’d survive Jake.

Hell, maybe Jake needed to survive you.

He strolled down the hallway, humming as he knocked lightly on your door. “Yo. You alive in there?”

No answer.

He tried again. Still nothing. With a shrug, he walked over to Jake’s door and gave it a push. Open. Empty.

“Jake?”

Then, from the depths of the apartment, came shouting.

Jungwon blinked. Tilted his head. The bathroom. He padded toward the noise—and regretted it immediately.

“I was here first!” you snapped.

“No, I was here first!” Jake shot back, voice bouncing off the tiled walls.

“I had my towel in here! That’s bathroom code!” You yelled.

“There is no such thing as bathroom code, you freak!”

“Let me in! I’m going out and I have to pee!”

“Looking like that?” You sneered at Jake whose smile faded.

A long pause.

“…What’s that supposed to mean?”

You offered a polite smile. “Oh, nothing. I just thought you cared about how you dressed. But hey—good for you. You’re braver than most of the people I know!”

Jungwon closed his eyes. Rested his head against the wall. Inhaled slowly.

This was his life now.

—-

Jake sat slouched at the edge of the table, a half-spilled bowl of kimchi stew in front of him, aggressively chomping like it had personally wronged him.

Across from him, Heeseung and his girlfriend were mid–honeymoon phase nonsense—feeding each other dumplings, whispering like the rest of the room didn’t exist, giggling over god knows what as if Jake wasn’t having a full-blown emotional breakdown one seat over.

“She color-codes the pantry,” Jake snapped, waving his chopsticks like a weapon. “I left one bag of chips—one!—and she reorganized the entire cabinet. Who’s even looking in there, huh? The Pantry Police?”

“Oh—oh, and get this,” Jake ranted, mouth still half-full of kimchi. “She sends me photos of the sink. With captions. ‘This is your plate, Jake. I know it’s yours because it has your little cartoon fork on it. Like—what?! How does she even know I have cartoon forks?! Who memorizes someone’s cutlery?’”

He flailed a hand like he was being victimized.

His best friend didn’t even blink. “The real question is why you’re still using forks with tiny bears on them.”

“That’s not the point!”

“You ever thought of, I don’t know…” Heeseung finally looked up, lips shiny from dumpling sauce. “Being a better roommate instead of…an ass?”

“I’m not being an ass!” Jake protested — loud enough to startle the next table and wild enough to knock over the soy sauce dish. He scrambled to fix it with a sad napkin, still grumbling under his breath like he was the victim here.

“She’s just—she’s too clean, okay? Like robot clean. Psycho neat. I leave one hoodie on the couch and next thing I know, it’s folded, labelled, and put away neatly.” 

“It just sounds like you’re being an ass to her,” she said.

“Yeah, let’s unpack that.”

Jake squinted. “Unpack what?”

“You know.” Heeseung leaned back, annoyingly relaxed. “Why are you all…angsty and weird about her?”

“Because!” Jake snapped. Jake glared. At them. At the table. At the ceiling.

Heeseung raised an eyebrow. “Because?”

Then he exploded, “…Because she freaking pisses me off, that’s why!”

The table went silent.

“That’s crazy. Sounds a lot like flirting to me.”

—-

You threw yourself onto the couch with the kind of rage that could only come from enduring Jake Sim for more than ten minutes. Jungwon sat across from you, calmly chewing on dried squid like he wasn’t witnessing a breakdown.

“He leaves his stupid fucking hoodie on the couch,” you exploded, hands flailing like you were directing traffic in hell. “Like we live in a prison bunk. Like there’s no other surface in the entire apartment for his crusty-ass clothes except the exact spot I want to sit.”

Jungwon nodded slowly. Unbothered. A man built for surviving your storms.

You inhaled sharply. But oh — you were not done.

“And don’t even get me started on the pantry.” You threw a hand toward the kitchen like it personally betrayed you.

“He messed up my color-coded snack shelf. My system, Jungwon.” He raised a brow. Brave. Curious. Foolish.

“What system?”

You blinked. Offended. “My Oreos go beside the dark chocolate. That’s balance. That’s harmony. That’s civilisation. That’s how society should be.”

“But noooo—” you went on, fully deranged now, “Jake Sim, chaotic neutral in sweatpants, decides to put my Oreos between the shrimp chips and the ramen cups like he’s staging a fucking rebellion.”

“So what I’m hearing is…” he drawled, “you think about Jake... a lot.”

“Shut the hell up.”

He ignored you completely. “God, you two act like toddlers.”

“It’s not my fault,” you whined. “He’s making living here hard.”

Like breathing was fine until Jake Sim walked into the room with his stupid smug face and stupid loud voice and stupid boy smell that was weirdly clean for someone who acted like a feral animal.

“You’re not exactly a ray of sunshine to him either,” he pointed out.

“That’s only because…” you muttered.

“Because?”

“Because he’s loud and smug and he–he leaves wet towels on the bathroom floor and–”

“Because?”

“BECAUSE HE FREAKING PISSES ME OFF, THAT’S WHY!”

The room went quiet. Jungwon stared at you. You stared at Jungwon.

And then he went back to chewing his squid, completely unfazed. “Yeah,” he mumbled, “you’re definitely in love with him.”

—-

It was nearly midnight, and the apartment was quiet except for the occasional sharp screech from the horror movie playing on the TV. The lights were off, the only glow coming from the screen casting quick shadows across the room. You were curled up on the couch, blanket over your shoulders, a bowl of popcorn balanced in your lap, gripping a pillow more out of nerves than comfort — heart jumping at every sudden sound.

Jungwon was long gone—fast asleep behind his locked door like a man who knew better.

The apartment was dark. Too dark. The only light came from the TV, flickering ominously across your face as the horror movie reached its cursed little climax.

On screen, the main character was creeping down some nightmare hallway — flickering lights, suspicious footsteps, a soundtrack practically begging something to kill them. You squinted, peeking nervously between your fingers.

“Don’t open the door,” you whispered to the screen, your voice tight. “Don’t open the door, you idiot—”

On screen, the character opened the door.

You sucked in a breath, ready for the inevitable jumpscare.

And then—

“Boo.”

You didn’t even think.

You screamed at the top of your lungs. The bowl of popcorn went airborne. Your fist met something very real, very solid, and very human.

Crack.

“OW—WHAT THE FU—”

You turned mid-panic to find Jake Sim, doubled over and holding his nose, blinking like he’d just been hit by a truck.

Your jaw dropped. “OH MY GOD—JAKE?!”

He groaned loudly. “Did you just punch me?!”

“YOU SNUCK UP ON ME!”

“DO I LOOK LIKE THE FUCKING DEMON?!”

Jake pulled his hand back and stared at the red streak now smeared across his palm.

“Is that—” you gasped, eyes wide, “OH MY GOD, ARE YOU BLEEDING?”

“Yes!” Jake hissed, clutching his nose. “My face is leaking! My nose is leaking because you decided to square up with me like this was Mortal Kombat!”

You scrambled to grab tissues, knocking over a cushion and somehow stepping on your own foot in the process. “I didn’t mean to! It was a reflex! Who sneaks up on someone during a horror movie? You’re lucky I didn’t stab you.”

Jake flopped onto the couch like a man deeply wronged. “You need a warning label.”

“You need common sense.”

“You need to stop throwing hands like you’re in an underground fight club.”

You shoved the wad of tissues at him, dropping onto the couch beside him with a dramatic sigh. “Drama queen.”

“Violent rat.”

The two of you sat there, breathing hard. Popcorn crunched quietly under your sock. The horror movie still played in the background — completely forgotten.

Ten minutes later, you were sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of him, chewing your lip. Jake sat slouched on the couch, ice pack pressed to his face, still sulking like you’d ruined his modelling career.

“Are you okay?” you asked, cautiously.

Jake didn’t look at you. “Physically or emotionally?”

You squinted. “...Both?”

“Physically, my nose is fighting for its life. Emotionally? I’ve seen things.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh my god, you’re so dramatic.”

He gave you a look over the ice pack. “I googled it. I’m allowed to be dramatic.”

You snorted. “Let me see.”

“What, so you can break it again?”

Still, when you leaned in, Jake let you push his hand away.

Carefully, you touched the bridge of his nose, brows furrowed in focus. Up close like this, you were quiet for once — way too close, way too serious, and way too pretty for his peace of mind.

“It’s not broken,” you muttered, inspecting him closely. “Tragically.”

Jake huffed a laugh under his breath. “Bet you’re disappointed.”

“A little,” you admitted.

Your hand brushed his cheek as you pulled away and Jake’s brain short-circuited for a solid second.

“Okay, you’re fine. Still got your stupid face. The world can rest easy.”

He grinned lazily. “Worried about me?”

You scoffed. “I’m worried you’ll bleed all over the couch.”

You got up to leave.

“Where are you going?”

“To make you tea.”

Jake blinked. That shut him up fast.

“Chamomile?” he asked hopefully.

You groaned from the kitchen. “Isn’t that the only tea you drink?”

Silence.

Then Jake — deadpan, smug — called out, “Weird how you know that.”

You rolled your eyes. Hard. “Weird how you only drink the saddest tea on earth like an old timey British person.”

Jake snorted. “Says the girl who labels her instant noodles like they’re priceless artifacts.”

“At least I don’t treat chamomile like a personality trait.”

“At least I have a personality,” Jake shot back. “Yours starts and ends with passive-aggressive Post-Its.”

You yanked open the cupboard. “Maybe if you read them, we wouldn’t be here.”

“Maybe if you punched fewer people we wouldn’t be here.”

There was a beat.

You grabbed a mug, muttering under your breath, “Should’ve punched harder.”

Jake, from the couch, still icing his nose, let out a scoff of disbelief.

“And yet,” he said flatly, “here you are. Making tea for me.”

You slammed the kettle down louder than necessary. “Because if I don’t, you’ll bleed out and haunt me out of spite.”

Jake leaned back, smug despite the tissue stuffed up his nose.

“Oh, don’t worry,” he called out. “If I do die and end up haunting you, I’m definitely hiding your stupid label maker first.”

—-

The next morning, sunlight trickled through the blinds, soft and golden. The apartment was quiet. Jungwon had already disappeared for his 8 a.m. class like the punctual little overachiever he was.

Which left you here.

In the kitchen.

Making the most humiliating thing of your life:

“I’m sorry I punched your nose” scrambled eggs.

This wasn’t because you liked Jake Sim. God, no. This wasn’t softness. This wasn’t kindness.

This was guilt.

Stupid, irritating, nose-bleeding guilt.

Because yeah — maybe he shouldn’t have snuck up on you like the human embodiment of a jumpscare. But also... maybe you shouldn’t have decked him like you were trying out for MMA.

Maybe.

Unfortunately, despite being fully committed to hating Jake Sim with your entire soul... you also had a functioning moral compass.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

Jake padded out of his room half-asleep, hoodie sliding off one shoulder, hair a disaster, still mentally in dreamland — following the smell of butter like a man possessed.

But then he saw you.

And whatever was left of his morning brain just... stopped.

There you were. Standing by the stove — hair pulled back messily like you hadn’t even tried, barefoot, apron cinched around your waist, that stupid little dress swaying just slightly as you moved.

It was... weird.

Soft, almost. Domestic.

Like he’d walked into someone else’s life.

You were humming to yourself, lazily stirring scrambled eggs — completely unaware that Jake had frozen in the doorway like an idiot.

And he didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t even breathe.

Because it hit him — quietly, without warning — that you were pretty.

Not just yeah, okay, she’s kinda cute when she’s not yelling at me pretty.

But actually pretty.

So pretty it knocked the rest of his words clean out of his head.

Which explained why he didn’t notice the sharp corner of the kitchen counter directly in front of him.

WHAM.

His toe slammed into the sharp corner of the kitchen counter.

“Fuck,” he whispered, staggering back like he’d been shot.

You jumped, whipping around. “Oh, you’re awake.”

Jake blinked down at you from the other side of the kitchen, still cradling his busted toe like it was your fault. His hoodie was sliding off one shoulder, hair an absolute mess, socks mismatched.

Meanwhile, you?

Hair tied up like it was nothing. That stupid little dress swishing around your knees. Making breakfast.

It was almost offensive, really.

Jake narrowed his eyes. \Why did you look... annoyingly good this morning? Since when? Since when were you this pretty?

Damn, maybe you gave him a concussion.

You caught him staring.

“What?” you snapped, holding up the plate like it was a peace treaty you immediately regretted.

He blinked, snapped out of it. “What’s this?”

“Scrambled eggs. For you.”

“Pity eggs?”

You rolled your eyes. “Consider it hush money so I don’t have to keep looking at your tragic nose bruise.”

Jake hesitated. Then took the plate — fingers brushing yours just long enough to send something stupid and sparky down his spine.

Shut up, spine.

He cleared his throat. “You didn’t poison these, right?”

“Only emotionally,” you deadpanned. “Just like I do everything.”

Jake snorted under his breath — a sound halfway between disbelief and reluctant amusement.

But then, as you sat across from him, watching him eat like you weren’t the one responsible for his new villain origin story, you shifted awkwardly.

And Jake noticed.

Hard not to, when you were never this quiet.

“Look…” you started, voice forced like you were fighting every bit of your pride. “I was talking to Jungwon, and… maybe I’ve been giving you a hard time.”

Jake paused mid-chew.

Maybe?

Maybe?

“...You broke my face.”

You glared. “It’s not broken.”

He gestured wildly. “It could be. You’re not a doctor”

You exhaled sharply. “I’m just saying... maybe we could be, like, civil.”

“Are you sure you didn’t poison—” 

“I didn’t fucking poison them, you rat.” Jake just stared at you, smug. 

You cleared your throat, adjusting your tone like you hadn’t just threatened him with breakfast. “What I meant to say was… no. I didn’t poison them. If that’s what you were worried about.”

Jake watched you from the corner of his eye — the way your dress moved, the way your ponytail swayed.

“I just feel bad, okay?” you huffed, glaring at his very tragic, very dramatic face. “That big-ass bruise on your nose’s making eye contact with me.”

Jake froze. Instantly concerned.

“...Bruise?” he echoed, voice tight.

“Yeah.”

Like a man possessed, he snatched his phone off the counter, flipped to the front camera—

And the noise he made?

Somewhere between a gasp, a dying bird, and a full-on crime scene.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, horrified. “You ruined my face.”

You blinked. “I—”

“My beautiful fucking face!”

You winced. “That’s… a little dramatic.”

Jake spun around like you’d personally ended his modeling career, shoving the phone in your face. “Do you see this?! How am I supposed to show up to work tomorrow looking like I got body slammed by Dwayne Fucking Johnson?!”

You snorted. “You literally work in tech.”

“That’s not the point!”

“I’m pretty sure it is the point,” you deadpanned. “You’re not an idol, Jake. I’m sure the CEOs will survive your mildly distressed nose.”

Jake let out a pained groan, like you just didn’t understand the gravity of his suffering. “I have a presentation tomorrow!”

You raised a brow. “Okay... and?”

“A huge one!” he cried. “Multiple CEOs. Investors from all over the country. I’m supposed to look like I have my life together. Not like I got mauled by a vending machine!”

You shrugged, zero sympathy left in your body. “Can’t your boss… what’s his name again… Hee...Heesoo do it?”

“It’s Heeseung,” Jake bit out. “And he’s in Japan for a business trip.”

“Get someone else to do it.”

“I am someone else!” he exploded, pacing now like his nose was about to file a lawsuit.

A beat of silence.

You tilted your head slowly, casually, a little too calm for his liking.

“…What if I did it?”

“...What.”

“I could present it for you,” you said, crossing your arms, your smile inching into dangerous territory. “You wear a mask, pretend you’re sick. Cough a few times for realism. I’ll read your script. Boom. Problem solved.”

You turned back around, all casual, all dangerous. “Your pitch. I could do it.”

He blinked. Once. Twice.

“Yeah, uh, no offense, Broadway, but the presentation is about app technology. Not jazz hands.”

You shrugged. “Fake it till you make it. Plus, I’m excellent at pretending I know things. Ask any of my professors.”

Jake stared at you.

Like you had absolutely lost your mind.

“You,” he said flatly, “want to stand in front of a room full of multi-millionaire investors... and pretend to know shit about app tech.”

You grinned. “Exactly.”

“That is—hands down—the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”

“Thank you.”

“And also,” Jake added slowly, like it pained him to admit, “possibly... my only option.”

You shot finger guns at him.

You grinned like the menace you were. “Come on, Jake Sim. Admit it. You need me.”

“Fine,” he ground out. Like the word physically hurt coming out of his mouth. “But you’re getting a crash course in app tech in two hours. No complaining.”

You shrugged, breezy, unbothered. “Sounds painfully boring. Can’t wait.”

—-

The next day, Jake had already bolted out of the apartment like his hair was on fire while shouting, “The investors are here and they brought their lawyers! I gotta g–” and then he left.

Meanwhile, you?

You were still in the bathroom, casually putting on lip balm like you had all the time in the world. Because if you were about to scam your way through a tech presentation with nothing but sheer confidence and delusion — you were damn sure going to look like someone who belonged on a Forbes list.

Or, well... the clearance rack at H&M’s attempt at one.

Were you terrified of tech investors? Absolutely.

Were you about to march in there, smile pretty, and pretend you understood whatever the hell Jake had been mumbling about for the past 24 hours? Also absolutely.

Because if there was one thing you were good at — it was faking shit.

(And pissing Jake off. But that was practically a sport at this point.)

You strutted into Jake’s workplace like you owned the building. Or were seconds away from committing tax fraud in it. Either way — heels clicking, head high, shoulders squared like you’d been bred in the wild on sarcasm and petty confidence.

The lobby was ridiculous. Floor-to-ceiling glass. Air that smelled like imported lemons and old money. A giant, abstract sculpture near the entrance that looked suspiciously like regret and cost more than your entire education. 

Upstairs, Jake checked his watch for what had to be the fiftieth time.

You’re late. 5 minutes late.

His shirt collar felt like it was conspiring to choke him, and the mask he wore (to hide the bruise you gave him) felt less like protection and more like a visual reminder that he’d been punched in the face by you.

The elevator dinged. Jake didn’t even look up at first—he was too busy internally screaming about font sizes and silently mouthing his pitch like a deranged TED Talk speaker. But then the room shifted. The air changed. Like the universe hit slow-mo.

His gaze lifted. And there you were. Jake looked up. And promptly forgot how to function. Because there you were. Walking out of the elevator like you were starring in his worst nightmare — and maybe his daydream too. He wasn’t sure anymore.

Soft curls. Glossy lips. That dress. That damn dress — classy, simple, hugging you like it was personally invested in his suffering. The type of dress that shouldn’t have been this illegal in a workplace setting but was, somehow, devastatingly so.

Jake forgot how to breathe.

Because here was the thing about Jake Sim:

He’d seen you in every possible unflattering state known to mankind.

Screaming about printer ink like it committed tax fraud against you. Hair up in a bun so chaotic it looked like it had survived a natural disaster. Wearing the same hoodie for three days straight — his hoodie, he’d realized once, which only annoyed him more — eyes wild with caffeine and vengeance at 3AM because Spotify ads kept interrupting your study playlist.

And still — still — Jake had always kinda thought you were...pretty.

Annoyingly pretty.

The worst kind.

The kind of pretty that snuck up on you mid-argument or when you were mid-rant about detergent prices. The kind of pretty that didn’t need fixing or dressing up. Just...you.

But today? Today was different. You weren’t just pretty. You were dangerous.

His jaw clenched so hard he swore he heard a crack. He couldn’t look away. Couldn’t blink. Couldn’t even think.

It was like the floor had disappeared beneath him and someone had swapped out his organs with static. His heart had ditched the beat and gone straight to drum solo. His brain, normally quick, charming, obnoxiously cocky? Dead.

“You made it,” Jake said — and immediately regretted it, because holy shit, was that his voice? High. Cracked. Betrayed him completely like puberty had just swung back around for one last revenge tour.

“Yeah, well,” you hummed, throwing him a look and gesturing vaguely to the black mask covering the evidence of your sucker punch, “figured I owed you.”

Jake nodded. Or at least he thought he did. Hard to tell.

He decided to stay silent. Because God knows what would happen if he opened his mouth again? God help him — a full-blown Ed Sheeran love song might just crawl out.

So he didn’t. He just...stood there.  Standing at the podium, you looked...ridiculous. Ridiculously good.

Like you didn’t just belong here — like you ran the place. Like you were here to pitch an app or recruit followers for a cult — and honestly? Jake wasn’t even sure which one. All he knew was… he’d probably sign up either way. No questions asked. No dignity left.

"Well, good morning, everyone,” you began, and even you were surprised by how calm you sounded. 

Jake stood in the back, blinking at you like he’d never seen you before. You were charismatic. Smart. A little terrifying. And you had the entire room hanging on your every word.

Somewhere between “LinkedIn is dead” and “our algorithm is based on actual passions, not titles,” Jake realized something horrifying. You weren’t just pretending to be good at this. You were good at this. Confident. Sharp. Effortless. 

His chest swelled — with what felt suspiciously like pride — until reality smacked him upside the head. This was the same girl who, just last night, sat cross-legged on his floor, staring blankly at his laptop and asked, with full sincerity:

"Wait… what does AI even stand for?"

Jake was still smiling like an idiot.

God, he hated to admit it — but you killed that presentation. Clean. Sharp. Smooth in a way that made him kind of want to brag about it like he trained you personally (he didn’t — he barely survived explaining what an API was to you without passing out).

A few came up to shake your hand — small talk, praise, the usual empty corporate fluff. Except no one really asked you questions. Not the tough ones, at least.

Right up until he caught movement at the edge of his vision.

Two guys. Tall. Sleek. Expensive haircuts that probably cost more than Jake’s entire outfit. Hovering. Too close. He squinted. Because they weren’t walking toward him. Nope.

They were walking toward you.

Grinning. Hovering. Talking with their hands like they were about to pitch you a deal or — god forbid — flirt. His eyes narrowed. You were still reeling from the high of the presentation, packing up your notes when a smooth voice cut through the air beside you.

“I haven’t seen you around before,” said Blondie. "Mr. Sim never mentioned someone so young... and pretty working in the App Tech department."

 “Oh, uh, I’m new,” you said, hoping you didn’t sound as awkward as you felt. “Just joined.”

Blondie smiled, clearly not buying it. “New and already giving such an impressive presentation. I’d love to hear more about the algorithm sometime… maybe over dinner?”

You blinked again. Algorithm? Was that on Slide 7?

Before you could even form a response, a voice cut in like an unexpected thunderstorm.

“She’s booked.”

You turned just in time to see Jake—Jake—swoop into the scene like a knight in wrinkled business casual. His jaw was tight, eyes practically shooting daggers. And that mask? Somehow, it made him look even hotter. You were definitely going to need therapy to figure out why anger made him so ridiculously attractive. That was something for a professional to unpack. 

“She’s what?” Blondie asked, blinking.

“Taken,” Jake said, his voice like cold steel. “I’m with her.”

Blondie’s eyes widened like he’d just been slapped with a fish. “Oh! I didn’t realize—”

Jake grabbed your hand and brought it up to his lips with a quick peck, way too casual for the situation. “Anyway,” Jake said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, “thanks for admiring my girlfriend. I, too, find her absolutely breathtaking.”

Blondie and his friend, practically evaporated under the weight of the awkwardness. They muttered quick goodbyes and slunk off, leaving you standing there, completely stunned.

“Girlfriend?” You stared at Jake, still holding your hand in his like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Jake leaned down slightly, his voice soft but pointed. “You’re welcome for saving you from that finance bro disaster. You looked like you were about to faint.”

“I was not,” you shot back, still flustered.

“You squeaked.” Jake smirked, his lips curling up in that annoying, irresistibly smug way of his. Your heart skipped a beat, but you shoved it down. He was being a jerk.

You crossed your arms, still confused by the whole situation. “You’re so weird. Why the hell would you do that?”

Jake shrugged casually, as if the whole thing had been no big deal. “Someone had to save you. I’m not letting some guy with a bad haircut flirt with you in front of me. It’s... inconvenient.”

"Inconvenient?" You stared at him, baffled. "What are you even—"

And then, like a slap to the face, it hit you.

He was jealous.

“No way,” you muttered, half-laughing. “Are you… actually jealous right now?”

Jake’s face flushed slightly, but he smirked, all smooth and defensive. "No, I just—"

You interrupted him, holding up your hand. "You are! Oh my god, you are jealous."

His eyes flickered briefly, like he was calculating his next move. “I am not. You're... imagining things.”

You leaned back slightly, giving him a teasing, incredulous look. “Right, because you not letting some guy get too close is just a totally normal response for someone you fucking despise.”

Jake paused, then looked at you with that intense, quiet stare, his expression unreadable for a moment. You felt a flicker of something in your chest, but before you could process it, he said, in a voice softer than you expected, “I don’t despise you.”

—

Jake sat across from you at the tiny grill table, doing his best to act like he didn't care that you were wearing what could only be described as the world's most unassuming dress. It wasn’t even remotely textbook "sexy." No slits, no plunging neckline, just a simple, casual thing that barely clung to you. Yet, somehow, you made it look like flawless.

You were just grilling meat, for crying out loud. Nothing remotely provocative about it. And yet, there Jake was, trying—and failing—to pretend he wasn’t completely losing his mind over it.

Then, disaster struck.

Jake’s grip on his chopsticks tightened, nearly snapping them in half. He could feel a vein pulsing in his temple. He didn't even realize he was glaring until the waiter noticed. And that’s when he realized something was very, very wrong with him.

You turned to Jake, blinking innocently. “Are you okay? You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“Me?” Jake laughed, but it was the kind of laugh that wasn’t even remotely convincing. “Totally fine. Just making sure you’re not about to, y'know, set the whole table on fire.”

He shrugged off his jacket and—without thinking—slung it over your shoulders like his life depended on it.

“You look cold,” Jake muttered, trying to sound casual, but the effort was absolutely wasted.

“I’m sitting in front of an actual fire,” you pointed out, obviously not buying the excuse.

“Just take it,” he said through gritted teeth. He could feel his brain glitching as his fingers brushed against yours for half a second.

“You’re acting weird,” you muttered, clearly starting to suspect something was off. “Did you hit your head again today or…?”

“Just wear the damn thing.”

“Why?” you asked slowly, suspicious. “I’m not even cold.”

“It’s not for warmth,” he snapped, his voice tight with frustration.

You narrowed your eyes, not letting him off the hook. “So what’s it for?”

Jake leaned forward, dropping his voice to a near whisper like he was plotting a heist. “It’s... you're over there looking all... attractive, and the waiter’s looking at you like he wants to take you home. And I—” He paused and muttered, “I’m the one who invited you here, okay? So technically, you’re my dinner guest. And I just feel like you shouldn’t be—”

“Did you just call me attractive?”

Jake froze. For a split second, his mind went completely blank. He’d said it without even thinking, and now that the words were out there, the whole table seemed to get a little bit warmer, a little bit more suffocating.

“Uh—” He fumbled, trying to backpedal. “No! I didn’t—what I meant was—” He cleared his throat, awkwardly adjusting in his seat. 

You stared at him, eyes wide. “Jake... you’re an awfully jealous person today.”

He froze. Blinked. And then launched into a performance so bad it was almost impressive. “Jealous? Me? Oh my god, that’s so cute. That’s actually hilarious. I’m not jealous. You? Of you? Pfft. I just... look, I just think it’s unhygienic for strangers to salivate this close to raw meat, alright?”

He avoided your gaze and took a big gulp of his drink, probably hoping it would give him some answers. “Also, that guy was undressing you with his eyes.”

You gave him a flat look, raising an eyebrow. "And your solution to a perv is to throw a jacket over me like I’m some fragile piece of art in a museum?”

Jake kept his cool, eyes still avoiding yours. “I could go beat him up if you want,” he offered, not-so-casually.

You snorted, leaning back in your chair, slipping your hands into the sleeves of the jacket he’d thrown over you. “You're an idiot.”

—-

The next time Jake found himself questioning the entire fabric of his reality, it was in the kitchen of your shared apartment.

A totally normal evening.

Except not really.

Because you were sitting across from him in nothing but an oversized T-shirt and a smile, and Jake was experiencing what scientists might classify as a complete psychological collapse.

He wasn’t even sure what the hell the conversation was about. Jungwon was laughing about something, maybe a dumb meme or a cursed group chat screenshot, and you were giggling so hard you smacked Jungwon’s arm and nearly knocked over your drink.

Jake didn’t laugh. Jake stared.

Because every time you moved, your stupidly oversized shirt rode up a little, and your bare legs—the ones he absolutely should not be noticing—taunted him like they were sent from hell specifically to test his willpower. 

He hated it.

No, actually—he hated you. Yes. That was the correct narrative. He hated the way you always left passive-aggressive sticky notes on his leftovers ("These are MINE. I will KNOW if you eat one. By you I mean JAKE SIM."). He hated you when you reorganized his entire snack drawer by vibe. (“The spicy chips are angry. They go in the red bin.” What did that even MEAN?)

He hated that you chewed ice. That you used a ten-step skincare routine that monopolized the bathroom for thirty minutes every morning. That you once referred to him as “the reason I believe in selective mutism.”

And yet… he was currently staring at your thighs like they held the secret to inner peace.

Jake looked away, clenching his jaw. What the hell was happening to him? Was this a stroke? Had you poisoned his food?

The next time he went absolutely bonkers was a few days later. He had to pee.

He pushed the door open without knocking, because this was his house and he had…welll…he had the rights.

And then.

He saw you.

Half-naked.

In your bra and underwear, bent slightly over the sink, drying your shirt with a hairdryer.

His brain short-circuited like someone had poured water directly into his skull.

His gaze dropped—just for half a second, a reflex—and immediately locked on your bare legs, and oh god, he hated himself. He spun around so fast he almost slammed into the door.

“OH MY GOD—SORRY!” Jake yelped, one hand covering his eyes like he’d been hit with a solar flare. “You—why—WHAT—why didn’t you lock the door?!”

You blinked at him in the mirror and chuckled, totally unfazed. “Oh shit. I forgot to lock it.”

“What is wrong with you?!”

“Me? You walked in,” you pointed out.

“You left it unlocked!”

“You could’ve knocked!”

“I shouldn’t have to knock in my own apartment! What are you doing half-naked drying your shirt in here?!”

“I spilled soda on myself.” You replied, nonchalant.

“I’M THE VICTIM HERE,” Jake yelled dramatically, still not turning around. “I just wanted to pee and now I’ve seen your underwear! I’ll never recover from this!”

You laughed again, breathless. “Relax. It’s just a body. You’ve seen legs before.”

A long beat of silence passed.

Jake slowly turned his head just enough to peek at the wall. “Are you, um...decent now?”

“Yeah,” you said, tugging your damp shirt back over your head. “Crisis averted. You can resume your regularly scheduled hate.”

Jake turned around cautiously. You were grinning, cheeks slightly pink, shirt clinging a little, hair a mess—and somehow, it was worse. Way worse. Because even like this, maybe especially like this, you looked unfairly adorable.

He stared at you for one second too long.

“Jake,” you said, raising an eyebrow, “are you...blushing?”

“No,” he snapped immediately, brushing past you with all the grace of a man running from his feelings. “Now get out, I need to pee.”

As he shut the door behind him, you called out, “You’re welcome for the free show, by the way.”

Jake groaned.

Out loud.

Into the void.

He was never going to recover.

—-

It all started with what Jake would later refer to—dramatically and with full PTSD—as The Saturday Incident.

He had spent the entire day in bed, pretending to do work, but actually doing what could best be described as “vague laptop clicking” and “aggressively avoiding you.”

You were out in the living room, probably plotting new ways to rearrange the furniture or alphabetize the spices by vibe again. He wasn’t going to risk interaction. Not when his heart had started doing these strange, erratic flips every time you were near. It was disorienting, this fluttering sensation that kept taking him by surprise. Honestly, he didn’t appreciate it. Didn’t appreciate whatever the hell was happening in his chest, because he'd never felt like this before. 

The thought crossed his mind—maybe he should go see a doctor for a cardiogram. Heeseung had laughed in his face when he mentioned it, as if the idea of it being a medical issue was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. Jake didn’t get what was so funny, though. All he knew was that every time you entered the room, his heart seemed to forget how to behave, and he wasn’t sure that was something anyone could just laugh off.

So he stayed hidden.

Until there was a knock.

“Jake?” Your voice came through the door—soft, almost... sweet?

He stared at the door like it had personally betrayed him.

“Jake?” you called again, this time with a tone that made his brain short-circuit just a little. He sighed like a man being forced into labor and got up, preparing for whatever minor chaos you were about to deliver.

He opened the door.

And immediately wished he hadn’t.

There you stood. In a dress—a glittery, stupidly pretty dress he had never seen before. The tag was still dangling from it, and for some reason, that made it worse. Like you were a gift waiting to be unwrapped and oh no what the hell, brain, stop right there.

His mouth went dry.

His knees? Unreliable.

You were—unfortunately—gorgeous.

“Can you help me?” you asked, turning around.

And that’s when he saw it. Your bare back.

Jake died a little. Right there in the doorway. He whispered, barely audible: “F-fuck.”

“Huh?” you looked over your shoulder.

“I said—sure! Sure, totally, yep,” he said, voice cracking like a 13-year-old boy seeing shoulders for the first time.

He reached for the zipper like it was made of lava. His fingers brushed your skin and he physically flinched. 

“You busy with work?” you asked casually, like this wasn’t slowly killing him.

“Yeah. Working. Doing... business things. Graphs.” Nailed it. “Are you, uh, going out?” He zipped faster, praying for this moment to end and also never end, confusingly.

“Nope.” You turned back around, smiling. “I just got this dress and wanted to see if it fit.”

Jake stared at you like he was watching the heavens open. “Oh,” he said dumbly.

“Besides, I was bored.” You laughed, brushing past him like this was your room, and plopped yourself onto his bed like it was no big deal.

Jake blinked. “You can’t just—don’t just walk into my room!”

“What? You hiding something?”

“Yes!” he said, voice a little too high. “I mean—maybe. You don’t know my life.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Let me guess. Secret stash of R-rated movies?”

“What?! No!”

“Love letters? Hidden shrine of an ex?”

“Oh my god.”

“Wait—you have love letters?”

“I don’t have any! Why are you like this?!”

You grinned. “Hard to believe. You’re, like, suspiciously single.”

Jake scoffed. “Suspiciously?”

“Yeah. You’re cute in a grumpy, emotionally constipated way.”

He blinked. “Did you just call me cute?”

“I mean, when you’re not yelling about laundry socks and acting like you’ve never heard of coasters.”

Jake’s face flushed. His lips twitched. A smile was fighting its way out, and he hated that you were winning. “You’re so annoying.”

“I’m a delight.”

“You’re hell personified.”

“And you,” you said, leaning back onto his bed, “are blushing.”

“I am not.”

“Jake,” you said, eyes twinkling, “your ears are red.”

He turned away, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Okay, but—hold on. Why are you in my room anyway? All dressed up, all dolled up, all pretty.”

You raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “Was that a compliment?”

“No.”

“You just listed three compliments,” you pointed out, your voice teasing.

“They weren’t compliments.”

“They sure seem like it.”

He stared at you—your ridiculous sparkle dress, your smug little smirk, the fact that you looked entirely too comfortable lying on his bed like you belonged there—and felt his heart do a full-body sigh.

Oh no.

Oh no.

He was in trouble.

Because he didn’t hate you at all.

—-

Jake had one goal tonight: get snacks, avoid feelings, don’t die.

He’d nearly made it to the kitchen—eyes forward, brain reciting his grocery list like a prayer—when he heard your voice.

“Jake?”

He froze like someone had hit pause on his life.

There you were, curled up on the couch with a blanket around your legs and a bowl of popcorn in your lap, looking... cozy. Cute. Normal. Like you weren’t the cause of 99% of his internal screaming today.

“Yeah?” he called over his shoulder, already bracing for disaster.

“Come watch this with me.”

Jake turned halfway, one hand still on the fridge. “What? No. Why would I wanna–”

You pouted. And he hated—hated—how fast his resolve crumbled at the sight of it.

“C’mon. Please? I’m lonely,” you said. “Jungwon’s not back for another hour.”

Jake audibly swallowed, “F–fine.”

Still, he sighed and walked over like a man approaching a guillotine.

He sat on the very edge of the couch, as far from you as possible. Like you might spontaneously explode and take him with you.

You blinked at him. “Why the fuck are you sitting miles away from me? I’m not gonna eat you.”

Jake’s ears went red so fast it was almost impressive. “I’m—just giving you space.”

You threw a popcorn kernel at him. “What, do I have cooties now?”

“No!” he blurted, then immediately regretted sounding like a panicked fifth grader. “I just thought—I mean, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

You tilted your head, amused. “I thought we were pass our enemy phase and in the ‘I-only-hate-you-when-it’s-convenient-phase.”

His heart stopped.

Jake stared at you.

“We are! I just–”

You shook your head and patted the seat next to you. “Come on. You're so dramatic. Sit like a normal person.”

Jake, against his better judgment and every self-preservation instinct, scooted closer. A little. Then a little more.

You tossed the blanket over his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. “There. See? Not so scary.”

He sat stiffly under the blanket like it was radioactive, absolutely convinced he was going to die. His arm accidentally brushed yours and his brain lit up.

You leaned in slightly, focused on the screen.

Jake leaned back slightly, focused on not passing out.

And somewhere between the opening credits and the second kernel of popcorn you tossed at him “for flinching like a grandma,” Jake realized something horrifying.

He didn’t hate you.

At all.

And worse?

Instead, it was the absolute opposite. Maybe he liked you.

(Or had the biggest stinking fucking crush on you.)

Either way, these feelings were huge. And scary.

—-

Jake was fine.

Totally. Absolutely. 100% fine.

So what if he maybe thought about the way your shoulder brushed his during the movie? Or the fact that your laugh made his chest do weird twisty things? So what if you looked really cute in that dumb glittery dress and then even cuter in sweats and a bun with popcorn crumbs on your shirt?

He was fine.

No, he was lying. He was not.

Because Jake Sim didn’t do feelings.

Feelings were for wimps. For poets. For people with acoustic guitars and questionable Spotify Wrapped playlists. For people like Heeseung.

Not him.

Jake Sim was immune. Built different. Untouchable. Feelings? He left those at the door with his dignity and expired loyalty card points.

Which is why he was currently, aggressively, avoiding you like you were radioactive.

You walked into the kitchen? He walked out.

You tried to start a conversation? “I’m busy.” (He wasn’t.)

You reached for the chips? “Take it yourself.” (They were on the top shelf. You couldn’t reach. He still left.)

You asked if he wanted to hang out? “No thanks. Be alone. Bitch.” (He did not mean that. At all. And also whispered it when you were already out of earshot, afraid he’d hurt your feelings.)

He was strong. He was cold. He was emotionless steel wrapped in flannel.

Until—

“Jake?” you called from the hallway.

He glanced up from pretending to type on his laptop. “What?”

“Do you wanna go to the store with me? We’re all out of eggs.”

And like the absolute fraud he was, Jake—emotionless, avoidant, emotionally repressed Jake Sim—paused for 0.0000001 seconds before nodding.

“Yeah. Let me grab my shoes.”

Traitor.

He followed you out like a puppy who just got asked if he wanted a treat.

As you walked side by side through the aisles, Jake pushed the shopping cart like he was starring in the most generic romcom montage of all time, trying not to let his arm bump yours again because every time it did, his brain felt like it had just short-circuited.

But it was fine.

Totally fine.

He was definitely not thinking about holding your hand in the snack aisle.

Definitely not wondering if you'd let him try one of your gummies, even though he could buy his own.

Definitely not wondering if this was what it would feel like to be yours.

He wasn’t. He wasn’t thinking about any of that.

Nope.

Totally normal. Totally platonic.

He was so screwed.

It all started in the canned goods aisle. And honestly? Jake should’ve known the canned goods aisle brought nothing but bad luck. It happened in third grade when he tripped over his shoelace and fell into a container of perfectly aligned canned soups. It happened when he was trying to grab some mushroom soup for Jungwon when he was sick and ended up dropping the can right on his pinky toe, fracturing it.

And it’s happening again now.

You were just standing there, trying to decide between tomato basil and cream of mushroom, looking entirely too cute for someone who was making soup decisions. Meanwhile, Jake, trying to pretend he wasn’t watching you, was already making a mental list of things he could buy—anything to distract himself from his growing awareness that his brain was short-circuiting.

“Hey,” the guy said. “This might sound crazy, but... are you single?”

Jake turned his head so slowly you’d think someone had insulted his ancestors.

He was standing a few feet away, comparing granola bar sugar contents like a responsible adult, and now he was staring at this random man like he’d just asked to marry you in front of a priest.

You didn’t even seem fazed. You turned your head slightly, giving the guy the most nonchalant look, probably silently wondering if this guy had any idea how little he cared about his question.

Jake could feel the nerve in his temple twitch. The air between you and the guy became suffocating. Jake's hands flexed, holding onto the cart like it might need a good shove.

The guy, oblivious to the thunderstorm brewing a few feet away, “Just thought that you’re really cute, and I figured I’d ask.”

You blinked. “Oh! That’s—um—”

“She’s not,” Jake snapped, suddenly right there, standing next to you like he’d teleported in through sheer fury. “She’s very not single. Taken. Off the market. Do not pass go, do not collect $200.”

The guy blinked, taken aback. “Oh... are you two—”

“Together?” Jake interrupted, smiling like it physically hurt him. “Yeah. I’m her boyfriend.”

You glanced at him, his eyes glinting with that smirk of his. And then it hit you—he was playing this way too well. A little too well. You turned back to the guy, giving a dramatic gasp.

“Oh my God,” you said, suddenly faking an epiphany. “Babe, I didn’t even realize he was flirting. I was too busy thinking about how your hair looks so good today.”

Jake twitched.

You leaned into him with an exaggerated sigh, grabbing his hand like you were in some overly dramatic rom-com. “I’m so sorry. I’ll try to pay more attention when people are flirting with me. Would that be okay with you, my Jakey-wakey? My Jakey-kins? My love machine?”

Jake nearly choked on his own spit. “Okay. That’s enough.”

But you were on a roll. You turned to the stranger, practically glowing. “Isn’t he so cute when he’s protective? Ugh, he gets so territorial over me. It’s like his thing. Next thing I know, he’ll start growling and peeing in the aisles to mark me like his territory.”

Jake made a strangled sound, clearly regretting everything. “Please stop.”

You ignored him, fully leaning into the bit. “Honestly, I’m just waiting for him to pick out a leash for me next, y’know? Just to make sure everyone knows I’m his property.”

Jake made a strangled sound. “Please stop.”

You pressed your cheek to his shoulder. “Should we kiss?” You smiled, putting your arms around his shoulder.

And then, in what could only be described as a full-blown panic move, Jake spun around and ran.

Like, actually ran.

Through the snack aisle, dodging bags of chips and disgruntled shoppers, past the sample table, and out the store doors. It was as if he'd spotted an actual threat. You stared after him, holding his dignity in one hand and a can of soup in the other.

The stranger who had been casually eyeing you looked even more confused now, as if he’d witnessed a scene from a badly written TV sitcom.

You shrugged, trying to cover for the man who was now two aisles away, “My boyfriend can be a little bit crazy,” you muttered, laughing awkwardly as you began walking toward the door. You dropped the soup can on his foot. “See you!”

And without waiting for a response, you bolted out of the store after him.

“JAKE SIM, I’LL KILL YOU!” you yelled across the parking lot.

You found him pacing next to his car like a madman who’d just come to terms with the fact that he’d let his emotions spiral in public. His hands were in his hair, tugging like he was trying to physically yank his frustration out of his brain.

You marched up to him, heat rising in your chest, and the nerve to confront him. “Hey! You made me look like an idiot!”

Jake turned to face you, eyes wide, clearly surprised that you were actually following him. “You made yourself look like that!” he snapped, a slight edge in his voice.

“Oh, I wouldn’t have to if you stopped acting like my boyfriend around any man who approaches me!” You felt your hands on your hips, standing your ground like you were the queen of this absurd conversation.

Jake’s face froze, his brows furrowing in frustration. “You want freaks like him to approach you?”

“No?” you shot back. “But I’m perfectly capable of turning them down on my own.”

“I was just—” he began, floundering for a reason that was not his own mess.

“Was just what? Why do you keep doing this? Acting all weirdly jealous and protective!” you interrupted, genuinely curious now.

Jake exhaled, turning slowly, like the weight of this conversation was about to implode on him. His voice softened, his eyes wide, clearly caught off guard by your determination. “Because…” he started, his voice lower than usual, the words stumbling out like he was wrestling with a secret.

“Because what?”

He didn’t answer.

Just stood there—hands clenched, jaw tight, breath sharp.

Then suddenly—he dropped his arms like they weighed a ton. Like he couldn’t hold it in anymore. He ran a hand through his hair, pacing a single, desperate step before spinning back around to face you.

“BECAUSE!” Jake shouted, his voice louder than he intended. Your eyes snapped open wide, caught completely off guard.

Jake kept going—words spilling, frantic. “Because I don’t know what this is—whatever the hell you’ve done to me—but I can’t think straight. I can’t breathe when you look at me like that and I haven’t felt like this ever and it’s—it’s messing me up.”

His hands went to his temples. “Like fuck…I think I might need therapy. Like, actual therapy. Because of you.”

The air between you cracked—silence stretching heavy and tight.

You stared at him, voice soft now. “I– did I do something wrong?”

Jake dropped his hands, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon. His face twisted, like he hated even having feelings, like letting them out was burning him from the inside.

Then—quieter. Broken.

“No,” he said. “Fuck, no. Quite the opposite.”

You stood frozen. “What?”

He stepped closer, eyes wild, voice raw.

“I don’t know what the fuck is happening to me, okay?” Jake snapped. His voice cracked, raw and strained like it had been clawing at his throat for days.

“You walk into a room and suddenly I can’t think straight. I forget how to function. I forget what I’m doing. It’s like my entire brain short-circuits just because you looked in my direction.” He raked a hand through his hair, pacing in a tight circle like he was trying to outrun his own thoughts.

“You drive me crazy. You laugh at things that aren’t funny, and you talk like the world’s ending if you don’t say it all right now, and you never let anything go—ever—and it’s infuriating. It’s exhausting. You’re exhausting!”

He turned, pointing at you like you were the cause of every malfunction in his soul.

“I shouldn’t care if you’re cold. I shouldn’t want to punch every guy who looks at you for longer than five seconds. I shouldn’t feel like I’m being electrocuted every time you accidentally touch me. That’s not normal. That’s not me. I’m Jake fucking Sim for crying out loud!”

He paused, chest rising and falling, eyes burning into yours.

“I don’t even like people! I liked hating you! I was good at hating you! And now I can’t sleep and I can’t think and all I do is wonder what you’re doing and if you’re thinking about me too and I—”

He broke off, swallowing hard.

Then softer, hoarse:

“I don’t know what this is. But I think I’m losing my goddamn mind over you.”

You stood there. Blinking. Heart somewhere near your ankles.

Jake had just... exploded. Confessed? Kinda? In the most Jake way possible—by yelling about how much he hated that he didn’t hate you.

“…Okay,” you said slowly, like someone trying to defuse a bomb with zero training. “So, like... just to clarify… you’re not mad at me. You’re mad because you like me?”

Jake stared at you like he couldn’t believe that was your takeaway. Like you’d just handed him a banana when he asked for a pen.

“I just—like, not to make this about me,” you continued, hands half-lifted like you were talking to a wild raccoon, “but that was a lot of yelling and you kinda sounded like you were about to fight me and propose in the same breath.”

He groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “Oh my god.”

You bit your lip. “So... um. Do you wanna kiss me or punch drywall? I just need to know what stage of emotional collapse we’re currently at.”

A beat.

“Like... if I lean in, am I getting kissed or concussed?”

He looked like he was seriously considering both.

You tried to smile. “I mean… thanks? For the mental breakdown, I think?”

He just blinked—still breathing like he’d sprinted through a breakup, a confession, and a public meltdown all in one afternoon.

Like he hadn’t decided yet whether to kiss you, cry, or walk into traffic.

Then, softer, you glanced up at him. Still unsure. Still trying to play it cool despite the fact that your heart was definitely trying to beat its way out of your chest.

“Like… I mean, I totally get why this would frustrate you,” you said, nodding seriously, like you were a therapist delivering a diagnosis. “Totally understandable. If I was going through what you were going through, maybe I’d be a little insane too. With, you know, healthier coping mechanisms, sure.”

Jake groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re talking too much. Do you like me or not?”

You blinked. “Wow. Okay. No trigger warning?”

“I’m at my limit.” Jake sighed.

“Yeah,” you said. “That’s… kind of obvious. You’re, like, one sentence away from combusting.”

Jake pointed at you like he couldn’t believe what was happening. “I—God, this is so embarrassing. Let’s just pretend this didn’t happen.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like you,” you muttered, looking away.

“You’re saying a whole lot of nothing,” he snapped.

You threw your hands up. “Well, I’m sorry I don’t have a perfectly rehearsed monologue ready! Some of us don’t process our feelings through public tantrums!”

Jake narrowed his eyes, “I yelled because I was panicking!”

“Well maybe don’t yell at someone who likes you, Jake!”

“You didn’t even say you liked me!”

“I was getting there!”

“You were stalling!”

“I was awkward!” you shrieked, pointing right back at him. 

Jake threw his hands in the air. “Why are you the one acting like you just confessed your undying love through a full-blown breakdown?!”

A beat.

Silence.

Your faces? Bright red. Breathing like you just finished a cage match.

Then you exploded.

“FINE. YES. I LIKE YOU TOO, YOU PSYCHO!”

Jake froze. “You what now?”

You looked away, furious with yourself. “You heard me. I’m not repeating it. Take the win and choke on it.”

“That was the worst love confession I’ve ever received.”

You glared at him. “It wasn’t supposed to be one!”

“Well, it was horrible.”

“Yeah? Yours wasn’t exactly sonnet material either.”

You stared at each other. Still angry. Still flushed. Still… weirdly too close.

And somehow, despite all the yelling, all the sniping—

There was that thing in the air again. That pull.

Jake blinked. “...So are we dating now or what?”

You groaned. “Not like this, the fuck”

—-

The silence in the apartment was deafening.

Not literal silence—the kettle was whistling like it was being paid to, and someone’s phone was playing a YouTube video just loud enough to be irritating. But the emotional silence? The thick, suffocating, “we confessed our feelings and now we don’t know how to human anymore” kind of silence? Yeah, the two of you were losing it.

You were standing in the kitchen, arms folded, staring at the toaster like it had personally wronged you. Jake was sitting on the couch, holding a mug he wasn’t even drinking from, eyes glued to the television pretending to be absorbed.

Neither of you spoke.

The toaster clicked. You jumped like you’d been shot.

The two of you glanced at each other. You blinked at him. He blinked back. 

Then immediately looked away, sipping his mug. The wrong end of the mug.

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re drinking from the side with the tag still in it.”

“I like the taste of paper sometimes,” he said without looking at you.

You tried. “So... uh, did you sleep okay?”

Jake nodded way too fast. “Yeah. Great. You?”

“Fine.”

“Cool.”

You stared at each other for another five seconds.

Then, at the exact same time:

“So, what are you—” “Do you want—”

Silence again.

You turned back to the counter, flustered. “This is so weird.”

Jake exhaled sharply. “You think?”

You glanced at him. “Well, I’m not used to openly... liking you or being I guess civil.”

“You’ve done a great job hiding it,” he muttered.

You smirked, falling back on habit. “Well, I am cuter when I’m emotionally unavailable.”

“I think it’s scarier when you’re emotionally available.”

You turned, arms folded. “So what, you prefer when I threaten you with kitchen utensils?”

Jake shrugged, leaning against the counter like he wasn’t seconds away from combusting. “At least I knew where I stood.”

And that? That shut you up real quick.

Because you both knew—you’d just entered new, terrifying, heart-melty territory.

And neither of you had a clue what the hell to do next.

—-

There was a sock on the floor.

A sock. On the floor.

His sock.

White. Crumpled. Mocking you from the hallway.

Something inside you snapped.

“SIM JAEYUN!” you shrieked, the kind of full-volume yell that summoned the fury of every past version of you who’d ever tripped over that man’s laundry.

Jake’s door opened slowly, like even it was afraid of you. He peeked out. Hair messy. Shirt hanging loose. Clueless. Hot. You hated him.

“...Yeah?”

“HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU TO PICK UP YOUR SOCKS—”

“I—”

“You what? This isn’t the first fucking time–”

“Ah, fuck it.”

You didn’t get to finish.

Jake stepped out. Two fast, easy strides.

And he kissed you.

Hard.

His hand found the back of your neck, fingers pressing gently yet desperately, as if he’d been aching for this moment, pulling you closer with a sense of urgency that couldn’t be ignored. Without hesitation, his lips met yours—no gentleness, no grace—just raw, impulsive need.

The hallway blurred.

You gasped against his lips, and he swallowed the sound whole. His other hand gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him, like he needed your body to make sense of the chaos in his head. The kiss was hot and heavy, all teeth and tongue and emotion that neither of you had known what to do with until now.

Your hands clenched around the fabric of his t-shirt, pulling him even closer, as if you were trying to tear the tension from his chest and claim it for yourself. Jake’s groan vibrated against your lips—low, desperate, and filled with something completely unrestrained. His hands dug into your waist, his grip tightening as if he couldn’t get enough of you. And then, with a sudden shift, he moved—forward, desperate, no longer willing to hold back.

In one swift, breathless motion, Jake pressed you against the wall, his body caging you in with just enough force to knock the air from your lungs. His hand gently cradled your jaw while the other slid down to catch your wrist, his fingers locking with yours as if the touch was a lifeline, something he couldn’t let go of even if he tried.

You gasped, the back of your head colliding softly with the wall, and Jake swallowed the sound, deepening the kiss like he was trying to consume you whole. The kiss turned hotter, more frantic—lips pulling, chasing, moving with an intensity that had been building for weeks and was now unleashed all at once.

Then, you squeezed his hand. Hard. Your body trembled with the force of it, like you needed something to hold onto before you lost yourself. And Jake felt it—felt the desperation in your touch. Without hesitation, he squeezed back, his thumb brushing over yours as he refused to let go.

For half a second, his forehead rested against yours, both of you gasping for air, and neither of you willing to pull away.

You blinked up at him, your mind still spinning from the kiss, disoriented.

“…I’ll pick it up,” you whispered, your voice softer than you intended. “The socks.”

You bent down, still avoiding his gaze, grabbing the sock off the floor. “Just... just put it nicely next time.”

You turned and walked back into your room, your legs unsteady as if they could no longer hold you together.

Jake stood in the hallway, frozen, his heart racing, his mind completely blank. He gripped the wall beside him like it was the only thing keeping him from collapsing. He hadn’t meant for this to happen. But it did. And now, he had no idea what to do with it.

—-

Jake hadn’t screamed your name like that since the glitter explosion 2 months back.

“WHERE’S MY RED FOLDER?!” he bellowed.

Before you could even think of a way out of this—or how to hide under the floorboards—Jake barged into your room. Hair still wet from the shower. His shirt hanging half-buttoned, like he’d walked straight out of a webtoon. Fuck, he was sexy. Not the time though because you were sure you were about to get beaten up.

He slammed the door open so hard that it bounced back off the wall with a sickening thud.

You gave him a nervous smile, your best attempt at pretending you weren’t about to die. “Don’t be mad…”

Jake’s voice dropped to a dangerous growl. “What did you do?”

“I… might’ve thought it was old,” you said, wincing at the honesty in your voice. “So I kinda... threw it away?”

Jake’s body went rigid. His eyes narrowed in disbelief.

“You what?!”

“I—” You stammered, hands raised defensively. “I swear it looked all crumply, all old and–and–and ruined!”

Jake stepped forward, eyes burning with anger. You could feel the heat of his fury radiating off of him—jaw clenched, fists tight by his sides, like he was about to explode. You knew this look. It was like he was one wrong move away from detonating.

And just when you thought the situation couldn’t get worse, you did the only thing you could think of.

You threw yourself at him.

Your hands grabbed his shirt, and before he could even get a word out, you yanked him down, your lips slamming into his with the force of a thousand thunderstorms. It was hard, urgent—so intense, so sudden, that it instantly shut him up.

Jake froze for a split second, like you’d short-circuited his brain, and then, just like that—he kissed you back. No hesitation. No holding back. You were already moving, pushing him backwards, your arms locked around his neck, drawing him closer, deeper. His lips tasted like desperation, like need, and it was all consuming.

You kissed him with everything you had, no holding back. No gentleness. Just the kind of hunger that had been building up between you two for far too long. Your lips moved together, fast, messy, and you felt him press into you, desperate to keep up. Every part of you wanted him—wanted him to feel the frustration, the desire, the rage that had been bubbling under the surface for weeks.

Jake groaned into your mouth, his grip on your waist tightening. You kissed him harder, faster, pressing him back against the wall until he was pinned, his breath ragged as you both gasped for air.

His hands found your thighs and, without a word, you jumped. Legs wrapping around his waist, you felt him catch you effortlessly, your bodies moving as one.

Then, with a sharp turn, he slammed you against the nearest wall, his lips never leaving yours. The kiss was relentless, like he was starving, like he needed to make you feel every part of him, every inch of his desire. His grip on your waist was bruising, possessive, and you responded in kind, tugging at his hair, pulling him closer.

Your mouths collided, chasing each other, moving too fast, too clumsily. 

Jake pulled back only when you both couldn’t breathe anymore. Your foreheads rested together, breaths uneven, eyes wild and hungry.

He looked you over once, placed you back down on the floor, his expression unreadable, and then muttered, “...I’ll just rewrite it.”

And before you could process it, before you could say a word, he was gone. Leaving you breathless, in your own room, utterly wrecked—staring at the spot where he'd just completely destroyed every last bit of control you had.

—-

You were standing in the kitchen, Jake was at the sink, and the tension was so thick you could practically slice it with a knife.

“I don’t understand why you would move the dishes,” Jake snapped, gesturing like you’d committed an actual war crime. “I have a system.”

“You have no system,” you shot back, holding a spatula like a sword. “You just shove stuff in and pray the dishwasher works it out like divine intervention.”

“It does work it out!”

“Really? Because last week you melted a Tupperware lid onto a knife.”

“That was ONE TIME—”

You threw the dish towel down. “You’re such a control freak.”

Jake turned, dripping wet hands mid-air. “You alphabetized the seasoning rack. By aesthetic. I had to Google what "sage green" looked like.”

You huffed. “It’s about visual peace, Jake!”

He took a step closer. “You know what’s not peaceful? Living with a freak who organizes our spices!”

You stepped toward him, eyes locked, breathing hard. “Well you know what’s not sexy? Whining about spice jars!”

“Funny,” Jake growled, now chest to chest with you, “because I still want to kiss you right now.”

You both froze.

You were both holding something—him, a mug. You, a spatula. Neither of you blinked.

Then—at the exact same time—you both dropped them.

Clatter.

And lunged.

You collided in the middle of the kitchen, your mouths crashing together, the kiss so intense and fiery it felt like it could set the room on fire. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you into him like he couldn’t get close enough. You fisted your hands in his shirt, yanking him even closer, until there was nothing between you but shared breaths and weeks of pent-up frustration.

His kiss was desperate, furious, like he hated how much he wanted it, and yet couldn’t stop. Your lips moved together, teeth clashing, and you met his passion with equal intensity—biting his lip, tilting your head, the quiet sigh you let out making him groan into your mouth.

You were both angry, breathless, and so far gone you didn’t even care.

When you finally pulled apart, your noses brushing, your lips swollen and tingling, you both just stared at each other. Your hearts pounded.

Then, at the exact same time, you both asked, “...Are we boyfriend and girlfriend or what?”

There was a moment of silence, and then Jake pressed a kiss to your cheek, then your jaw, and then your neck, before pulling back with that signature smirk.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I think we are.”

You grabbed the front of his shirt, yanked him back down, and kissed him again.

“Good. Now shut up and kiss me.”

Jake groaned into your mouth, his hands sliding to your back, pulling you even closer.

“God, I’m so in love with you, it’s actually disgusting,” he muttered, his voice full of both frustration and affection.

And for once, you couldn’t agree more.

—---

It was your first official date.

Like—an actual, real, human-first-date. No yelling. No post-argument makeouts. Just food. Chairs. Maybe eye contact if you were feeling brave.

You’d been dating for three days.

Which, so far, had consisted of:

Yelling at each other.

Making out.

Rolling your eyes at each other.

Making out again. Repeat steps 1–4.

Three days of chaotic tension. Of brushing shoulders in the hallway and pretending it didn’t set your whole body on fire. Of accidentally calling him “babe” and then gaslighting him into thinking he misheard you. Of Jungwon asking the two of you to shut up and stop arguing in the middle of the night. You weren’t arguing. 

Three days of sharing the sink like civilized people, brushing your teeth side by side, totally normal, totally casual—totally not internally spiraling over the fact that your former arch-nemesis was now your boyfriend.

And then there were the quiet moments.

Like this morning, when you walked into the kitchen to find him already making coffee. He handed you a mug—black, just the way you liked it—and pretended he didn’t notice the way your fingers brushed.

You stared at it.

“What?” he said, avoiding eye contact. “I’m not a monster.”

You took a sip. “So you’re being nice to me now?”

Jake shrugged. “Don’t get used to it. I just don’t want to date someone who’s chronically dehydrated.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re worried about my water intake while you eat chips for breakfast.”

“Those chips had lime on them,” he said. “That’s vitamin C.”

Still, later that day, he also handed you a granola bar before you left the house. No comment. Just tossed it at your head with alarming accuracy and walked away.

And that was your boyfriend.

You, of course, were no better.

Like last night, when you walked past his room and saw him still hunched over his desk, blue light glowing off his face, glasses crooked, typing like he was trying to physically punch a thesis into existence.

You didn’t say anything.

Just stood there in the doorway for a second, watching the way his brows were furrowed in that hyper-focused, very-stupid, very-Jake way.

Then you glanced at the time. No dishes in the sink. Nothing in the trash.

He hadn’t eaten all day.

You scowled, muttered something about “men and their lack of survival instincts,” and turned straight into the kitchen.

Fifteen minutes later, you dropped a steaming bowl of his favorite ramen next to his laptop without saying a word.

Jake blinked up at you. “Did you—?”

You didn’t look at him. “Don’t pass out. It’ll be annoying to carry your unconscious body.”

Then you left.

Fast.

Too fast for him to say thank you. Too fast for him to see the way your lips twitched just slightly at the corners.

And then…

The next day, you were minding your business, scrolling on your phone, sprawled on the couch like the world owed you peace, when Jake casually walked in and dropped himself beside you—close, but not too close.

He cleared his throat once. Then again. Dramatically.

You glanced at him. “Are you dying?”

“Not today,” he said. Then added, without looking at you, “Wanna hang out tonight?”

You blinked. “Out where?”

He shrugged. “I dunno. Somewhere with food. Lighting. Chairs. That’s usually what dates have, right?”

Your eyes narrowed. “Was that you asking me out?”

Jake didn’t flinch. Just sipped his drink. “Depends. You gonna say yes?”

You stared at him for a long beat.

He stared at the wall like it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

Then, you smirked. “Only if you promise not to talk about tech stuff the whole time.”

Jake raised an eyebrow, lips twitching into a grin. “If you’re lucky, I’ll limit myself to only mentioning API twice before dessert.”

You squinted. “You’re really bad at this whole romance thing, aren’t you?”

He grinned back, impossibly confident. “And yet, here you are. Saying yes anyway.”

You rolled your eyes, your lips threatening to betray you with a smile. “Yeah, well, I make questionable decisions sometimes.”

Jake nudged your knee with his, grinning like he’d just won a gold medal. “You’re about to make another one. I’m picking you up at seven.”

You crossed your arms, trying to look unimpressed. “We live together.”

Jake leaned back, completely unbothered. “So? I can’t be romantic?”

You didn’t argue.

God help you.

You were kind of excited.

—-

This was your first date.

And you were spiraling.

You had changed your outfit three times. Reapplied your lip balm five. Stood in front of the mirror giving yourself a pep talk like you were about to go on national television.

Jake was downstairs.

Wearing cologne and Jake never wore cologne.

When you finally met him outside, Jake blinked at you like you'd just materialized from a dream. His eyes widened, then quickly darted away, as if he could avoid the full force of your impact.

“You clean up okay,” you teased, trying not to smile too wide.

He opened his mouth, clearly trying to recover, but it came out wrong. “You look... pretty.” He froze, his face turning a shade of red that should’ve been illegal. Then he scrambled, “I mean, uh, shitty.”

“I heard you the first time, Jake,” you said, tapping his face lightly, almost affectionately. “So do you.”

—-

“Stop stealing my fries.”

“I’m not stealing. I’m redistributing.”

“Stop that! It’s not my fault I ordered curly fries and you got regular fries.”

“And I regret it. Let me live.”

You were about to launch into a full rant about Food Boundaries when your foot brushed his under the table. Then his knee. Then his thigh.

Neither of you moved.

And then—like gravity just snapped—you were both leaning over the table. French fries abandoned. Eyes locked. Breaths syncing. Heat crawling up your neck.

Jake reached out, brushed a hair from your cheek, his fingers lingering just a second too long.

You stared at his lips. He stared at yours.

Oh, you were so going to kiss in this grimy diner booth, and it was going to be beautiful and stupid and you didn’t even care.

And then—

“Well, well, well.”

You both froze.

Standing next to the table, milkshake in hand, eyes wide with the smuggest expression on Earth: Jungwon.

Jake sat up like someone just caught him cheating on a test.

You blinked. “Jungwon! Hi! What a surprise!”

Jungwon glanced between the two of you. The blushing. The weird knee situation. The shared fries. The vibes.

He sighed, long and dramatic.

Then took a sip of his milkshake and said—

“Fuck. Now I gotta move out.”

And with that, he turned and walked away.

Jake looked stunned. You stared after Jungwon in horror.

“Do you think he’s gonna tell everyone?” you whispered.

At that exact moment, both your phones buzzed in unison—a notification from Jungwon’s Instagram, tagging both you and Jake.

“That answers our question.” Jake replied.

You looked at him.

He looked at you.

And under the flickering diner lights, knees still touching under the table, Jake reached across and laced his fingers through yours.He glanced at your intertwined hands, then at your face.

“God. I think I actually really like you.” he muttered, like it physically pained him.

You didn’t even blink.

“I hope the fuck you do. I’m literally your girlfriend.”

Jake groaned, slumping back into the booth like you just personally ruined him.

“This is so humiliating.”

You grinned, squeezing his hand.

“Yeah. For you.”

[laurellala-comics]

What if the characters in Ace Attorney all texted each other. Because they're friends. <3

(My alt text descriptions were a little long so I've added the individual text exchanges below, btw if there's any way I can improve my alt text please let me know!)

[id: drawing one shows text history between Maya Fey and Phoenix Wright on Nick's phone, starting with older texts at the top

Maya: ramen? (Nick has given this a thumbs up)

now we see texts from today at 11:37

Maya: Burgers?

Nick: sorry, not today, big case :(

Maya: Aww Nick

Maya: I'll pick it up and bring it over!

Maya: ... can i use your credit card (she punctuates the sentence with a big smiling face emoji) /end id]

[id: drawing two shows text history between Phoenix Wright and Miles Edgeworth on Miles's phone, starting with older texts at the top

Edgeworth: This was a riveting article, I thought it might interest you.

now we see texts from today

Nick sends a screenshot of a twitter post that reads: Lawyers help people get through the worst day of their life. They're good at it because they have experience getting through their own worst day, which just so happens to be every waking day of their existence

Miles: Ha.

Nick: Just one "ha"?

Miles: Not your best work.

Nick sends a frowny face :( /end id]

[id: drawing three shows text history between Miles Edgeworth and Maya Fey on Maya's phone. The text bubbles from Maya here are green as a result of her, an iPhone user texting Miles, a google pixel user. Maya has also sprinkled several emojis into Miles's contact name, the libra scales, the angry face emoji, the shouting emoji, and the clashing swords emoji. They're mid conversation and Miles has sent a text bubble so big we can't read the whole thing.

Miles: -completely unnecessary. Doing a Steel Samurai reboot so soon after the series ended is a foolish decision, everyone will be directly comparing the two from the moment the first episode drops. I don't believe they even have a fresh direction for the show, the only difference will be the cgi. God forbid we rock the boat and follow a new character! It's abundantly clear to me that the studio executives are cowards.

Maya: Oh my gosh, and did you see the new outfits? Maya includes a sobbing emoji

Miles: Oh, don't get me started.

we see three dots at the bottom of the screen indicating that Miles is still typing. /end id]

[minniesfiles]

OPERATION WONWOO: CALM DOWN MY GIRLFRIEND

In which Wonwoo tries to comfort his overly dramatic girlfriend after his enlistment news came out.

❧ PAIRING; wonwoo x reader

❧ GENRE; fluff, humour

❧ TAGS/WARNINGS; established relationship, idol wonwoo, tears, humour, fluff, topic of enlistment

❧ WORDCOUNT; 1.1k

𐚁₊⊹

▍5 MARCH 2025

Wonwoo never considered himself as a particularly emotional person. He was rational, practical, and logical. None of which, apparently, applied to you, who was currently curled up in a blanket burrito on his sofa, sobbing like he just told you he was moving to the moon.

He sighed while standing over you with his arms crossed. “Babe, you’re being ridiculous.”

You lifted your head from the blanket pile, eyes red and puffy. “I am not,” you wailed. “You’re leaving me for eighteen months, Wonwoo. That’s, like, a lifetime in relationship years.”

“That’s not how time works.”

“You don’t care about my suffering at all!” you sniffled dramatically.

Wonwoo rolled his eyes and shifted his weight as he continued watching you spiral into despair. “Okay, first of all, I’m not leaving you. I’m literally just going to work. Second, I’m not even doing active duty. I’m doing an alternative service because, in case you forgot, my eyesight is so bad that the government won’t even trust me with a gun and is making me do a desk job instead.”

“Still counts” you hiccupped mid-sob.

“Does it?”

“Yes” you crossed your arms, glaring at him. “You’ll still be gone, and I’ll still be alone, and — oh my God, what if you get super buff and realise you don’t love me anymore?”

Wonwoo blinked. “I’m literally going to be working in an office.”

“So? What if lifting all those papers gives you arm muscles?”

He sighed, rubbing his temples. “First of all, paper isn’t that heavy. Second, even if I did somehow get buff, I wouldn’t stop loving you.”

You let out a dramatic huff. “How do I know that for sure?”

Wonwoo stared at you for a long moment before answering, “Because if I was going to leave you, it would’ve been when you made me watch that thirty-episode historical drama just so you could cry over it.”

You gasped, clutching your chest like he physically wounded you. “You said you liked it!”

“I lied.”

You let out a strangled noise, then flopped back onto the sofa. “I knew it! I’m already losing you.”

Wonwoo sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Babe, I’ll be home every night. The only difference is that I won’t be promoting with the members for a while. That’s it.”

You sniffled again and gripped the blanket tighter. “It’s not just that! I won’t get to see you perform, or travel with your members, or do all the cute idol boyfriend things—”

He raised an eyebrow. “When have I ever done cute idol boyfriend things?”

“Okay, fine, Jeonghan does cute idol boyfriend things. But that’s not the point!” you huffed, sitting up to glare at him.

“The point is, I won’t get to see you in your element. I won’t get to watch you perform on stage, and I won’t get to hear you talk about making music with your members. You love being with them.”

He frowned slightly at that, because — well, you weren’t wrong.

It would be weird not promoting as a Seventeen member, not spending every day surrounded by the usual chaos and comfort of his group. He would miss standing on stage. He would miss the adrenaline of performing, the way the members bickered, the way Carats screamed their names with so much love.

But, at the end of the day, he would still be home.

Wonwoo let out a sigh and sat down beside you, resting a hand on your knee. “I get it. I’ll miss all of that too,” he admitted.

“But it’s not forever. And honestly? I’d rather be at home with you every night than stuck in a training camp running laps at five in the morning.”

“I feel like you’re just saying that to make me feel better” you pouted.

“Maybe. But it’s also true” he smirked.

“You think I’d rather be sweating in a field somewhere when I could be home with you, eating ramen and watching bad dramas?”

You hesitated. “…That does sound better.”

“Exactly.”

You sighed, rubbing your eyes. “But what if you change?”

“What do you mean?” your boyfriend frowned.

“What if, after eighteen months, you don’t love me the same way?” your voice was quieter now, and your usual dramatic energy was replaced by something more vulnerable.

His chest ached at the sight of you, and the way you curled into yourself like you were trying to brace for impact.

“Baby,” he murmured, reaching up to tuck your hair behind your ear. “That’s not going to happen.”

“You don’t know that” you mumbled, biting your lip.

“Yes, I do,” he said firmly. “You think I’m going to go to work, file some paperwork, and suddenly forget how much I love you?”

“Maybe there’s a really hot co-worker with perfect vision who loves books as much as you do” you shrugged.

Wonwoo gave you deadpan look. “First of all, I can barely see people’s faces without my glasses, so your imaginary rival isn’t even a threat. Second, no one could ever be you.”

“You promise?” you sniffled.

“I swear on my terrible eyesight.” That finally got a small laugh out of you, and Wonwoo felt some of the tension ease from his chest.

“Besides,” he added, smirking. “If anything, you should be more worried about Jeonghan stealing me away while I’m gone.”

Your eyes narrowed. “I knew it. He’s been trying to seduce you for years.”

Wonwoo chuckled, “you have no idea.”

You let out a dramatic sigh and flopped against him. “Fine. I’ll let you go.”

“Oh? You’re giving me permission now?”

“Yes,” you sniffed. “But only if you compensate me properly.”

“And how exactly do I do that?” Wonwoo raised an eyebrow.

You perked up. “A life-sized body pillow with your face on it.”

Wonwoo groaned. “Not this again.”

“You owe me emotional damages” you crossed your arms.

“I’m not getting you a body pillow.”

“Then I’ll just make my own,” you threatened.

Wonwoo sighed, rubbing his temples. “Okay, how would you even do that?”

“Print a giant picture of your face, tape it to a pillow, and boom. DIY boyfriend” you smirked.

“You have issues” he stared at you.

“I have needs” you corrected.

Wonwoo shook his head in defeat. “Fine. I’ll send you so many selfies that you’ll get sick of my face.”

You gasped. “Never.”

“You’re ridiculous” he chuckled, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close.

“And yet, here you are, cuddling me instead of telling me to stop.”

“Unfortunately” your boyfriend sighed dramatically. You gasped and smacked his chest. “Take that back!”

“Nope” he grinned mischievously.

You huffed, but your arms tightened around him. “Ugh. You’re the worst.”

“And yet, here you are, crying over me leaving.”

“Shut up and let me be sad. And you’re not exactly leaving, remember?” you sniffled.

Wonwoo chuckled, squeezing you gently. “Alright baby. Be as sad as you want.”

a/n; dreading the almost 2 years of Wonwoo drought icbbb

[hoshifighting]

the ''ick's'' seventeen would give

seungcheol: would act tough in front of his friends, and with you would be talking like; pweaseee/otay/i wuv u so much 🥺 like—shutthefuckup

jeonghan: stole your lip gloss. yep, dead serious. you look over, and he’s pulling out your cherry gloss, pouting at himself in his phone camera to check it. then he has the audacity to judge you if it’s not his color. like, “babe, don’t you think this is a bit bright?”

joshua: man has this cringe little habit of saying “no cap” at the worst times, and he’s always wrong. burnt his toast? “no cap, that was the toaster’s fault.” got pulled over? “no cap, that cop’s jealous of my car.” you’re in a horror movie, and this dude would whisper, “no cap, i think we should split up.”

junhui: starts telling a hilarious story about his day but accidentally mixes it up with a story he already told you last week. he’s all “wait, have i told you this before?”

hoshi: eats with so much sound. slurping, groaning, making it a whole event. like, eating ramen? nah, he’s performing ramen, making eye contact, giving each bite a sound effect. and it’s so bad you’re rethinking why you even suggested dinner. you can hear every noodle hitting his mouth. done.

woozi: texts you “wyd” every fifteen minutes. like you’re just supposed to be sitting around waiting for his updates on what you’re doing, right? he’s the kind of guy who’ll FaceTime you just to check if you’re having too much fun without him. and the way he says “wyd?” – every. time.

wonwoo: he’s got a pet name for his gaming console. this boy will sit there, caressing his controller and calling it “baby” while yelling at his avatar. it’s all fun and games until he actually ignores you mid-sentence to mutter sweet nothings to his PS5.

minghao: changes his accent mid-sentence to be "fancy." like, you’re talking normal, but suddenly he’s doing his best British impression for no damn reason. “oh, quite right, love, terribly splendid.” and it’s out of nowhere, totally unprompted, with a smirk like he just did something magical. you’re cringing so hard you’re practically folding into yourself.

mingyu: he’ll be all smooth one minute, but then he gets real comfortable and lets out the loudest, most unholy fart you’ve ever heard, like it was a fart held since WW2.

seokmin: pulls out a super old toy he’s kept since childhood and starts playing with it, getting all emotional about “the good ol’ days.” like, bro, you’re a grown-ass man, and you’re here with a plastic dinosaur, talking about how it “used to roar.”

seungkwan: catches a whiff of something weird in the room and just straight-up sniffs his armpits. he does it casually, like it’s no big deal, then he looks at you dead seriously.

vernon: goes way too hard on his “cool guy” vibes. constantly pulling his hat down low, trying to act all mysterious, but he’s accidentally walked into the wrong bathroom twice just trying to “look chill” or, walking in the room with his backpack wide open (we have proofs). he does this squinting thing like he’s in a music video, but it’s just… nope.

chan: calls himself “alpha.” no, seriously, he’ll be like, “as the alpha, i need to handle this.” and he’s referring to something like taking out the trash. leaving you jaw dropped, wondering why he’s talking like a lost wolf.

[socialkid]

Imagine…

You’re a well known actress, and your name is pretty big. Like Zendaya big. And your fiancé Katsuki Bakugou is your pro hero boyfriend. Perfect couple right? No literally you are. He goes with you to all your interviews, tapes all of your auditions, and manages to get on your set AT LEAST one time.

Well recently you got casted in a show about an zombie outbreak. You play a main yet supporting character named Halle, a 19 year old girl who is apparently the only survivor left of her family.

Lucky for you the producer highly respects your boyfriend, and he’s allowed to watch you on set whenever. He sits in a chair the directors provide for him every time you film.

He usually supports you and he’ll peak at you from his phone a couple times, but it’s nothing he’s never not seen before.

Now when Bakugou’s passing by his staff’s cubicles and work area in his angency, and he keeps hearing them discuss about ‘Dead of Night’ (your new show) he’s genuinely intrigued.

Apparently the show’s gon viral. And everyone is talking about it. “Yeah, you haven’t seen it yet? I swear you live under a rock.” pro hero Charge Bolt told him. I mean technically he has watched it, he watched you film it! But now that he realizes, he can’t even spell out the plot.

So one day when Bakugou finds the time, he plops down on your sofa and clicks on your series.

Safe to say he might be intrigued…

Now when he watches he’s locked in. Snacks and all, and if he blinks he’s rewinding. It’s all he watches, he’s so interested in the show and can be considered a piece of the show’s fandom.

Now when you’re filming the show, Katsuki shows up a whole lot less. When the directors yell cut and your eyes pan to his empty chair. Katsuki gives you every excuse under the sun as to why he didn’t show up a certain day. You figured maybe he just got bored watching you film and didn’t know how to tell you, so you shrugged it off. You had no clue he was heavily avoiding spoilers. You didn’t even know he watched your show.

So a couple years pass and your show gets renewed for it’s third season. Unfortunately this season, Halle meets her fate. You recorded your last scene for the show, episode 10. Not a dry eye from the media.

The day your character’s death airs is a tragic day for your fans. Especially Bakugou. Mid way through the show as he slurps his spicy ramen his jaw is floored when your character passes. Noodles immediately discarded back into the cup.

So when you get back home and your boyfriend is quietly laying down on the sofa, watching a corny kids cartoon, you’re lost. “Hey Kats.” You say hanging your coat on the rack as you entered. He only replied with a mumble, something along the lines of “hey how was filmineejdirk”. The room was dim, the shades were drawn, and your boyfriend showed no signs of getting up. Was he depressed or something?

You quietly sat down next to him, glancing at the colorful show in front of him. “Katssss…what’s wrong?” You finally asked. No response. Then he slowly shifted upwards, now sitting up to face you. “Halle died.” He responded. He actually looked fustrated.

You were actually shook, you weren’t even aware that your boyfriend was one of the shows viewers. It sort of made up for him not being at your interviews and filming days.

“I’m sorry baby, but I mean I’m still here.” You said, now opening your arms out to embrace him. He took the opportunity, and pulled you into his arms, leaning back onto the sofa once again.

“I know,” he muttered into your neck, tickling your skin, “Yer not Halle though.”

[amyzworldds]

안녕~ could you write about the 14th member seventeen currently: like she decided to prank so to speak to scare the members for laughing at her and decided to be closed and serious for a while and the members were really scared. If you like this idea, then thanks in advance💕💕

Title: Maknae Mutiny

Masterlist

When Seventeen’s lively maknae yn is shut down by her exhausted members and they overlook her missing cardboard standee, she retaliates with a silent treatment, ignoring them while laughing with others. Pairing: Seventeen x 14th member Genre: Fluff, Humor, with a lil bit of angst

Seventeen had been running on fumes for weeks. Music shows, fan signs, late-night rehearsals—their comeback buzz had turned into a relentless grind, and all 14 members were begging for silence and sleep. The dorm, usually a circus of noise thanks to yn’s antics, felt like a zombie den. Hoshi had fallen asleep mid-sentence yesterday, Seungkwan’s sass was down to a mumble, and even DK’s eternal sunshine had dimmed to a flicker. They just wanted peace. But yn? yn was a different beast.

Sure, she was tired—her under-eye bags could carry groceries—but her energy was a renewable resource. She saw her exhausted members slumped on the living room couches, looking like deflated balloons, and thought, I’ve got this. I’ll cheer them up! So, after a grueling practice day, she burst into the dorm, arms flailing, voice at full volume, ready to be their human espresso shot.

“Guyss! You won’t believe what I saw on the way home!” she chirped, pacing the room like a caffeinated squirrel. “This guy on the subway was wearing socks with sandals—socks with sandals!—and I swear he was staring at me like I stole his lunch! I almost laughed so hard I fell off my seat, but then I remembered I’m an idol now, so I just smirked like a pro. Oh, and then there was this dog—huge, fluffy, looked like Mingyu oppa if he grew fur—”

Mingyu, sprawled on the couch with a pillow over his face, groaned, “Yn, please… not now…”

But she didn’t hear him, too caught up in her one-woman comedy show. “And then! Then! I saw this ad for a new ramen flavor—spicy cheese, can you imagine? We should try it! I bet it’d wake us all up! Oh, and speaking of waking up, last night I dreamed I was a superhero, but my power was turning into a giant pancake—don’t laugh, it’s serious! I was flipping through the sky—”

The members nodded tiredly, eyes glazed over. Seungcheol rubbed his temples, Jeonghan stared at the ceiling like he was praying for teleportation, and DK managed a weak, “That’s… nice, yn-ah…” Hoshi was already half-asleep, muttering, “Pancake… sky… huh?”

She kept going, oblivious. “So anyway, I was thinking we could do a tiktok where I’m the pancake superhero and you guys are, like, my syrup squad! It’d be hilarious! Imagine Woozi oppa with a syrup gun—”

“Yn,” Woozi cut in, his voice sharp and exhausted. He was slumped in an armchair, looking like he’d aged 10 years in a day. “Can you stop? Please? We’re all dead tired. We just want to rest, and your nonstop rambling isn’t helping. At all.”

The room went still. Yn blinked, mid-gesture, her mouth open. “Oh… uh…”

“He’s right,” Seungkwan mumbled, dragging himself up. “I love you, yn-ah, but I can’t hear about pancake superheroes right now. I need sleep.”

“Yeah,” Joshua added, yawning. “Maybe tomorrow, okay?”

“Quiet sounds good,” Vernon agreed, already shuffling toward his room.

One by one, the members chimed in—“Yeah, yn, too tired,” “Night, kid,” “Love the energy, but no”—and peeled off to their rooms, leaving yn standing there, deflated. Hoshi patted her head as he passed, muttering, “Funny story… tell it later…” and then he was gone too. Even Dino, her fellow maknae, just gave her a sleepy wave and disappeared.

Yn pouted, arms crossed. “Fine. Whatever. I was just trying to help,” she muttered. She’d been tired too, but she’d pushed through to lift their spirits. Now she felt like a clown who’d bombed her set. Shuffling to her room, she flopped onto her bed, still in her hoodie. “They’re just tired,” she told herself, yawning. “I said sorry last night when I bumped into Jeonghan oppa on my way out… they’ll say sorry tomorrow. We’re cool.” With that, she conked out, dreaming of pancake revenge.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Morning came, and the dorm buzzed with renewed energy. The members were back to their loud selves—DK belting a random ballad in the shower, Mingyu clanging pots in the kitchen, Seungkwan arguing with Vernon over cereal brands. Yn stumbled out, expecting a chorus of “Sorry, yn-ah!” and maybe a hug or two. Instead, they acted like nothing happened.

“Morning, yn!” Seungcheol called, sipping coffee. “You sleep okay?”

“Uh… yeah,” she said, waiting. No apology. Nothing.

“Pancakes today!” Mingyu announced, flipping one in the air. “Want some?”

She stared at him. “Sure,” she mumbled, but her pout deepened. No “sorry” from him either? Hoshi bounded in, stealing a pancake bite, and grinned at her. “Hey, you’re quiet today! No subway stories?”

“Nope,” she said flatly, glaring. Still no apology. The day dragged on—practice, lunch, more practice—and not one member acknowledged last night. By nightfall, yn was fuming. They want quiet? Oh, I’ll give them quiet. Dead serious quiet. Revenge quiet.

She stormed to the front door, where her life-sized cardboard cutout from a recent photoshoot stood guard. “You’re coming with me,” she muttered, dragging it to her room. Slamming the door, she plopped it by her bed and hatched her plan. “They think I’m too loud? Fine. I’ll be so serious they’ll beg me to laugh. I won’t crack—not a giggle, not a smirk. My soul might die laughing inside, but my face? Stone.” She cackled internally, imagining their freaked-out faces, then spent the night in front of her mirror, practicing her “serious idol” stare—lips tight, eyes piercing, zero nonsense.

--------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning, the dorm was a graveyard. No blasting audios from yn’s room, no off-key singing, no clattering pans as she danced around the kitchen making breakfast. The members shuffled out, bleary-eyed, expecting chaos. Instead, they found… nothing. Yn emerged from her room, pancake plate in hand—one pancake, just for her. She sat at the table, eating silently, staring straight ahead.

“Uh… morning, yn-ah,” DK tried, flashing his sunshine smile. “No music today?”

She chewed, swallowed, and looked at him dead-on. “No.” Her voice was flat, her face a mask. DK blinked, unnerved.

At practice, it got weirder. Yn was a ghost—quiet, focused, no chatter. Hoshi, desperate to break the tension, tried his usual antics. “Hey, yn-ah, watch this!” He did a goofy tiger impression, complete with a roar and claw hands. Normally, she’d be rolling on the floor. This time? She turned, stared at him with a blank, serious gaze, and said, “Cool.” Hoshi shivered, whispering to Dino, “She’s scaring me, man. That’s not normal.”

“She’s not even rolling her eyes,” Dino hissed back. “She always rolls her eyes when she’s mad! This is… worse.”

Seungkwan tried next, sidling up with a grin. “Yn-ah, I saw this hilarious meme—guy trips into a fountain, total disaster. Funny, right?”

She fixed him with a deadpan stare. “Sure.” No laugh, no snort, nothing. Seungkwan gulped. “Uh… okay, never mind.”

Even Jeonghan, the master of chaos, couldn’t crack her. “Yn-ie,” he cooed, leaning in with his sly smile, “you’re so quiet today. Did Hoshi eat your snacks again?”

“No,” she said, voice monotone, eyes boring into him. “I’m fine.” Jeonghan froze, then backed away, muttering, “That’s… terrifying.”

By lunchtime, the members were whispering in a huddle. “She’s not mad—she’d be yelling if she was,” Joshua said, frowning. “She’s just… serious. It’s creepy.”

That night, yb sat in her room, smirking internally as she ate gummy worms—alone. Her cardboard cutout loomed in the corner, a silent ally in her war of quiet. She heard the members outside, their voices hushed and panicked—“She didn’t laugh at my joke!” “She stared at me like I was a ghost!”—and fought the urge to cackle. They want quiet? They’ve got it. Let’s see how long they last.

--------------------------------------------------------------

The days dragged on, and yn’s “serious mode” had morphed into a full-blown vendetta. Seventeen dorm, once a chaotic symphony of laughter and YN’s wild energy, was now a haunted house of awkward silence. She’d doubled down on her quiet revenge, and it was working—too well. The members tiptoed around her, whispering theories, while yn stewed in her room, her fury fueled by one glaring fact: no one had noticed her missing cardboard standee. That thing had been grinning by the front door for months—her self-proclaimed “dorm guardian”—and now it was gone, tucked away in her room, and not a single member had said a word. “They don’t even care,” she muttered to herself, glaring at her reflection. “Fine. They won’t notice me either. I’m a ghost now.”

Her plan was simple but savage: no eye contact, no talking, total isolation. She’d hide in her room forever, emerging only for practice, where she’d be a silent, creepy shell of her usual self. At rehearsals, she moved like a robot—perfect steps, zero chatter.

Back at the dorm, she’d bolt to her room the second they arrived, locking the door before anyone could blink. “Yn-ah, wait—” Seungcheol tried once, but the click of her lock cut him off. She’d sit inside, eating snacks she’d hoarded (no sharing this time), talking to herself in a furious whisper. “They don’t even miss my standee! It’s been weeks! That thing smiled at them every day—welcomed them home—and they’re just like, ‘Oh, cool, whatever.’ Useless members! And still no sorry? Wow, I’m invisible now, huh? Well, good! I’ll stay invisible!”

Weeks passed, and the members were losing it. The dorm felt cursed. No morning chaos—no yn blasting random songs, no kitchen dance parties while she burned toast for everyone. She’d emerge for meals, grab her plate, and vanish, all without a word or glance. At practice, she was a silent specter, her deadpan stare chilling the room. Hoshi tried cracking a joke—“Hey, yn-ah, I tripped over Mingyu’s shoe today, total tiger fail!”—and she just looked at him, unblinking, like he was a stranger. He yelped, hiding behind DK. “She’s possessed! That’s not her!”

“She’s creeping me out,” Seungkwan whispered, clutching Jeonghan’s arm. “She didn’t even laugh when I spilled water on Vernon yesterday. She just… stared. Like a serial killer!”

“Maybe she’s mad?” Joshua ventured, frowning. “But why? We didn’t do anything… right?”

“Last week was rough,” Woozi muttered, guilt gnawing at him. “I snapped at her about the rambling. We all kinda piled on. But she’s been quiet for weeks. This is next-level.”

Hoshi, ever the drama king, paced the living room, hands flailing. “Guys, hear me out—what if she’s been kidnapped? Like, the real yn’s gone, and this is a fake yn! Think about it! She’s too quiet, too serious—it’s not natural! Maybe aliens swapped her, or someone has her locked in a basement, and this is a robot clone!”

“Hoshi, calm down,” Seungcheol groaned, rubbing his temples. “She’s not kidnapped. She’s just… mad. Really mad.”

“Then why won’t she yell at us?!” Hoshi wailed. “She’s not even rolling her eyes! She always rolls her eyes when she’s mad! This is worse—she’s like a ghost haunting us!”

“I miss her yelling,” DK admitted, pouting. “She didn’t even react when I sang off-key yesterday. Just… stared. I almost cried.”

Theories flew—Jeonghan suggested she was pranking them, Vernon guessed she’d joined a silent cult, and Seungkwan swore she was plotting their demise. But no one could crack it. Yn’s silence was a weapon, and she wielded it like a pro, all while seething in her room. “They don’t deserve my noise,” she muttered, munching gummy worms. “Or my standee. Or me. Let’s see how long they last without their sunshine maknae.”

Then, one fateful evening, Dino stumbled into the breakthrough. He was shuffling through the dorm, half-asleep, looking for his lost sock by the front door. “Where’s that stupid—huh?” He paused, blinking at the empty spot where yn’s cardboard standee used to stand. “Wait… where’s her cutout thingy?” He turned, wide-eyed, to the members sprawled in the living room. “Hyung… her standee’s gone!”

Thirteen heads snapped toward him. Silence. Then chaos.

“What do you mean, gone?!” Seungcheol barked, jumping up.

“It’s not there!” Dino flailed, pointing. “It’s been by the door forever, and now it’s… not!”

“Oh no,” Jeonghan breathed, eyes widening. “She took it. That’s why she’s mad!”

“She’s been mad for weeks, and we didn’t notice that?!” Mingyu yelped, clutching his hair. “We’re the worst, ever!”

Hoshi gasped, clutching DK. “See?! I told you! The real yn’s gone, and this is proof! The standee was her soul, and now it’s missing, and we’re stuck with a fake—”

“Shut up, Hoshi,” Woozi snapped, but his voice wavered. “She’s not kidnapped. She’s just… really, really pissed. And we missed it.”

Seungkwan groaned, collapsing onto the couch. “We didn’t even notice her standee was gone? That thing’s been staring at us for months! No wonder she’s haunting us!”

“What do we do?” Vernon asked, looking spooked. “She’s not talking, not laughing—she’s like a statue. I’m scared to knock on her door.”

“We’ve gotta fix this,” Seungcheol said, pacing. “She’s mad about last time and the standee. We’ve been idiots.”

Inside her room, YN smirked, overhearing their panic through the thin walls. “Finally,” she whispered to herself, patting her hidden standee. “They noticed. Too late. Silent yn stays.” She popped another gummy worm in her mouth, plotting her next move, while the members outside scrambled like headless chickens, terrified of their own maknae.

--------------------------------------------------------------

The practice room had become a bizarre battleground. After weeks of yn’s eerie silence—her deadpan stares and locked-door standoffs—the members were on edge, jumping at shadows and whispering theories about her missing standee. They’d hoped practice would be a reset, a chance to figure out how to crack her icy facade. But when they walked in, they were hit with a twist that left them reeling.

Yn was laughing. Full-on, belly-clutching, snorting laughter, chatting up the backup dancers like she’d never been mad a day in her life. “No, seriously!” she cackled, leaning on one dancer’s shoulder. “He tripped over his own feet mid-spin—thought he was gonna take out the whole line! I couldn’t breathe!” The dancers roared, one clapping her on the back as she doubled over, wiping tears. She looked like the old yn—wild, loud, unstoppable. But here’s the kicker: she wasn’t talking to them. Not a word, not a glance. She danced around the members like they were invisible, her giggles reserved for everyone but her members.

The members stood frozen, mid-stretch, jaws dropped. “What… is happening?” Minghao whispered, clutching Wonwoo’s arm. “She was a statue yesterday—now she’s laughing? With the dancers?!”

“Maybe she’s over it?” Joshua said, hopeful, though his voice shook. “She’s back to normal, right?”

“Normal for them, not us,”Woozi muttered, eyes narrowing. “She’s still ignoring us. Look—she won’t even turn this way.”

Hoshi shivered, hugging himself. “It’s like she’s possessed again! Happy with everyone else, but we’re ghosts to her! I’m telling you, the standee’s cursed us!”

Jun, ever the optimist, saw an opening. “Nah, she’s fine now! See? Laughing, talking—she’s good! I’ll fix this.” He plastered on a grin, letting out a loud, exaggerated laugh—“HA! HA! HA! That’s hilarious, yn-ah!”—and strutted toward her and the dancers, arms open like he was joining the party.

The room went dead silent. Yn stopped mid-laugh, her face snapping into that blank, serious mask faster than a light switch. The dancers froze, awkward, as she straightened up, brushed past Jun without a glance, and marched to the far corner where one of their managers sat scrolling his phone. “Hey, manager nim!” shechirped, plopping beside him. “You should’ve seen this one time Hoshi oppa tried to do a flip and landed on his face— funniest thing ever!” She cackled again, leaning into the manager as he chuckled, oblivious to the stunned members behind her.

Jun stood there, mid-laugh, arms still outstretched, looking like a rejected comedian. “Uh… what just happened?” he squeaked, turning to the others.

“She shut down the second you got close,” Jeonghan said, smirking despite the tension. “That’s some next-level avoidance.”

“She’s laughing with the manager now?!” Mingyu yelped, clutching his hair. “She won’t even look at us, but she’s cracking up over there? This is torture!”

Seungcheol rubbed his temples, groaning. “She’s doing this on purpose. She’s fine with everyone else—just not us. We’re screwed.”

The members huddled, whispering like spooked detectives. “She’s playing us,” Vernon said, wide-eyed. “Happy yn for them, ghost yn for us. It’s creepy as hell.”

“I miss her yelling at me,” Dino muttered, pouting. “She didn’t even react when I tripped earlier. Just… stared.”

Across the room, the manager—Manager Kim, a chill guy who’d seen it all—noticed yn’s selective chatter. “Hey, yn-ah,” he said, still chuckling, “what’s up with you and the boys? You’re all buddy-buddy with me and the dancers, but you’re acting like the members don’t exist. What’s the deal?”

Yn crossed her arms, puffing her cheeks like a kid tattling on her siblings. “They’re jerks! Weeks ago, I was trying to cheer them up ‘cause they were all tired and grumpy, telling funny stories and stuff, and they just shut me down! Woozi oppa said my rambling wasn’t helping, and then they all ganged up—‘We’re tired, yn,’ ‘Go away, yn’—and left me standing there like an idiot! I said sorry that night, but they never said it back! And then—get this—they didn’t even notice my standee was gone! That thing’s been by the door for months, smiling sweetly at them, and they didn’t care it’s missing! So, fine, they want quiet? They don’t notice me? I’m done with them!”

Manager Kim threw his head back, laughing so hard he nearly dropped his phone. “Oh, that’s gold! You’re giving them the silent treatment and the standee treatment? They deserve it, kid. Keep ‘em sweating—they’ll crack eventually.”

“Exactly!” Yn grinned, smug. “They don’t get my sunshine ‘til they grovel.”

The members, eavesdropping from across the room, paled. “She told him everything,” Seungkwan hissed. “And he’s on her side?!”

“We’re doomed,” Joshua whispered. “She’s got backup now.”

DK, the group’s emotional glue, couldn’t take it anymore. “I can’t do this!” he wailed, breaking from the huddle. He bolted across the room, dropped to his knees in front of yn, and fake-cried into his hands. “Yn-ah, I’m so sorry! We were jerks—we didn’t mean it! I miss you so much—your laugh, your chaos, your stupid standee! Please forgive us!”

Yn blinked down at him, her serious mask flickering but holding. Manager Kim snorted, pulling out his phone to record. “This is going on the company group chat,” he muttered, grinning.

DK’s dramatics broke the dam. Hoshi dove in next, sliding on his knees beside DK. “Yn-ie, I’m sorry! I miss your yelling when I mess up choreo! I even miss your creepy standee staring at me! Don’t hate us!”

Mingyu joined, flopping onto the floor. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice the standee! I’m terrible—forgive me! I’ll cook you pancakes every day!”

One by one, they piled on. Dino knelt, clasping his hands. “I’m sorry, yn-ah! You’re my maknae twin—I can’t live like this!” Seungkwan wailed, “I miss your sass—please talk to me!” Even Woozi, grumbling, shuffled over and muttered, “Sorry I snapped. You were just… loud. I was tired. My bad.”

Seungcheol, last to cave, sighed and knelt too. “We’re sorry, yn. We were idiots. We miss you—and yeah, the standee too. Come back to us.”

The practice room was a circus—13 grown men on their knees, fake-sobbing and pleading, while the dancers snickered and Manager Kim filmed, cackling, “This is blackmail material for years!” yn sat there, arms crossed, fighting a smirk. Inside, her soul was howling with laughter—they looked ridiculous, and she’d won. But her face? Still serious.

“Yn-ah, please!” DK begged, grabbing her hand. “We’ll put the standee back! We’ll worship it! Just stop this creepy silent thing!”

She stared at him, then at the pile of groveling members, and finally cracked a tiny, smug grin. “Fine,” she said, voice flat but eyes twinkling. “But the standee’s staying in my room ‘til I say so. And you’re all on probation. One more slip, and I’m quiet again.”

“Yes, ma’am!” they chorused, scrambling up, relieved but still spooked.

Manager Kim pocketed his phone, grinning. “Good job, yn. You’ve got ‘em trained now.”

As practice resumed, the members kept sneaking glances at her, half-expecting another silent ambush. Yn laughed with the dancers again, tossing a casual, “Nice try,” over her shoulder. The war was over—for now—but the dorm’s chaos queen had proven she could rule with silence as much as noise.

[moonlightdreamzz]

goodnight n go — yang jungwon.

🎧 ➤ goodnight n go by ariana grande

GENRE. FLUFF. down bad for eachother but can’t say it out loud. only with actions.

SUMMARY. you tell Jungwon you’ve always wondered what it’s like to do couple things during the holidays—and without hesitation, he makes it happen.

AUTHORS NOTE. this absolutely warmed my cold heart. This man evokes things out of me I wasn’t aware was still there. I’ll add a keep reading later.

“jungwon, i’m not playing with you!” you squeal loudly, nearly tripping over your own feet as you chase him around the couch. he’s laughing so hard it’s a miracle he hasn’t dropped your phone yet. “damnit, jungwon!”

“you must have been—” he dodges left, then right, “looking at something—” he darts into the kitchen, “real embarrassing to be chasing me like this!”

he finally stops near the counter, grinning from ear to ear and completely unfazed by the fact that you’re out of breath and glaring daggers at him. “i wonder what it could be.” he questions in dramatic fashion, his finger poking his chin repeatedly as he looks into nothingness.

“jungwon,” you warn, hands on your hips, but it’s too late. his eyes land on the screen, and a mix of confusion and amusement washes over his face.

“gingerbread houses?” he says, reading the search history aloud. “how much does a gingerbread house cost?”

you freeze, your face instantly heating up. “give that back!”

he ignores you, his expression shifting into something so genuinely curious it’s almost infuriating. “why were you looking this up? are you suddenly into architecture? or… are you planning to eat an entire gingerbread house by yourself?”

you snatch the phone from his hand, groaning as you clutch it to your chest. “no, it’s not like that.”

“then what’s it like?” he asks, leaning casually against the counter. you so badly want to be upset with him, but his dimpled smile beaming in your face is making it impossible.

you let out a sigh, deciding it’s better to just explain than deal with his endless teasing. “it’s something couples do during christmas,” you mumble.

his brow furrows slightly, and he tilts his head. “couples?”

“yeah,” you say, shifting awkwardly under his gaze. “you know, building gingerbread houses together, wearing matching pajamas, taking cringy pictures… that kind of stuff.”

he’s staring at you now, his amusement fading into something softer, something more thoughtful. “and you wanted to do that?”

“i mean…” you shrug, trying to play it off. “i thought about it. but since i don’t exactly have the other half of the couple, i figured maybe i’d just do it by myself. pajamas and all.”

jungwon doesn’t respond right away. he’s just looking at you, his expression unreadable, but there’s something in his eyes that makes your stomach flip.

if you’re being honest, you don’t know what you and jungwon truly have going on. but it’s not for lack of clarity—it’s for lack of courage. because deep down, you both know. you know it in the way his eyes linger on you a little too long, in the way he remembers every offhanded comment you make, in the way your heart races whenever he smiles at you like you’re the only person in the room.

you weren’t entirely sure at first. jungwon’s the kind of guy who’s sweet to everyone, with a charm that feels effortless. it was easy to convince yourself that the way he treated you was just…him being him. until one day, you casually mentioned hanging out with another guy—a friend from work who’d been pestering you about grabbing coffee. you hadn’t thought much of it, but jungwon froze mid-bite of his ramen, chopsticks hovering in the air like the universe had suddenly paused.

“who?” he asked, his tone deceptively casual, but the furrow in his brows betrayed him.

you laughed, not understanding why he looked so confused. “just a friend,” you said, shrugging it off.

“a friend?” he repeated, his voice pitching slightly higher. he placed his chopsticks down, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. “what kind of friend?”

you blinked at him, unsure why he was grilling you like this. “the normal kind? what other kind is there?”

he narrowed his eyes. “the kind that wants something more.”

your stomach flipped at the implication, but you played it cool. “what does it matter to you?”

jungwon’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something. but then he just sighed, shaking his head. “it doesn’t,” he muttered, picking up his chopsticks again.

except it did. you could see it in the way he wouldn’t meet your eyes for the rest of the meal, the way he suddenly got quieter. it was like he couldn’t bring himself to say it, but the weight of what he felt was written all over his face.

and that’s when you knew.

but knowing and saying it out loud are two very different things.

so you kept hanging out, like you always did. no labels, no confessions—just spending time together, letting the unspoken feelings linger in the air between you. and maybe that’s why it works. because neither of you feels the need to rush. you’re slowly falling for each other, piece by piece, day by day.

“what?” you ask, suddenly self-conscious.

“nothing,” he says, a small smile tugging at his lips as he shakes his head. “you’re just… funny.”

you frown. “funny how?”

“i don’t know,” he says, pushing off the counter and walking past you to the living room. “you just are.”

you follow him, phone still clutched in your hand, watching as he flops onto the couch like he didn’t just say something cryptic.

“so, what do you want to eat?” he asks, grabbing the remote and flipping through channels like the conversation you just had didn’t happen.

your brows knit together. “that’s it? you’re not gonna say anything else about the gingerbread houses?”

he glances at you, a playful glint in his eyes. “what else is there to say? if you want to build a gingerbread house, build one. who cares if it’s cringey?”

all you can do is flip him off before plopping down beside him.

a lazy grin rests on his face. “so, food? yes? no?”

you roll your eyes but can’t help the smile that creeps onto yours. “yes. but we’re getting my favorite after the distress you just put me though, twin.”

a couple of days pass, and life goes on in its usual rhythm. jungwon texts you here and there, nothing out of the ordinary. it’s a mix of random memes, updates on whatever he’s doing, and the occasional “you up?” when he’s bored at night. but tonight, his message feels different.

jungwon: what are you doing tonight?

your heart skips a beat, even though you’re not entirely sure why. it’s not like it’s weird for him to ask. still, the question makes your stomach do this weird, excited flip.

you: nothing really. why?

his reply comes almost immediately.

jungwon: i’m coming over. be ready in an hour.

you: should I be afraid?????

he doesn’t answer. instead, you’re left staring at your phone, trying to figure out what he’s up to.

an hour later, there’s a knock at your door, and when you open it, jungwon is standing there with a ridiculously large bag in one hand and a takeout bag in the other. he’s grinning, that dimpled smile lighting up his face, and you feel your heart do that thing again.

“what’s all this?” you ask, stepping aside to let him in.

“you’ll see,” he says, kicking off his shoes and heading straight to your living room like he owns the place.

you follow him, watching as he sets everything down on the coffee table. first, he pulls out two gingerbread house kits, complete with icing, candy, and all the little decorations. then, he pulls out a set of matching pajamas—red and white with little snowflakes printed all over them.

“jungwon…” you say, your voice trailing off as you take it all in.

“and your favorite,” he adds, holding up the takeout bag with a triumphant smile.

you blink at him, completely caught off guard. “what… what is all this?”

he shrugs, like it’s no big deal, but there’s a hint of nervousness in the way he avoids your eyes. “you said you wanted to do all that cringey couple stuff for christmas, right? so… let’s do it.”

your chest tightens, a mix of disbelief and something softer, warmer. “you actually remembered that?”

“of course, i remembered,” he says, finally looking at you. “i remember everything you say.”

for a moment, you don’t know what to say. it’s such a small gesture, but it feels like so much more. like he’s showing you, in his own quiet way, how much he cares.

“you’re so weird,” you say, trying to hide the smile tugging at your lips.

“says the girl who was going to eat a whole gingerbread house by herself…” he trails, his face making an expression that says sureeeee. he sits down on the floor and pats the spot next to him.

“kiss it.” you mutter, rolling your eyes playfully.

“kiss what?” his eyes widen.

“my ass.” you slap your behind for dramatic effect—the sound echoing off your walls. did it hurt? yes. would you let him see that? no. jungwon’s eyes widen, and for the first time, he’s the one that’s frozen and unable to form a sentence. it’s only for a mere second though before he realizes his usually cool demeanor vanished. he shakes his head, as if he’s trying to remove the effect of your words and rubs the tips of his ears that are tinted pink.

anyone else wouldn’t have caught it. but it was you, so you did.

the jungwon, that jungwon wants everyone else to see, starts unpacking the gingerbread kits. you can’t help but steal a glance at him. there’s something about the way he’s so nonchalant about all of this, like it’s the most natural thing in the world for him to show up at your place with matching pajamas and your favorite food.

“so,” he says, breaking the silence. “are you ready to lose? because my gingerbread house is going to be way better than yours.”

you laugh, shaking your head. “we’ll see about that.”

jungwon carefully tears open the packet of icing, his brows furrowing in concentration. “you have to massage the icing bag first, you know. to warm it up,” he says, squeezing it between his hands like a professional baker.

you raise an eyebrow. “oh, so you’re a gingerbread house expert now?”

he looks up at you with mock seriousness. “obviously. you’re looking at the reigning champion of the 6th grade holiday fair. i crushed the competition.

“wow, i’m so intimidated,” you deadpan, ripping open your own icing packet with way less finesse than him.

he leans over slightly, just close enough for you to catch a whiff of his cologne—subtle, clean, and entirely too distracting. “you should be,” he murmurs, a teasing lilt in his voice.

you roll your eyes, but there’s a warmth spreading in your chest. this is how it always is with jungwon—light, playful, easy. but underneath all the teasing, there’s something softer.

“okay, watch and learn,” he announces, picking up one of the gingerbread walls and carefully piping a line of icing along the edge. “this is how you lay a solid foundation.”

“foundation?” you scoff. “it’s a gingerbread house, not a skyscraper.”

“and that’s why you’re going to lose,” he replies smugly, pressing the pieces together with meticulous precision.

you pretend to be unimpressed, but you’re secretly charmed by how seriously he’s taking this. as you attempt to glue your own walls together, one of them immediately collapses, the icing smearing all over your hands.

“oh, no,” you groan, holding up your sticky fingers.

jungwon looks over and snickers. “what happened to ‘it’s just a gingerbread house’?”

“shut up and help me,” you grumble, trying to balance the pieces with one hand while reaching for the icing with the other.

he scoots closer, his knee brushing against yours as he steadies the walls for you. “you have to hold it like this,” he says, his voice low as his hands gently guide yours.

the proximity makes your heart stutter, but you do your best to play it cool. “you’re just trying to sabotage me so yours looks better,” you accuse, glancing up at him.

his eyes meet yours, and for a second, neither of you says anything. there’s a flicker of something unspoken in his gaze, something that makes your breath catch.

“maybe,” he says softly, a small smile tugging at his lips.

you clear your throat, breaking the moment. “well, it’s working. i can’t focus with you this close.”

“then i guess i’ll stay right here,” he says, his tone casual but his eyes lingering on you a little too long.

you huff, turning your attention back to your gingerbread house. “you’re insufferable.”

“and yet, here i am,” he quips, settling back into his spot but staying close enough that your shoulders still brush occasionally.

as the night goes on, the competition turns into chaos. jungwon gets icing on his nose at some point, and you laugh so hard you accidentally knock over one of his walls. he retaliates by flicking a piece of candy at you, which starts an all-out candy war.

“truce!” you finally gasp, holding up your hands in surrender.

“only if you admit my house is better,” he says, his dimples on full display.

you roll your eyes but lean in closer, inspecting his work. “it’s not bad,” you admit, reaching out to straighten one of the candy canes on the roof.

your hand lingers a moment too long, and you realize just how close you are to him. he’s watching you, his expression soft, like he’s seeing something he can’t quite put into words.

“what?” you ask, your voice quieter now.

“nothing,” he says, but the way he looks at you says everything.

the moment stretches, filled with a warmth that feels almost tangible. and though neither of you says it out loud, it’s there in the way he gently nudges your shoulder, in the way you lean into him without even thinking.

“so,” you say, breaking the silence with a grin. “are you going to admit that i won?”

“pictures or it didn’t happen,” jungwon declares, pulling out his phone and snapping a dramatic photo of his gingerbread house. “look at this masterpiece. the symmetry, the structure—pure genius. i think i could sell this design.”

you lean over, squinting at the screen. “symmetry? jungwon, one of your candy canes is literally sliding off the roof. are you going for a modern look or just chaos?”

he gasps, clutching his chest like you’ve just mortally wounded him. “chaos? this is art, y/n. you just don’t get it.”

“right,” you drawl, crossing your arms but fighting back a smile. “you keep telling yourself that.”

jungwon shakes his head, clearly unimpressed with your critique. “okay, then let’s get the artist and the critic in one shot. come on.”

“what? no.” you lean back, shaking your head as he switches his phone to selfie mode.

“yes,” he insists, already angling the phone to get both of you and your gingerbread houses in frame. “this is for the archives. future generations need to know who built these masterpieces.”

“future generations are going to laugh at yours,” you shoot back, but you lean in anyway.

jungwon tilts the phone slightly, and you realize how close you are when your cheek almost brushes his. your laughter dies down, replaced by a warmth that makes your stomach flutter.

“okay, smile,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost like he’s talking to himself.

you glance at him instead of the camera, and for a split second, you wonder if he’s feeling the same thing you are.

then he snaps the picture and grins, pulling you out of your thoughts. “perfect,” he says, showing you the photo.

it’s cute. annoyingly cute. and the way his arm is casually slung around your shoulders doesn’t help the situation.

“all right, we’re done,” you announce, trying to shake off the tension.

jungwon raises an eyebrow. “done? we’re just getting started.” he uploads the picture to his finsta without hesitation, captioning it: couples who build together stay together.

your jaw drops, and you swat at him. “jungwon, what the hell?!”

he laughs, easily dodging you. “relax, y/n. it’s just my finsta. nobody cares.”

“oh, nobody cares? what about the word couples, huh?!” your voice pitches slightly, your face warming.

“what about it?” he counters, his expression too calm for your liking.

you pause, trying to think of a response, but the weight of the moment settles between you again.

“i—whatever,” you mutter, turning your attention back to the gingerbread kits to avoid looking at him.

jungwon watches you for a moment before grabbing his phone again. “okay, now let’s do this properly,” he says, standing up and heading toward the makeshift tripod he set up.

“do what properly?”

“matching pajamas, full couple vibes,” he explains, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “you wanted the experience, right?”

you huff but head to your room to change. when you come back, jungwon is already posing dramatically, pretending to lean on his gingerbread house like it’s a prize-winning sculpture.

“wow, someone’s really feeling himself,” you tease, but you can’t help smiling.

he flashes you his dimpled grin. “well, someone has to make this night memorable. now, get over here.”

you join him, and as the camera clicks away, you feel yourself relaxing again.

“these pictures better not end up anywhere else,” you warn as he scrolls through the shots.

jungwon just hums, clearly not listening, before setting his phone down. “hey,” he says suddenly, his voice softer now.

“what?” you ask, turning to look at him.

“thanks for letting me crash your night,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “i know this was kind of random.”

“are you kidding?” you laugh lightly. “you showed up with food, matching pajamas, and gingerbread houses. i should be thanking you.”

he meets your eyes then, and for a moment, it feels like the air is too thick to breathe. the playful banter fades, leaving only the unspoken tension that’s been building for weeks.

you open your mouth to say something, anything, but jungwon beats you to it.

“do you want to watch a movie or something?” he asks, his voice casual, like he’s trying to defuse the moment.

you nod, swallowing hard. “yeah. a movie sounds good.”

jungwon settles onto the couch first, stretching out like like a baby . “come here,” he says, opening his arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

your breath catches. you’ve sat close to him before—legs over his lap, arms brushing, sharing blankets during movie nights. but this? this is new.

“you sure?” you ask, your voice quieter than you mean it to be.

he gives you a look, half amused, half serious. “i wouldn’t have asked if i wasn’t.”

with a small nod, you sit beside him, easing into his arms like you’ve been doing this your whole life. his chest is warm and steady beneath your cheek, and you can feel his heartbeat—a calm, unhurried rhythm that contrasts the storm swirling in your own.

you don’t realize how tired you’ve been until you let yourself relax against him. maybe it’s the rush of the evening catching up to you, or maybe it’s just jungwon. he has this way of making you feel safe, like nothing else in the world matters when you’re with him.

his fingers trace absent patterns along your arm, sending a quiet hum of comfort through your body. you yawn, trying to hide it, but jungwon chuckles softly.

“sleepy already?” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing.

“shut up,” you mumble into his hoodie, your words muffled but not entirely untrue.

he doesn’t respond, just pulls you closer, his chin resting lightly on top of your head.

the world narrows to this—his warmth, his scent, the way his chest rises and falls beneath you. you don’t even notice when your eyes flutter shut, the exhaustion winning over.

a moment passes, or maybe more. you’re not sure how long you’ve been drifting when you feel it—a gentle, almost hesitant pressure against your forehead.

you stir slightly, but you don’t open your eyes.

then, the kiss comes again. firmer this time, confident. jungwon’s lips linger just long enough to make your heart skip.

your eyes flutter open, and the world feels softer somehow, like everything has shifted in the quietest, most significant way. jungwon’s face is close, his eyes searching yours like he’s trying to figure out what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling.

you don’t know who moves first. maybe it’s him, maybe it’s you. but the space between you disappears, and suddenly, his lips are on yours.

it’s soft at first, like he’s testing the waters, but when you kiss him back, the hesitance melts away. the kiss deepens, slow and sweet, carrying the weight of every unspoken word, every stolen glance, every moment that’s led to this.

when you finally pull back, your forehead rests against his, both of you breathing a little harder, a little shakier.

“so,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “does this mean i won the gingerbread competition?”

jungwon chuckles softly, his fingers brushing against yours. “yeah,” he says, his voice warm and steady. “but i think i won something better.”

your heart stutters, his words washing over you like a confession wrapped in simplicity. you meet his gaze, and the way he’s looking at you—soft, steady, and so sure—makes it hard to breathe.

you don’t reply, because what could you possibly say? instead, you lean in, closing the space between you, your lips finding his again. it’s unhurried, sweet, and everything you’ve been too afraid to admit until now.

[faebled-stories]

The Game of Dangerous Desires

Itzy's Shin Yuna and Hwang Yeji x Male reader

Part 2 of A Dragons Deal with the Princess

Previously

Yeji swallowed hard, her mouth dry, heart pounding as she stood there, torn between protecting her relationship and the fear gnawing at her insides. The pill bottle seemed to mock her, a constant reminder of the impossible choice that weighed on her heart.

And then, in the silence of the room, Yeji made her choice. Without another word, she stepped forward and reached for the bottle sealing her fate.

-----

The princess had a smug smile on her face as Yeji angrily took the bottle from her hand. Popping a pill into her mouth, she grabbed a nearby water bottle to wash it down, the bitterness matching the taste of her regret.

“So what’s your plan? Seduce him? He would never cheat on me,” Yeji spat, her voice shaking with anger and fear.

“Oh, unnie.” Yuna's tone dripped with amusement, her confidence unnerving. “Do you really think I haven’t thought it through? I don’t want to spoil the surprise, but just be ready. A week from now.” Yuna winked, adding, “Keep your phone close, I’ll send the details soon.”

“What’s stopping me from telling him everything?” Yeji countered, desperation lacing her words. “If he knows what you’re planning, he’ll avoid you.”

Yuna pulled out her phone, her eyes gleaming wickedly as she hit play on a voice recording. Yeji’s breath caught in her throat as the unmistakable sounds of her own moans filled the air.

"Nnngh... Y/N... It feels strange... I'm stuffed so full of you..."  

"A-Ah! There! Please Y/N, right there—Ffuuuck!"  

"Yeji, you take my cock so well, baby. Your pussy feels incredible. You like this, don’t you?"  

"Yes, yes, I love it! It's so good, don’t stop!"

Yeji’s heart sank. The vivid memory of last night’s passion replayed through the speakers. She could hear every thump, every breathy gasp as if reliving it all over again.

“You... you were here the whole time?” Yeji stammered, horrified.

“I heard it all, every moan… every word...every... single... thrust,” Yuna said slowly, stepping closer with a predatory gleam in her eyes.

Yeji felt trapped, crushed under the weight of her own helplessness as Yuna finally gestured for her to leave. Feeling sick, Yeji stumbled out of the room, her heart twisting painfully. Would Y/N really fall for Yuna? Could he be seduced so easily? Her thoughts raced as she returned to her room, her gaze falling on Y/N’s sleeping form, clutching the pillow where she had lain just hours before.

Her stomach churned at the thought of him in Yuna’s hands, the image of them together too much to bear. What if Yuna was right? What if he did choose her, lured by her confidence and experience? What if she wasn’t enough?

Later, the girls gathered around the dining table, chatting casually as they ate breakfast. Yeji sat in silence, her mind a whirlwind, barely able to stomach the food in front of her. Yuna, sitting beside her, wore a smug grin, the tension thick in the air between the eldest and the youngest..

“Yeji unnie, what did you do yesterday? You never mentioned it,” Chaeryeong asked innocently, mid-slurp of her ramen.

Yuna's eyes sparkled as she leaned in. “Yeah, unnie, what did you get up to?” Her voice was laced with teasing, her power in the situation almost tangible.

Before Yeji could respond, the door to her room opened, and Y/N stepped out, looking fresh from a shower. To the others, it seemed like a regular morning after a sleepover, but the truth hung heavy between Yeji and Yuna.

“Oh, Y/N, you're here! Want to join us?” Lia said cheerfully, ever kind to him because Yeji constantly gushed about happy he makes her.

Y/N smiled politely and took a seat in the empty spot at the table. To his left was Ryujin, and to his right, Chaeryeong. Across from him sat Yeji, with Lia and Yuna sandwiching her. As the conversation swirled around him, Y/N quietly ate his cereal, but something soon caught his attention. He felt something soft brushing against his leg—a light caress. He smirked to himself, recalling the passionate night he’d had with Yeji. 

Is she really still in the mood?

The touch on his leg grew more insistent, sliding higher. He glanced at Yeji, a knowing smile on his lips, assuming she was teasing him. She was good at keeping a straight face—it was almost like she wasn’t doing anything at all. The sensation pressed harder against his crotch, and his heart skipped a beat, his mind flashing back to their intimate moments.

Y/N’s eyes darted downward but something felt… off. Yeji hadn’t painted her toenails that morning, had she? His pulse quickened when he realized the angle of the foot wasn’t right—it wasn’t coming directly from Yeji, but from beside her. His gaze snapped to Yuna, and in that moment, she locked eyes with him. A sly smirk tugged at the corners of her lips, and she winked.

Panic surged through him. He choked on his cereal, coughing and swatting the foot away from him under the table. Yeji immediately looked at him with concern, clueless as to what had just happened, while Yuna leaned back casually, enjoying the chaos she had caused.

Y/N quickly finished his meal, wiping his mouth and muttering a quick thank you to the girls before grabbing Yeji’s hand. “Can you come with me for a second?” he asked, trying to mask his unease with a forced smile. The girls giggled, teasing Yeji about how much Y/N needed her by his side.

But once they were alone in Yeji’s room, the playful atmosphere vanished. “Uh, I don’t know how to say this, but… I think Yuna was flirting with me just now. Like, under the table,” he said, his voice low, trying to make sense of the situation.

Yeji’s stomach dropped. Yuna had promised one week. What is she doing? Her phone buzzed in her hand. Trembling, she opened the message.

Yeji stared at the text from Yuna, her stomach churning. The first of many demands, and Y/N was already sensing something. Panic surged through her, her mind spinning as she read 

Rule 1: Y/N will not know about anything. You have to play the dumb girlfriend card. 

She swallowed hard, her heart thudding painfully in her chest. "Yuna... flirting with you?" she repeated, her voice trembling slightly before she forced herself to laugh, a shaky, hollow sound. "Babe, you’re overthinking it. Yuna would never do that! She’s like a little sister to me, and she adores you—but, like, in a friendly way."

Y/N’s brow furrowed, and the skepticism on his face made Yeji’s chest tighten even more. His eyes searched hers, confused, questioning. He didn’t believe her. She could feel it. And why would he? She was lying to him. The man she loved more than anything, the one she had given everything to last night, and now... now she had to deceive him.

"But her foot—" Y/N began, his voice trailing off.

Yeji’s pulse quickened. She couldn’t let him finish that thought. If he doubted her now, everything would fall apart. "It was probably an accident," she cut in quickly, forcing a smile that felt foreign on her lips. She reached out, grasping his arm, squeezing it as if trying to ground herself. "You know how playful she is. She was probably just stretching or moving around, and it felt weird, that’s all."

Her words sounded hollow to her own ears, but she pushed on, hoping he wouldn’t see through her act. Her heart felt like it was being torn apart with every lie she spoke. This was Y/N—the man who trusted her, the man who held her after making love to her for the first time. And here she was, lying to his face.

Y/N hesitated, his eyes narrowing slightly, his confusion deepening. Yeji’s chest constricted painfully. She couldn’t let him keep thinking about it. She had to make him believe.

"Come on," she coaxed, her voice softening as she leaned into him, pressing her forehead against his, trying to hide the tears welling up in her eyes. "You’re just tired from last night, right? I wore you out." She forced a giggle, the sound unnatural, like it didn’t belong to her at all. Her insides were twisting into knots, the guilt nearly choking her, but she had to keep going.

Y/N didn’t respond immediately, his gaze still distant, replaying the events in his mind. Yeji’s heart raced. She hated this. She hated lying to him. It felt like poison in her veins, the weight of Yuna’s control over her crushing her spirit.

"Maybe I’m just being paranoid..." he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck, though doubt still lingered in his eyes.

Yeji clung to that small sliver of doubt and seized it. "Exactly!" she chimed, trying to infuse her voice with lightness even though her insides felt like they were crumbling. She pulled him close, wrapping her arms around his neck as she fought to keep her hands from trembling. "You’ve got nothing to worry about. I know you. You’d never let something like that happen, and Yuna isn’t that kind of person."

She kissed him then, desperate to erase the lingering suspicion. It was a soft, lingering kiss, but it tasted like betrayal to her. Every second of it filled her with more guilt. "Let’s just forget about it, okay? I trust you, and you trust me, right?" Her voice cracked slightly on the last word, but she prayed he wouldn’t notice.

Y/N paused for a moment longer, the weight of her words settling in. He looked into her eyes, searching for truth. Yeji’s heart pounded, her breath caught in her throat as she waited.

"Yeah…" he finally said, sighing deeply. "I trust you."

Yeji smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Relief washed over her, but it was tinged with a sickening feeling that lodged in her chest like a stone. She had done it—she had successfully gaslit him, just as Yuna had demanded. But as Y/N wrapped his arms around her and held her close, all she could think about was how wrong it felt. How every lie had driven a wedge between them, one she couldn’t undo.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her words were meant for him, but they felt more like an apology, a plea for forgiveness she didn’t deserve.

"I love you," Y/N murmured back, his voice warm, comforting, everything she longed for. He held her tighter, but all Yeji could feel was the guilt gnawing at her, eating away at the foundation of their love.

"I love you too," she whispered, her voice shaking. Tears stung the corners of her eyes as she rested her head on his chest, her heart breaking under the weight of her betrayal. Yuna’s game had only just begun, and Yeji was already drowning in it.

-----

Yuna was one step closer to what she had been craving for. Her desires had become an obsession, and she knew exactly how to get what she wanted. Yuna had texted Yeji to make sure Y/N came over more often. Yeji, feeling trapped, reluctantly agreed, mentioning it to Y/N as, of course he agreed, more time with his girlfriend is always better.

At the same time, Yuna's twisted game began to evolve. The ruleset had been finished. She texted Yeji the updates:

Rule 2: "Tell Y/N not to cum until the day. No sex, no masturbation. I need him pent up."

Rule 3: "When D-Day comes, seduce him at his place. Make him agree to wear a blindfold and get tied to the bed. I don't care how you do it"

Rule 4: "Once he's bound, let me in. You can’t interfere, no matter what happens."

Rule 5: "Sit in the corner and watch. Don’t make a sound. You need to suffer like I did, you need to feel what I felt that night when I heard you two.

As the countdown to the dreaded day had started every moment seemed to stretch out painfully for Yeji. The tension in the air was almost tangible as Yuna's subtle advances grew bolder, and Y/N's once-solid relationship with Yeji was slowly being strained. It all began innocently, but by the end of the week, nothing would be the same.

On Day One, everything seemed relatively normal, but Y/N noticed a slight shift in the dynamic. After Yeji’s dance practice, Yuna appeared at the studio, casually walking in like she had every right to be there. At first, it felt natural—after all, Yuna and Yeji were close, and Y/N had hung out with both of them countless times. 

But something felt different that day. Yuna lingered by the mirrors longer than usual, her eyes always seeming to find Y/N when she thought he wasn’t looking. After practice, Y/N was about to leave when Yuna suddenly offered him a hug. He hesitated for a moment—this wasn’t something they did often—but figured it was harmless. When Yuna’s arms wrapped around him, it felt just a little too tight, a little too long. He could feel her breath against his neck, and for a moment, he thought he felt her hand brush lower down his back than it should have.

He pulled away, awkwardly laughing it off. “You’re extra friendly today,” he said, trying to sound casual. Yuna just smiled, a mysterious glint in her eyes, as Yeji approached with her gym bag.

Yeji noticed the interaction but said nothing, offering Y/N a kiss goodbye before he left. That night, as Y/N lay in bed, he couldn’t shake the strange feeling that Yuna’s hug hadn’t been as innocent as it seemed. He pushed the thought aside, though, convinced he was reading too much into things.

-----

Day Two started much the same, with Y/N sitting in the corner of the practice room, sipping his water while the girls rehearsed. But again something was different this time. Yuna made more frequent eye contact with him during practice, catching his attention every time she moved. When a break was called, Yuna made her way straight toward him.

“Y/N, what do you think of the choreography? Am I hitting all the beats?” Yuna asked sweetly, standing close enough that her presence felt overbearing.

Y/N shuffled uncomfortably. “Yeah, it looks great. You’re really talented.”

Yuna smiled in a way that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Thanks. I’ve been working hard on it. Maybe I’ll show you the routine up close sometime.”

Later as practice ended, Y/N was getting ready to leave when Yuna popped up beside him, her hand resting on his arm. “Leaving so soon? Why don’t you hang out with us a bit?” she asked, her fingers lingering on his skin. Y/N tensed up, feeling the unease rise within him.

“Nah, I’ve got stuff to do,” he replied, gently pulling away. 

“Come on, don’t be boring,” Yuna teased, her voice lower. She stepped closer, her arm brushing against his. Y/N shifted uncomfortably, glancing around for Yeji, who was deep in conversation with the choreographer. He quickly came up with an excuse and left with a hurry.

That night, Y/N mentioned the encounter to Yeji. “Yuna’s been acting... different lately,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “It’s like she’s always around, and I don’t know—it’s weird.”

Yeji chuckled, waving it off. “Yuna? She’s always been like that. She’s just friendly.” Her smile was reassuring, but Y/N couldn’t shake the discomfort settling in his chest.

-----

Day Three saw Yuna growing bolder. This time, she didn’t just accidently show up to Y/N and Yejis, alone time; she actively inserted herself into Y/N’s space. While Yeji practiced to herself during a break, Yuna stuck to Y/N like glue, sitting close to him on the benches and making playful comments about how hard the girls were working. She laughed easily, leaning into him every chance she got.

When Y/N tried to create some distance, she found subtle ways to close it. If he moved to the other end of the bench, Yuna would “casually” scoot over too, laughing about how cramped the space was. She even brushed her hand over his thigh at one point, and Y/N felt his entire body tense. He shifted uncomfortably, trying to ignore the way Yuna’s fingers lingered for just a beat too long.

When practice ended and it was time to leave, Yuna insisted on walking out with him. “I’ll walk you to your car,” she said, almost like it wasn’t a questionable act. Y/N didn’t know how to decline without being rude, so he agreed. As they reached his car, Yuna smiled, her eyes locked on his. “You’re fun to hang out with, Y/N,” she said, her tone soft but laced with something deeper. She stepped closer, leaning in for another hug. This time, Y/N stiffened, feeling her body press against his in a way that Yuna planned to make him feel every inch of her chest.

He mumbled a quick goodbye and got into his car, watching as Yuna waved, her eyes never leaving him. 

That night, Y/N brought it up to Yeji again. “Seriously, I think Yuna’s acting weird. She’s... I don’t know. She’s touchy and not like a touchy friend.”

But once again, Yeji brushed it off, her expression unreadable. “You’re overthinking it, babe. Yuna’s always been like that.”

But Y/N wasn’t so sure anymore.

-----

On Day Four Yuna started texting Y/N throughout the day. It wasn’t unusual for them to message occasionally mainly for updates on Yeji but the frequency of her texts had increased dramatically. She sent a casual “How’s your day?” messages that quickly turned into flirty comments. “You looked really good today 😉,” one text read. Y/N stared at his phone, feeling his stomach drop.

He tried to ignore the texts, replying with short answers and hoping she’d get the hint, but Yuna was persistent. He showed up at the dorms again, and this time Yuna made no effort to hide her intentions. She sat close to Y/N, her body pressed against his as they watched a movie with Yeji. Every time Y/N shifted to create space, Yuna closed the gap, her thigh brushing against his.

Y/N could feel his pulse quickening, the discomfort growing with every passing second. He glanced at Yeji, hoping she’d say something, but she remained quiet, her eyes fixed on the screen.

When Y/N finally got up to leave, Yuna followed him to the door, smiling sweetly. “Leaving already? Stay a little longer,” she said, her voice dripping with false innocence. She leaned in, her hand grazing his arm as she whispered, “We could have fun.”

Y/N’s heart raced. He forced a chuckle, pulling away. “I really have to go,” he muttered, practically bolting out the door.

He couldn’t sleep. The tension between him and Yeji was growing, and Yuna’s actions were getting bolder by the day. Something was seriously wrong, but Y/N felt trapped, unsure of how to handle the situation.

-----

By Day Five, Y/N was on edge. The week had felt like a slow descent into madness, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that something terrible was about to happen. Yuna’s behavior had escalated—now she was constantly touching him, finding excuses to stand close, and making suggestive comments that left Y/N feeling more uncomfortable than ever.

He tried talking to Yeji again, hoping for some clarity, but she remained dismissive. “Yuna’s just being Yuna,” she said, her tone flat. “You’re making a big deal out of nothing.”

But Y/N knew it wasn’t nothing. The strain in his relationship with Yeji was palpable, and every time he tried to address it, she deflected, leaving Y/N feeling more isolated than ever.

That afternoon Y/N was once again in the practice room, watching as ITZY rehearsed. His eyes wandered over to Yuna, and he noticed something different—she was wearing revealing clothing, far more daring than her usual practice attire. It was nothing like what she typically wore around the group. As she stood in front of the mirror, she caught sight of Y/N behind her, their eyes meeting through the reflection.

Without breaking eye contact, Yuna began to stretch. She bent over slowly letting get a good look of her plump cheeks then spreading her legs wide doing the splits as she dropped to the floor, her ass recoiling from the impact, all while keeping her gaze locked on Y/N. Her expression was unreadable, but the deliberate nature of her actions was clear. He followed her eyes as she started to survey his body, eventually locking onto his crotch. Y/N’s pulse quickened as he shifted uncomfortably, feeling the tension build in the room.

---

By Day Six, Y/N couldn’t take it anymore. The entire week had been a slow, torturous buildup to something he couldn’t quite put into words. That evening, after another tense interaction with Yuna, Y/N finally snapped. He confronted Yeji, his voice tight with frustration.

“I don’t know what’s going on with Yuna, but this has to stop,” he said, pacing the room. “I’ve tried to ignore it, I’ve tried to talk to you about it, but you keep brushing it off. how could you, my girlfriend be so okay with someone actively trying to steal me away from you.?”

Yeji sighed, rubbing her temples. “Y/N, you’re blowing this out of proportion.”

“I’m not!” Y/N’s voice was louder than he intended, his emotions spilling over. “She’s been all over me, and you’re acting like it’s no big deal. What’s going on, Yeji? Why won’t you just talk to me?”

Yeji’s eyes flickered with something—guilt? shame?—but she quickly masked it. “Look, I’ll talk to her, okay? Just... let it go for now.”

But Y/N couldn’t just let it go. The tension between him and Yeji felt like a ticking time bomb, and he had no idea how to defuse it.

-----

Finally, on Day Seven, the dreaded day arrived. The countdown had reached its end, and everything was set in motion. Y/N, exhausted from the emotional toll of the week, hadn’t seen Yuna all day, which gave him a false sense of security. He hoped maybe the worst had passed. When Yeji arrived at his home, the tension between them was palpable, hanging heavy in the air like a storm about to break. 

She kissed him softly, a lingering touch that held more sadness than passion. Y/N could feel her hesitation, as if she were holding something back. 

“I’m so sorry,” Yeji whispered, her voice trembling, filled with remorse and guilt. She looked down, unable to meet his eyes, her hands fidgeting nervously. “I’ve let things get out of control, and I don’t know how to fix it… but I just want us to be okay again.”

Y/N stared at her, his heart aching. He wanted to believe her, to trust that everything could go back to normal, but the unease from the past week was still gnawing at him. He let out a heavy sigh, nodding slowly. 

“Yeah… me too,” he said softly, though doubt flickered in his chest.

Yeji offered a small smile, trying to mask the anxiety she felt. “Let’s try something new tonight, okay?”

Yeji had been unusually insistent throughout the evening, her demeanor shifting between light teasing and something more serious. When she suggested that they use the guest bedroom for the night, her tone carried a weight that caught Y/N off guard. Still, he agreed, hoping that maybe this was her way of trying to bridge the gap between them, to reignite something that had felt distant recently.

As they moved through the hallway toward the room, Y/N couldn’t help but notice the tension in Yeji's posture. Her heart pounded in her chest, but she did her best to play it off as casual curiosity.

"I saw something online the other day..." she said, her voice soft yet steady as she led him inside. “I thought we could try it out.”

Before Y/N could respond, Yeji produced a blindfold and a length of rope from behind her back, her hands trembling slightly as she handed them over. Her eyes flickered with both nervousness and excitement. Y/N raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by the gesture, but something in her gaze held him in place, intrigued.

“You want me to tie you up?” Y/N asked with a chuckle, his suspicion softening as he saw it as a playful suggestion.

But Yeji shook her head, “No, I want to try it on you.”

Y/N hesitated for a moment but nodded. “Okay... if that’s what you want, but you know, you don't have to do this for me to accept your apology”

“I know, this is just a little extra”

They started to undress, the atmosphere filled with an odd mix of tension and desire. Yeji, aching for his touch but bound by the rules Yuna had set, felt a pit in her stomach. She tied his limbs to the four corners of the bed, securing each one tightly. Y/N laughed lightly, feeling the unfamiliar sensation of restraint.

“I'm not used to this... But if you’re into it, I’ll give it a shot,” he said, trying to ease the growing tension between them.

Yeji tied the final knot, making sure no one, not even Y/N can get out as Yuna had instructed. She stepped back, looking at Y/N—vulnerable and exposed. Her heart twisted with guilt, but she reminded herself of the plan.playfully leaning to his ear she whispered, “I'll be back”, she then left the bedroom, her footsteps heavy as she walked toward the front door.

There, Yuna stood waiting, her face lit with an eager smile. Everything had fallen into place. The prize she had been craving was just a few steps away.

Yuna entered the house with a confident stride, walking straight into the guest room, her eyes fixed on Y/N, he was blindfolded and restrained on the bed as she wanted, unaware of what was about to unfold. Yuna crept into the room, her eyes greedily drinking in the sight of his vulnerable form. A wicked grin spread across her face as she approached the bed, licking her lips in anticipation.

"Yeji?" Y/N called out, mistaking Yuna's presence for his girlfriend's return. "You're back already? That was quick."

Yuna didn't respond, too focused on her prize. She knelt on the bed, her fingers lightly tracing along his skin, causing Y/N to shiver. Slowly, she lowered her head, taking half him into her mouth, her tongue swirling around him expertly, as her jaw was stretching. Y/N let out a soft groan.

"Oh wow... Yeji, that feels... so good," he murmured, tilting his head back against the pillow. "Where did you learn this?"

Yeji's heart clenched at his words. Of course, he doesn't recognize my touch, she thought bitterly. I've never given him a proper blowjob, and now Yuna is stealing that experience from me. Yuna however, smirked, knowing Y/N was already hooked on the sensation of her mouth on him.

Y/N, sensitive from the week of build-up, felt himself nearing the edge from the veteran moves that his "girlfriend" was doing. "I'm close," he muttered, unaware of the real situation.

Yuna paused, smirking as she denied him release, his limbs tugging at the ropes. She wasn't going to let him waste all that build-up just anywhere. No, she wanted every last drop to stuff her to the brim.

Straddling him, she positioned herself over his hardness, locking eyes with Yeji, who sat paralyzed in the corner. Slowly, Yuna lowered herself onto him, inch by inch, letting out an unexpected squeal as he filled her completely.

The sheer size of him made her body wince, even though she was experienced. Y/N was a different beast, for the first time since she lost her virginity, she could feel some pain in her core. She glanced down, marveling at the way he stretched her to the limit, his outline visible against her stomach. This moment, this conquest, had been all she could think about since that day in the car and now, Y/N was hers.

The maknae locked eyes with her leader, seeing a mixture of rage and heartbreak in Yeji's gaze as she began to move. One of the people Yeji trusted most was now claiming what should have been hers alone. The sounds of their bodies moving together filled the room, while Yeji sat there, helpless, forced to watch the person she loved being taken by someone else.

Yuna couldn't believe it. Finally, she had gotten her chance with this monster and she was determined to make the most of it. Fuck, he's reaching places I never knew was possible, she thought, running her hands along his chest. Yuna stared at Yeji over in the corner, smirking at the sheer agony and betrayal she saw reflected back at her. The knowledge that she was stealing something precious, something that belonged to Yeji alone, for some reason fueled her desire.

Y/N groaned beneath her, his fingers digging into the bed as he bucked up instinctively. "Yeji... you feel so good baby, let me touch you," he murmured, lost in the haze of pleasure.

Yeji felt like she had been punched in the gut. Even now, even as Yuna took him for herself, Y/N's words proved that his heart still belongs entirely to her.

Yuna began to move faster, rolling her hips in a sensual rhythm. The wet sounds of their coupling filled the room, along with Y/N's increasingly desperate moans. Each plunge of his length into her soaked core brought Yuna closer to the edge, but she gritted her teeth, determined not to let go until she had milked him dry.

Yuna gave her all to riding her new toy, she could feel every vein pulsing against her stomach, assuming that was an indication of his upcoming release, she sped up some more needing to take his seed into her.

A sheen of sweat formed on Yuna's forehead as she continued grinding her hips. Unaware that Y/N hadn’t fully entered her yet, two more inches remained unclaimed. Suddenly, he thrust upward, catching her off guard. The unexpected depth sent a shock through her body, causing her to unravel completely. She thought she had taken all of him, but that final plunge pushed her past her limit, making her tremble as she surrendered to the intense wave.

Yeji watched as her group mate quivered on top of her boyfriend, her legs shaking just likes Yeji's during the first night, but he wasn't done yet, Y/N feeling the quivers on his cock and wanted to bring more pleasure to his lover, he kept pushing his hips higher and higher causing Yuna to release his cock from her pussy before screaming and squirting uncontrollably all over his chest and blindfolded face.

She stared at his damp body, completely stunned. The overwhelming pleasure had taken her to an uncharted place, leaving her body trembling. Yet, the princess refused to give up until she reached her goal. Slowly, she grasped his cock again. Once eager, she now gazed at it with a flicker of fear, hesitating before slipping it in once more.

Yuna's heart raced as she rode Y/N with wild abandon, her desperation growing with each passing second. She needed him to fill her, to claim her completely. But no matter how hard she bounced, how tight she clenched around him, he remained frustratingly hard.

"Why...won't...you...cum...already?" she panted, her words broken between thrusts. She was too far gone to care about her voice being heard, too consumed by her own need.

Glancing at Yeji, Yuna's eyes widened as she saw her unnie's calm smile. It was the complete opposite of her own frantic energy. Yeji's eyes never left hers, a knowing glint in their dark depths.

Yuna's mind spun, trying to make sense of Yeji's behavior. Why is she happy? Hadn't they been fighting? Were she and Y/N on the brink of breaking up? How could Yeji be so unbothered?

Before she could unravel the mystery, a hand landed on her shoulder. Yeji's fingers brushed lightly over her skin, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Yuna shivered at the intimate touch, her hips stuttering in their relentless rhythm.

"Keep going, Yuna," Yeji purred, her voice soft but laced with mocking amusement. "You're almost there."

Fear flickered in Yuna's chest as Yeji leaned in close, her breath ghosting over Yuna's ear. "Did you really think you were pulling the strings this whole time?" she whispered, her tone dark and dripping with mirth.

"Uh-I-I" Yuna stammered as her mind raced, trying to process Yeji's words. What? But this was my plan, my carefully laid trap to snare Y/N. He is now mine, wasn't he?

Yeji chuckled, sending a shiver down Yuna's spine as her grip tightened on Yuna's shoulders. "That's your problem, Yuna. You always say you want something, but you can never handle it," she teased, her voice laced with challenge. "How about I give you a chance?"

With her hand firmly gripping Yuna’s shoulders, Yeji used her body weight to slam Yuna down, pressing her flush against Y/N's thighs. Yuna's cries now mirrored the screams she had once recorded on her phone—except while Yeji’s were laced with pleasure, Yuna’s were filled with pain. Y/N hadn’t even moved yet, and already, tears were beginning to form in Yuna’s eyes.

Yuna’s stomach twisted, her confidence faltering as Yeji’s words settled in. She looked down at Y/N, her breath catching when she saw that the ropes that had appeared to bind him were now lying discarded on the bed. His hands weren’t tied. He had never been restrained.

Y/N’s eyes, no longer blindfolded, met hers, dark and unflinching. The realization crashed down on her like a wave. She had been played from the beginning.

“You... you knew?” Yuna whispered, her voice trembling.

Yeji chuckled softly, her lips brushing Yuna’s ear. “Of course he knew, He’s mine Yuna. He’s always been mine.”

Yuna’s body tensed as Y/N’s hands suddenly gripped her hips. His hold was firm but passive, waiting for direction. It wasn’t Y/N who was in control—it was Yeji.

“Let her feel it baby.” Yeji commanded softly, her voice as smooth as silk. “Show her exactly what she thought she wanted.”

Without hesitation, Y/N obeyed, swiftly flipping the youngest onto the bed, positioning her on her hands and knees. A loud slap echoed as Yeji’s hand connected with her cheeks, just as Y/N thrust into Yuna with brutal force. The impact made her gasp, clutching the sheets for support. But Yeji wasn’t satisfied. She commanded Y/N to grab Yuna’s arms and use them as leverage to pull her deeper onto him. Now, with Y/N holding her arms, Yuna's fingers clawed desperately at the air, searching for anything to hold onto. His movements were relentless, and any control she had earlier dissolved completely, leaving her powerless to keep up with the unyielding pace he set.

“No... wait...” Yuna whimpered, her voice strained, but Y/N didn’t stop. His hands gripped her tighter, driving into her relentlessly, his cock filling her over and over, pushing her closer to a breaking point. The soft rhythm she had started was gone, replaced by his harsh, unforgiving pace.

Yeji made her way in front of her maknae, watching with a cold, satisfied gaze. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” she asked, her voice dripping with condescension. “You wanted to have him for yourself. Well, now you have him.”

Yuna’s mind spiraled as Y/N’s thrusts grew harder, faster. Her body responded instinctively, the pain pushing away the little pleasure that was mixing in a dizzying blur, her mind was screaming in defeat. This wasn’t what she had wanted. Not like this.

“I can’t—” Yuna tried to speak, her voice cracking as her body trembled with overstimulation.

“You’ll cum again, and again” Yeji interrupted, her tone sharp and commanding. “And you’ll keep cumming until I say you’re done.”

Yuna’s breath came in ragged gasps, her body betraying her as the pleasure built within, fast and uncontrollable. She couldn’t stop it—couldn’t stop herself from reacting. Her muscles tensed, her breath catching in her throat as Y/N’s unrelenting thrusts pushed her closer and closer to the edge.

Consequently, she shattered. Her body convulsed as an orgasm tore through her, her inner walls clenching around Y/N’s cock as she cried out, the sound desperate and ragged.

"ahh ahh UNNIE please it hurts, I cant take it anymore!" tears were starting to fall from the youngest's eyes.

Y/N didn’t stop though, His pace remained steady, thrusting into her even as she shuddered through her release, the pleasure replaced by pain as her overstimulated body struggled to keep up.

Yeji smiled, her hand moving to Yuna’s chin, forcing her to look at her. “Again,” she said simply, her eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. “You’re not done.” She then gave a quick hard slap to Yuna's chest. The sound reverberated through the room. Yeji smiled as everything was coming full circle.

Yuna’s body jerked with every thrust, her mind lost in the overwhelming mix of sensations. Another orgasm built within her, even more intense than the last, but this time it was different. This time, it felt like too much—like her body was about to break.

Y/N’s hands tightened on her wrists, his breath growing ragged as his own release neared. Yuna could feel him pulsing inside her, his cock twitching as he struggled to hold back. But just as he was about to spill inside her, Yeji’s hand shot out, pressing firmly against Y/N’s abdomen.

“No,” she said sharply, her voice leaving no room for argument. “Not yet I'm still not done with her.”

Y/N groaned, his entire body trembling as he fought against the urge to finish. His cock remained hard, still thrusting into Yuna with agonizing precision, but he obeyed, holding back despite the unbearable tension and pain building within him.

Yuna whimpered, tears spilling down her cheeks as her body neared the edge again. She couldn’t take any more—couldn’t handle the relentless assault on her senses. But her body refused to listen, and with one particularly brutal thrust to that one spot she had always hoped someone would hit. It was game over, she came again, her body convulsing violently as her vision blurred, white-hot pleasure tearing through her.

Y/N followed soon after with one last deep thrust, but instead of what Yuna had been hoping for, he pulled out at the final moment. A guttural groan escaped him as he climaxed all over her body, his release coating her skin rather than filling her as she had been working towards. Yuna lay there, breathless and trembling, her body aching from the intensity. She was spent, and all she could do was lie there, too far gone to even voice her apology.

Yeji observed with quiet satisfaction, her own emotions stirred by the scene before her. Yuna, gasping for air, her face streaked with tears. But Yeji wasn't finished yet. She leaned down, gently flipping Yuna onto her back, her fingers tracing along Yuna’s cheek with an unsettling, almost mocking tenderness, as if savoring the control she held.

“You’ll remember this, Yuna,” Yeji whispered, her voice soft but icy. “You’ll remember that you mean nothing to him. That no matter what you do, no matter how hard you try… I’m the leader, and I’ll always have control. Over everything. Even you.”

Yuna sobbed weakly, her body trembling uncontrollably as Yeji finally stepped back, her gaze still filled with cruel satisfaction.

"You're done now," Yeji said calmly, brushing her hands off as if discarding Yuna along with the rest of the moment. She took a step back, eyes still trained on Yuna, who lay gasping for air, utterly broken.

Yuna’s chest heaved with exhaustion, her vision blurred with tears. The room seemed to spin, but all she could feel was the dull ache coursing through her body—the result of the punishment she had endured, the humiliation crashing over her in waves. Her hands clutched the bed sheets beneath her as though they were the only solid thing keeping her tethered to reality.

Yeji gave a final glance at Yuna’s trembling form before turning her gaze to Y/N. “Let’s go,” she said, her voice no longer cruel, but flat—emotionless.

Y/N, still reeling from the intensity of his release, nodded silently. He rose from Yuna's limp body and began dressing, his movements slow and methodical, as if trying to shrug off the weight of what had just happened. He didn’t glance back at her—not once.

Together, Yeji and Y/N left the room without another word, leaving Yuna behind—still sprawled out on the bed, her body shuddering with sobs. The door clicked shut behind them, and the oppressive tension that had filled the air inside the room finally dissipated.

The hallway was silent, the faint sounds of Yuna’s sobs muffled through the walls. Yeji and Y/N walked down the corridor, side by side, their footsteps echoing softly in the quiet. The moment they turned the corner, and the door was out of sight, Yeji stopped in her tracks. She let out a deep breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding. The strong, composed mask she had worn in front of Yuna crumbled in an instant.

Her shoulders slumped slightly, and her hands trembled as she pressed them to her face. “God, that was harder than I thought it would be…” she whispered, her voice filled with exhaustion and the weight of what had just transpired.

Y/N turned to her, his brow furrowed with concern. He hadn’t spoken much during the entire ordeal, following Yeji’s instructions to the letter, but now that it was over, the guilt in his eyes was palpable.

“I didn’t want to do that,” Y/N muttered, his voice low and filled with regret. “I didn’t want to touch her like that, Yeji. It didn’t feel right.” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking down at the floor as if ashamed. “I was wishing it was you the whole time.”

Yeji’s eyes softened as she looked up at him. She could see the guilt etched into every line of his face. This wasn’t easy for him, but he had done it for her. She had asked him to, and despite how much it weighed on him, he had agreed because he trusted her.

She stepped closer to him, reaching out to place a gentle hand on his arm. “I know,” she said quietly. “I know you didn’t want to, and I’m sorry I had to ask you to go through with it. But I needed to show her that she can’t just walk in and take what’s ours.”

Her voice wavered slightly, the strength she had shown earlier cracking around the edges. “I needed to protect us. To show her that there are consequences. If we let it happen, she would take you again and again, I know her”

Y/N let out a shaky breath, lifting his hand to cover hers where it rested on his arm. His fingers were warm, and for the first time since they had left the room, some of the tension seemed to ease from his posture. “I get it,” he said, his voice still laced with guilt, “but it still didn’t feel right.”

Yeji swallowed, her own eyes starting to glisten with the weight of what she had done. She hadn’t enjoyed it, even though she had appeared so strong and in control. It had hurt her more than she wanted to admit, but she had felt like there was no other way to protect their relationship from someone like Yuna—someone who had been ready to steal Y/N away.

“It wasn’t easy for me either,” she admitted softly, her hand tightening around his. “I had to act like it didn’t affect me, like it didn’t hurt, but the whole time…” She took a shaky breath. “I hated it.”

Y/N looked at her, the compassion in his eyes breaking through the cold distance that had settled between them during the ordeal. He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly against his chest. Yeji let herself fall into him, burying her face in the crook of his neck, and for a moment, they stood there in the quiet hallway, clinging to each other as if trying to rid themselves of the lingering shadows of what had just happened.

“I’m sorry I made you go through that,” Yeji whispered, her voice muffled against his chest. “But thank you... thank you for helping me.”

Y/N ran his fingers through her hair, comforting her as her body shook slightly in his arms. “I’d do anything for you, Yeji,” he said softly. “Even that.” He kissed the top of her head gently, letting out a deep breath. “I’m just glad it’s over.”

Yeji nodded, pulling back slightly to look up at him, her eyes still wet with unshed tears. “It’s over now,” she whispered. “And we don’t have to deal with her anymore. She won’t come between us again.”

Y/N nodded in agreement, his hand cupping her cheek tenderly. “We’re okay,” he assured her, his voice filled with quiet strength. “We’ve got each other.”

Yeji smiled faintly, leaning into his touch. “We always have,” she whispered, the weight of the ordeal slowly lifting as they stood together, finding comfort in each other’s presence. The strong façade she had worn was gone now, replaced by the vulnerability she only allowed herself to show in front of Y/N.

They stood in the hallway for a few moments longer, just holding each other, breathing in the quiet now that the storm had passed. Finally, Yeji pulled away, wiping her eyes and steadying herself.

“Come on,” she said softly, her voice regaining a bit of its strength. “Let’s get some air.”

Y/N nodded, wrapping his arm around her shoulders as they walked away from the room, leaving Yuna behind, broken and defeated. The two of them stepped into the fresh air outside, away from the suffocating atmosphere that had filled the house, and as they walked side by side, they knew they had survived something together—something neither of them had wanted, but something they had needed to go through to protect what they had.

And now, it was just them again.

Epilogue: A New Awakening

The soft twilight spilled into the house as Y/N and Yeji returned from catching some fresh air. Drained from the day’s events, Y/N decided it was time to call it a night.

“I’ll meet you there. I’m a little thirsty, so I’ll just grab some water,” Yeji said, her voice tired. She smiled softly, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead before watching him disappear into his room. Once he was gone, Yeji exhaled a deep sigh, taking a long sip of ice-cold water before heading upstairs. But instead of going directly to the bedroom where Y/N was, she found herself pausing outside the guest room just a few doors down.

Standing in the dim light, Yeji felt a rush of unfamiliar emotions. What had always been subtle feelings she could ignore now churned inside her, pulling her in different directions. The playful teasing from Yuna earlier had stirred something in her—a boldness that both excited and confused her. It wasn’t just about mischief anymore; it felt like she was discovering something new about herself, a part she hadn’t fully understood until now.

As she lingered in the hallway, she bit her lip. Should I tell him? The thought nagged at her. Y/N had always been the one she shared everything with, but this was different. Would it even make sense to explain? Would he understand? A quiet sigh left her lips as she weighed the options, torn between wanting to let him in and fearing how he might see her afterward.

After a moment, Yeji shook her head, deciding to leave that conversation for another day—another version of herself to handle later. With that, she quietly slipped into the guest room.

Inside, the atmosphere was charged with a sense of anticipation. Yeji’s earlier hesitation gave way to a feeling of control, something thrilling. The wand vibrator she had swiped earlier rested in her hoodie pocket, ready for what she had planned. A mischievous smile played on her lips as she imagined how the night would unfold. This wasn’t just a playful act of revenge—it was about Yeji stepping into a version of herself she was only beginning to explore.

She approached Yuna, who was still peacefully asleep, her movements slow and deliberate. With calculated precision, Yeji tied Yuna’s wrists and ankles to the bedposts, leaving her spread-eagle and completely at her mercy. Yuna remained blissfully unaware as Yeji secured the vibrator tightly against her, ensuring it was perfectly positioned for what was about to come.

When Yeji flicked the switch, the soft hum filled the room. Almost instantly, Yuna’s body twitched, the unexpected sensation jolting her awake. Her eyes fluttered open in confusion, her gaze slowly registering the restraints holding her in place.

“U-Unnie? I thought we were done…” Yuna mumbled groggily, her voice shaky as she tried to comprehend the situation.

Yeji leaned in close, her voice low and teasing. “You might be... but I’m not.”

Yuna’s confusion quickly turned into panic as she tugged against the restraints, her breathing growing erratic. “Please... Unnie, stop... it hurts,” she whimpered, her voice trembling with fear.

But Yeji simply smiled, savoring the sight of Yuna helpless and pleading beneath her. The power of the moment surged through her, fueling her excitement. She took a step back, watching as Yuna squirmed in vain against her bonds, her soft cries filling the room.

“Unnie... please don’t leave me like this,” Yuna begged, her voice filled with desperation. “I'll be good, just stop… please... Unnie... Unnie....Unnie! ” her plea progressively getting louder and louder.

Yeji paused at the doorway, casting one last look at Yuna, bound and vulnerable. The sight sent a rush of dark satisfaction through her. Without a word, she slipped out of the room, leaving Yuna trapped in her helpless state.

As Yeji walked down the hallway, Yuna’s muffled cries echoed faintly behind her, growing softer with each step. The sound of Yuna’s pleas was like a quiet, haunting melody that clung to Yeji’s mind, sending a shiver of satisfaction down her spine.

She quietly slid into bed beside Y/N, his sleepy form instinctively wrapping around her in a warm embrace. The contrast between his gentle touch and the lingering thrill of what she had just done made her feel more alive, more in control. She nestled into his chest, letting his warmth soothe her as she closed her eyes.

But even as she drifted off to sleep, the faint sound of Yuna’s helpless pleas stayed with her, a soft reminder of the power she had wielded tonight. It was something new, something thrilling, and in that moment, Yeji realized she had truly stepped into a side of herself she hadn’t known before.

she had awakened.

[hypewinter]

Quick idea before I collapse into the sweet embrace of sleep.

Danny (running on two hours of sleep for the week) stumbled into Tim's apartment by accident. He looks around at the case files strewn about and the mountains of empty red bull cans, ramen cups, and coffee mugs before turning to Tim who's mid sip hunched over his computer.

Danny: Damn bitch, you live like this?

Danny: *proceeds to collapse of exhaustion*

Tim who just got shamed by some rando in his own home and is highly insulted: ...wtf

[p0mko100]

complacent - feat. itoshi rin

w/c: 2.5k

synopsis : your brother's friend, rin, comes over after a match to analyse their plays together and hang out. you're busy yelling at your teammates in-game when rin comes in to teach you how to properly aim.

info : NSFW, dom!rin x fem!reader, oneshot, brother's best friend au, smut, gamer!reader, pet names (bunny, princess, good/pretty girl), unprotected sex, slight dry humping, swearing, marking/hickeys, slightly jealous rin, feat. gamer friend!nagi

other : this is my first time uploading my fics here hehe, hope you enjoy!

"Nagi, can you properly smoke off A site for me next time?" The annoyance in your voice seethes through each word.

"M'kay but only if you properly defend the site next time" He retorts.

"Fuck you, Nagi." You sigh, "I'll be back, don't start another match without me I'm gonna get some water". Nagi hums in response as you hear the faint sounds of a Reddit storytime through your headset.

You mute your mic before standing up and stretching your legs, your whole body shaking from the sudden movement. The fabric of your t-shirt reaches your mid-thigh as you ease your body back down. The absence of shorts was so freeing, especially in the brisk afternoons of the blossoming spring season. Unfortunately, your door hinges have been broken ever since you slammed it a little too hard. So when you pull the door open wider, the brief thought of your brother and his friend coming back from their football match enters your mind. You sneak a glance from out of your room, searching for any sign that they're still here when you notice your brother's car keys missing from the bowl near the front door.

Grabbing the empty cup in your room, you step out onto the cold floor of your house with your sights on the kitchen pantry with its newly stocked snacks. With a smile creeping on your face, you open the pantry only to be greeted with… Kikkoman soy sauce and an open multi-pack of instant ramen. The disappointment bites into your stomach. ‘I’ll just steal some of his food when he comes back’ your mind is already planning what he might bring home for himself you.

Luckily, you’re prepared for your annoying brother to do annoying things. Pushing past the random assortment of ingredients and sauces you reach into the cupboard for your hidden stash. You grab your snack and turn around to refill your cup with some water when you hear a creak of the floorboards. Fuck.

Your heart picks up and your eyes follow straight to the turquoise eyes of your brother’s friend, Rin. He’s staring right at you, unsettlingly. It’s not like you guys hate each other, nor are you best friends either. He’s just someone your brother hangs out with, but this is the first time you get to really look at him.

Before, you’d just hide in your room as your brother and his friends would come over, semi-afraid of them and also wanting to give them privacy so your brother could do the same when your friends came over. You’ve seen Rin play when you’d go to your sibling’s matches and his name was often passed around as the best player on his team. However, your brother’s expression would grow stiff with a sense of rage when mentioning Rin’s plays. Jealousy, maybe? Now that he’s standing right there for you to see, you feel embarrassed in the presence of such a highly-praised player.

You dare to look up into his mosaic-like eyes and notice how expressionless he is, as if he were a living portrait. For a moment, you really thought he was inanimate until he furrowed his brows and started to watch each part of you. Analyzing each part of your body like you were prey, he stares at you with that same mundane look on his face.

You quickly turn back to the tap and fill your cup with water, now deadly aware of his stare.

“Hey.” He tries to fill the silence between you two, though his attempt yields more awkward tension than before.

“Uh, hi…”

“You’re uh… his younger sibling?” He asks as if he’s never spoken a word until today. His voice is flat but you can tell there's an air of nervousness around the two of you.

You nod as you begin to walk past him.

“Where’d he go?”

“Somewhere to get take out… I forgot where but, uh, yeah…” He trails off.

God, what is with this awkward silence?

You look back before you walk into the hallway to your room and you see him lean his back against the kitchen countertop, staring into the floor and clasping the sides of his cheekbones with his thumb and index. His dark ivy locks falling above his eyes and the way his body shapes himself against the counter - it’s all so… enamoring.

Glancing at his hand on the countertop, you can only imagine the type of training he does to get his veins running up his forearm like that. The man behind all these super goals - this was him. To avoid his eyes finding yours again, you sneak back into your room, door ajar no matter how many times you try to close it, and now you're back to the light of your monitor and the deafening sounds of the game.

--

Holy shit, she's beautiful.

Rin could barely, fucking, breathe. He knew you were pretty, but he didn't realize you were that pretty. The other members of the team would tease your brother about how they only come over to get a glance at his sister and Rin would scrunch his nose in utter repulse. How could these lukewarm losers ever think of being acknowledged by you? A goddess amongst men. He believed that when the sun hides itself behind the clouds, it's shying away from your radiance. A million lifetimes and yet you exist in his, and oh how lucky he feels to live alongside someone like you.

Almost subconsciously, he walks to your room, his head spinning with all the times your eyes have passed over him during his matches. Whenever he scored, he'd make a quick glance your way, trying to see if you were looking and he was always sourly disappointed when you would be looking at your phone or looking somewhere else. When you were looking, his heart would bounce around his ribcage and his stoic expression would melt into a small smile.

But when you were looking and cheering on for someone else's goal? He'd seethe with malice. His jaw would clench and it didn't matter who had the ball - opponent or not; he'd make sure the next goal would be his.

So, to see you stare at him with your doe eyes, was more than he could take. He watched the way your hair flowed down your scalp, the slight part in your lips, the way your t-shirt covered the parts Rin wanted most, and the scent of lavender in your hair and fresh floral notes on your skin. When his mind started to wander places elsewhere, he had to stop himself from pursuing the thought any further. He wanted so bad to hold you, right there, and feel the way you press against his body. Memorize every part of you.

Before he could process what he was doing, he was already outside your room, leaning against the doorframe. He pushes the door out so you notice him, but your focus is solely on your game. Your legs were perched on your chair and your whole face steeled with concentration. It wasn't until you died, that you noticed he'd been standing out there watching you.

--

"You suck at this game." Rin scoffs.

What is he doing here?

"And you'd be any better?" You glare back at him, but your eyes start wandering and you have to look back at your monitor before blushing at these unyielding thoughts of him.

"Let me play. You're losing anyway." He walks over to you and you begin to notice yourself critically. You begin to notice your legs being squished up against your body as you play or how your posture is harshly curved into a 'C' shape, so you straighten up and start to fiddle with your hair, desperately shaping it into something a little more presentable. Why should I care? He'd never see me like that anyway.

"Fine, one round but if you lose you owe me ice cream." You barter, he nods in response. Satisfied with this deal, you stand up from your chair and watch as he adjusts the chair for himself.

Once the next round starts, his face changes ever so slightly to concentrate on his player movements. Every swipe of the mouse and touch of the keyboard is intentional when he plays, all while being silent. You can hear Nagi through the headset impressed at, what he thinks is, your kill streak. Rin kills the last two guys in quick precise motions that the opponents begin to accuse you of cheating.

"Y/N are you seriously using Aimbot right now?" Nagi asks, dumbfounded at your sudden spike in gameplay.

Rin looks back at you with this smug, self-confident look and you roll your eyes in response.

"Here I'll show you what you're doing wrong." He pats his thigh, motioning you to sit down in his lap. Your heart starts drumming and you sit down on his left thigh. Flustered, your shaky hands grab on the mouse and keyboard to play the next round.

"Uh, is this okay?" You quietly ask, embarrassed as all hell.

"Mhm." He whispers back into your ear and you start to move around to get to a comfortable spot. Your bare thighs are touching his left leg and you can feel his chin resting above his shoulder. When the next round starts, you play as you normally do.

"Here, aim up more." Suddenly, his hand is on top of yours and he aims your crosshair upwards. He's giving you tips on how to play but all you can think about is the way his hand feels against yours. Rougher, but slender and light. He smells of fresh linen and hints of citrus, his body covering yours completely. His arms, fuck, his arms. Strong and muscular, every tendon feeling taught against his shirt. Your fragile heart could barely take it all in. He was overbearingly beautiful.

"Are you even paying attention?" He asks against your ear and you try to move your focus towards the game. His breath was hot against your skin and you tried hard not to think about what it would feel like to indulge in his lips. You find someone camping at their spawn and you shoot, just like you were told. The round ends with you killing the last enemy and you look at him and smile.

He grabs onto your waist, looks back at you, and whispers, "Good girl". His nose is pressed against yours and you're staring into each other's eyes before you move in a little bit closer to hover your lips above his. Moments pass before he hugs your waist tighter and gently places a kiss against your lips. Pure ecstasy. You'd never imagined that this would ever take place, ever - and yet here you are. Kissing Itoshi Rin. You press yourself closer to him, your arms on his shoulders and around the headrest. Permitting yourself to the delicate and slow kisses he leads with, you close your eyes to memorize each movement. You burn the feeling of his hand against your back and the other caressing your thigh into your mind.

Your body aches for him, and his does too. You bite the bottom of his lip, playfully teasing your tongue into his and you start to feel him poking against your thigh. You smile as you kiss him further and when you release your lips from his, you look at his pretty lashes flutter open when he looks back at you. Ah, fuck.

"Please" you whisper into his ear as you grind up against him a little bit more. That's all he needed to hear to slide your panties down, undo his pants and free his needy cock from his boxers.

"Ready, bunny?" He grumbles into your collarbone as you hum a response. His hands place you on top of him, the slick of your wetness and his pre-cum squeezing onto him. Rin's cock twitches as you take him in with gasps and heavy moans. He reaches inside of you, touching the insides of your walls and eagerly trembling for more. Before you can speak, he's already making quick work of your body and easing you up and down.

"Mmngh- R- Rinnie…" He grunts in response and slaps your ass, warranting a moan and for you to clench around him tighter. The sounds of your skin slapping against each other, paired with your beautiful moans were already edging Rin closer and closer.

His cock felt so good. The way it hit the right spots and the way his hands grasped at your body desperately - he made you feel like you were practically melting into him. "You-re a- all mine, okay bunny?" He teases as your pussy tightens around his length. You moan in response and kiss the side of his neck sloppily.

"Fuck, I'm- hngh, close…" He managed to pant out, exasperated by the feeling of your pussy. "Mm~ pl- please… Rin-rin… ple- ah!" He's already bouncing you faster on him, your head spinning with the way he's fucking you. He groans and marks you from your collarbones all the way down to your tits. A knot begins to tighten inside of you and your moans become more erratic and loud as he continues to fuck your insides.

"Come to me, princess." He moans and repeats against your skin and pulls you closer to feel you release against him. You're so tight and he can barely move against your grip as the both of you cum. His warm liquid fills you up, making you feel all sticky inside. "That's a good girl, hm?" He whispers between pants as he slows down and rides out both of your highs. Fuck, he felt so good.

As you begin to kiss him again, you hear your brother's car rumble into the driveway. Ah, shit. Rin rushes to kiss you one more time before sliding you off of him and replacing his cock with his fingers. Your thighs close around his hand as he reaches inside of you again.

"Rinnie- my brother's~ a- ah, he's- mmngh-" His fingers are moving inside and curling perfectly into the spot he just fucked.

"Open wide for me."

Your mouth is open with your tongue out as he places his fingers on your tongue and inside of your mouth. You lick his cum off clean and he pulls your panties back up before zipping his pants back up too. Rin grabs the tissues from your bedside table and wipes the evidence clean. He kisses your forehead and moves your shirt so your brother won't notice all the marks down your collarbone.

"Yo! What're you doing outside my sister's door?" Your brother questions with a bag of takeout in one hand.

"Watching them play that shitty game. They suck at it, by the way." His gaze lingers on you a little longer before following your brother back into his room. Your pussy is still warm and aching from what just happened and it takes a while for you to realize that your team won and Nagi's already pestering you to respond to him before he queues you two into another match.

a/n: aa this is my first time uploading smut hehe I hope you enjoyed! I'd love requests and ideas for more bllk oneshots/ff's :) I adore rin so much hehehe I hope this was enjoyable for any readers out there!

cc: @p0mko100, please do not reupload or redistribute any of my work.

[specialgradefckr]

Catching Strays

Satoru Gojo is rich. Obscenely so.

But he's also busy - too busy to have time to meet someone and go through all the song and dance of dating and having a relationship.

The hookups... even being a certified fantastic top tier lay, it's just not doing it for him anymore.

He wants that connection. The intimacy. The personal knowledge and inside jokes and soft affection that comes with a relationship.

And sure, some of it is on him. He's got a fun personality - jokes and jibes and little remarks that he really doesn't mean badly, but tend to be taken in certain ways.

("That's a lot of words to say I'm an asshole." His last potential date had snapped. "Even with a face like yours, people have standards. My life doesn't revolve around you.")

Really, he's nice when you get to know him! But he's also lonely, and bored, and every hobby he tries out never lasts more than a couple days.

It's hard, being as naturally talented and intuitive and as intelligent as him. Everything gets old so fast. It's all too easy.

Gets him wound up. He's got so much energy. And the one thing that never gets old to him? Other people.

So when he meets new people he can be sort of... overwhelming. Overly familiar. Annoying. Clingy.

(Okay, maybe he's a little bitter about how that last one. He'd offered to pay her bills! Why was she so worked up over her dumb career? He had way more money, and he was plenty generous with it!)

Lately, he's been toying with a different solution to his problems - hybrids.

They're like people, just basically as pets (which sounds a little messed up when he thinks about it, so he promptly stops thinking, and the problem goes away) - companions who can live with him, eat with him at mealtimes, cuddle up and even provide some intimacy.

That sort of thing is apparently frowned on, but who cares? It's not like he'd ever force anyone. One look at him and they'd be begging for it.

Do you ever think about anyone besides yourself? You're going to wake up alone one day, with no one to put up with your selfishness.

And besides, they'd live together! They'd become friends naturally!

Yeah... a pet would be great for a busy guy like him. Just some cute thing sitting and waiting for him at home, ready to jump on him as soon as he's back.

("Gojo, you barely take care of yourself. You think you can take care of another person?"

"Please, I've looked this up! Cat hybrids are especially independent. Come on, can't you see me with a cute little kitty curled up in my lap?"

"You're actually hopeless.")

Shoko doesn't know what she's talking about. He can be responsible, he simply chooses not to, because life is easier that way. But cats are easy to take care of!

He just has to find the right one. He's been to a couple shelters, but none of the hybrids there have spoken to him.

It's kitten season, apparently - they're really pushing the young ones on him. But Satoru, despite what Shoko thinks, is responsible. He's looking for something older, mature, able to take care of itself (and also consent).

And what does he see as he strolls through a less-wealthy part of town on his way to his favorite ramen shop?

A cute little stray, big pleading eyes and a sign saying "Anything Helps", tail curled up around you as you look up hopefully to passing strangers.

His heart squeezes a little at the sight. There's a small dish in front of you with a scattering of spare change.

Satoru stops, mid-stride, backing up and grinning down at you.

Looks like it's this kitty's lucky day.

So... it turns out it's not so simple to adopt a stray hybrid.

It's a little annoying. You're a sorry, scraggly thing, begging for scraps in a dingy side corner.

And yet you seem to take some kind of issue with his generous offer of adoption.

Satoru supposes he can forgive you for not trusting a stranger, but he brought you out for ramen! You sat with him for the whole meal! That's longer than ninety percent of his dates have tolerated him!

Deep down, some voice is echoing the same old taunts in different words.

Even a stray off the street doesn't want your company. The best you can do is bribe people to love you, and even with all your money, the love runs out quick.

Funny how the voice sounds a lot like his mother! When talking to his dad, of course. Not him. His parents both loved him.

They'd sent him to the most expensive schools, bought him all the latest and greatest of everything, gave him a penthouse and a vacation home as a graduation gift.

Only, it was sort of big for him to live in all by himself. Satoru tries explaining it to you, but you're reluctant for some reason.

It's hard to tell, between all your stammering and nervous trailing off. How you seemed to stare at him, distracted by his beauty.

Heh. He does get that a lot. But you're the cutest, sweetest, most darling creature he's ever laid eyes on, all pathetic and needy-eyed, and he's not going home without a kitty today.

"What do I have to do to make you come with me?" Satoru says it bluntly. "I have money. All the money you could ever want. You can eat bluefin tuna every day-"

"I eat the blue tunas all the time," You interrupt him eagerly, "The ones in the can!"

"Not those - it's - listen, just tell me you'll come back with me!" He really wants to take you home now. You're just too cute.

Your ears droop (oh my GOD it's so adorable), "I'm sorry, I... I don't know. I need to get back to my spot before Suguru comes looking for me."

A dark feeling seems to creep over him like a shadow. You have an owner? And he's making you beg out on the streets?

Well, you are a very convincing cutie. But Satoru doesn't support scam artists! He makes you eat canned tuna.

You do seem to be in relatively good condition, though, now that he takes a second look at you. No fresh cuts or bruises, not a scratch. Your clothes are worn and dirty but you're surprisingly well groomed otherwise.

"And you want to go back with him? I'm way richer," Satoru says, crossing his arms, looking down at you over his glasses.

"Oh, uh, Suguru is also a stray," You say sheepishly, tail swaying gently, "He's my friend. He takes care of me, I could never leave him behind."

Something twists in his chest. You didn't want to leave your friend - that was why.

One pet was already a reach for him, really. But taking in you both?

Give it up already. You're not capable of love. You aren't capable of caring about anyone besides yourself. You're selfish, and you're fine with it.

You'll die alone, Gojo.

He smiles at you, a wide, easy grin.

"I've got room for two."

Read the next part here!

[duvetchico]

i love you.

summary y/n isn’t the affectionate type, but one night while cuddling, she finally says “i love you” for the first time. jimin melts on the spot, grinning like an idiot as they fall asleep tangled up in each other.

genre fluff / soft romance

pairing yu jimin x fem!reader

masterlist.

it’s not that you don’t love her. you’ve loved her since maybe the third date, when she smiled at you over spicy ramen and told you you had a little seaweed stuck in your teeth. you’ve loved her since she started showing up outside your apartment with hot drinks on cold days. you’ve loved her since she started folding your laundry without asking, memorized your coffee order, kissed the back of your hand while waiting for the subway.

you’ve loved her for so long. you just haven’t said it.

and jimin never asked you to. not directly.

but sometimes, when you fall asleep on her shoulder mid-movie and she stays perfectly still just so you don’t wake up— or when she buys the brand of snacks you like even though she says they taste like cardboard— or when she kisses your temple and says, “i like being yours”— you feel it. you feel her wondering if you love her back.

you do. god, you do.

-

the day starts slow.

you’re in your hoodie and fuzzy socks. she’s in your hoodie and your fuzzy socks. neither of you are winning.

you’d planned to be productive—laundry, maybe some grocery shopping, finally getting around to vacuuming—but then jimin came over, and suddenly all your plans evaporated the moment she flopped onto your couch and opened her arms like a spoiled cat.

"come cuddle me," she demanded.

"you have legs," you said, not even looking up from your phone.

"i also have abandonment issues, get over here."

and like. you folded. obviously.

cut to now: the two of you are curled up on your tiny couch, blanket burrito’d, a candle flickering on the coffee table for ✨aesthetic✨, and some dumb cartoon playing in the background purely for background noise.

you’re spooning her from behind, arms around her waist, your cheek squished against her back. she keeps giggling every time your cold nose brushes her spine and makes her shiver.

"your nose is literally a weapon," she grumbles, but her hand's stroking your knuckles like she’s trying to memorize every line.

"shut up, you like it," you mumble.

she makes a little hmm sound but doesn't argue.

at one point she shifts to face you, noses almost touching, and whispers, “can i kiss you?”

you roll your eyes, “when do you ever ask?”

“i’m trying to be respectful of your boundaries,” she says with an innocent smile.

you kiss her before she can say anything else.

then it’s quiet again. peaceful. soft breathing, soft hearts. she tugs you closer until your leg’s thrown over hers and your hand’s splayed against her side like it’s always belonged there.

and it’s in the middle of that silence, when her eyelashes flutter and her breath catches a little from how close you are, that it slips out—

“…i love you.”

she blinks. stills. then blinks again.

“…you what?” she says, voice already climbing three octaves in shock.

you freeze. you were so comfortable and now you're gonna spontaneously combust.

“i said i love you,” you mumble again, voice half-muffled into her collarbone. “don’t make it weird.”

she literally squeals and starts kicking her feet like a five-year-old.

“NOOOOOOOOO,” she screeches, hugging you so hard you genuinely choke. “YOU SAID IT FIRST OH MY GODDDDDDDDDDDDDDD.”

“you’re so annoying,” you cough. “let me breathe.”

“you love me,” she says again in this high-pitched little voice, kissing your cheeks repeatedly. “you love me. you love me. i’m gonna write this in my diary.”

“you have a diary?”

“NO BUT I’LL GET ONE.”

she’s so damn happy that it almost makes you cry.

like she's smiling so hard her eyes disappear and she keeps whispering "i can't believe it" like you just gave her the moon.

later, when your ramen’s ready, she feeds you bites even though your hands work just fine. she wipes a noodle stain off your chin like you’re a toddler. she holds your hand while watching youtube videos, thumb tracing lazy circles.

and right before you both knock out on the couch again, limbs tangled and teeth brushed and everything feeling safe, she says it one more time—

“i love you too, by the way. like. so much it’s embarrassing.”

you hum. kiss her temple.

“yeah,” you whisper.

“me too.”